On this day 70 years ago they stormed across the sand
Boys of many nations to remove the tyrants hand
Heros all those boys so young who shed their blood for us
In that ****** fight for freedom

Across the sand they struggled neath a hail of shot and shell
Never glancing backwards as around them comrades fell
Fear was in their eyes, terror in their hearts
Many never made it and twas on foreign sand they died

Yes they died to give us the freedom that we have got this day
They died to free the world, for us they made the play
Boys from ever walk of life crossed the beaches there
Office clerks and farmers and the ones who cut our hair

Yes they were heroes all who gave their lives for us
But lets not forget the few who made it possible
The girls who made the shells, the men who built the tanks
They were the unsung heroes
They have also have earned our thanks

Without their dedication to the task they had in hand
Many more would have lost their lives on that shell torn blood stained sand
They to can hold their heads up high, they knew they did their bit
In bringing freedom to the masses when they broke the tyrants grip

As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf
and seems to weep

the black river of himself.
The grain of his wrists
is like bog oak,
the ball of his heel

like a basalt egg.
His instep has shrunk
cold as a swan’s foot
or a wet swamp root.

His hips are the ridge
and purse of a mussel,
his spine an eel arrested
under a glisten of mud.

The head lifts,
the chin is a visor
raised above the vent
of his slashed throat

that has tanned and toughened.
The cured wound
opens inwards to a dark
elderberry place.

Who will say ‘corpse’
to his vivid cast?
Who will say ‘body’
to his opaque repose?

And his rusted hair,
a mat unlikely
as a foetus’s.
I first saw his twisted face

in a photograph,
a head and shoulder
out of the peat,
bruised like a forceps baby,

but now he lies
perfected in my memory,
down to the red horn
of his nails,

hung in the scales
with beauty and atrocity:
with the Dying Gaul
too strictly compassed

on his shield,
with the actual weight
of each hooded victim,
slashed and dumped.

Damaged goods
Hopelessly lost
My existence fading
Too tired to fight
Nothing left to cherish
Complete surrender

Hoping to suffocate my hardened heart
I locked it away in a padded box
Intentionally misplacing the key

Then you appeared...
Familiar stranger
Remembered soul
Such a perfect contradiction
Strong and gentle
Warm and cool
A serious man and a playful child

Rescued by your words
Saved by your compassion
You have awakened my emotions
From their deepest sleep

I breathe for you…I wait for you

I was born on a hot july night but I have always found solace in the rain,
I am a snowflake rather than a hot summer breeze,
which makes me sad.
I feel beautiful over summer, and disgusting during winter,
But there is something creative hidden in the grey skies and thunderstorms,
That I miss greatly as soon as June comes around.
I can not write or paint when I feel beautiful,
I am too busy, dancing, flirting, singing.
I can not be angry when the stranger smiles at me on the bus,
Or when the man tells me I'm the prettiest sight he has seen this year,
I can only write angry poems,
about the raindrops, and lightning and the warmth of a bed, when I feel sad.
I blossom in winter.
And wilt and die as my birthday arrives.

There's a noose around your neck,
where you've hung your expectations
Too high.

Let’s be lovers again on the Belvedere
Hand in hand we would climb the stairs
Then fly to the past in our memories’ wings
To that timeless space where duelled Hastings!

Let’s be lovers again in that time spectral
On Victoria’s lawn her memorial
In the autumn’s white blue horizon
Under the bronzed face of Curzon!

Let’s be lovers again in our revived heart
In wind kissed skin on the Prinsep Ghat
See the sun go down on the west bank low
Coloring our eyes in the river’s glow!

Let’s be lovers again in the garden of Kyd
Where under the banyan love poems we read
Take a boat sail to the south upstream
Where the Hugli flows in the Bay’s dream!

Why can’t we be lovers like the olden time
Where landed Charnock in the humid clime
That grew to a city with three villages to start
And etched forever in two lovers’ hearts!

Lamoon smiles like the sun.
Call me home,
before dinner lamoon.
Sweet lamoon making no sense,
silly lamoon says she can't dance.
Lamoon my hands get cold,
and so do yours.
Lamoon, glimmer on my dear.
Lovely lamoon,
white as a flower.
Scent like a ballroom.
Always has the answer, lamoon.
Lamoon
with grace to skip along stars.
Shoes in hand,
and the trickles of hope falling on us.
Lamoon
shine bright on.
Lamoon,
you're your own song.
A hymn.
A cord.
La
Lamoon,
gleam netted eyes,
and rose hugged lips.
La
Lamoon
free and close.
La
Lamoon,
making me feel like I've seen a ghost.
Taking breath and stealing hearts.
La
Lamoon
enchanting echos chant,
"La,
Lamoon!"
I see her in the horizon,
watering the road.
She plants me in the ground and tells me to grow.
Pouring her nectar over me,
and running the street so free.
La
Lamoon
singing a wonder so happy.