Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing,
If testaments of old have any sway,
Therein resides a man born to be king.

Upon a lowly path, he sought to bring
Goods news to those who seek a better way
Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing.

His guiding star, an angel on the wing,
Beckoned the wise unto the place he lay:
"Therein resides a man born to be king!"

He healed the weak, he helped the lame to spring!
And led the blind to see the coming day
Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing.

His life betrayed, he felt the mortal sting
Of death; And of his tomb the wise would say:
"Therein resides a man born to be king."

Arisen by his father, angels sing
To preach the gospel, routing out dismay:
"Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing,
Therein resides a man born to be king!"

Words Be Thy Will, Free'd
Owing Naught To God Or King --
    May Death Renew Thee.

"I'd like to rent a ****** please!", little Johnny cried,
"A good sized filly, plenty of zest, and a great big *** to ride!
I'll take her up the paddock, and I'll slap her big behind,
Then I'll ride her till she's raw, when another ****** I'll find!"

I chanced upon old standing stones
Bedecked in lichen green
Arrayed in banks of marble rows
With walk-ways in-between
Each bore the scars of craftsman’s graft
Recording time and toll
One fading remnant epitaph
For each immortal soul

And earthward bound the sun polite
With mountain cap in hand
Fell silent as the hearse of night
Rode forth across the land
The distant city lights awoke
Like lanterns on a lake
A bubbled haze of smog and smoke
Above the city scape
 
Large crowds of late-night shoppers milled
Around the late-night stores
And roars of drunken laughter spilled
From dingy nightclub doors
The squealing cries of lorries lade
With goods to stock and stack
Were echoed by the cramped stockade
Of dwellings back-to-back

As one by one the lights went out
In windows dark and dim
Arrayed in banks of brick and grout
Old dwellings grey and grim
Stood sentinel to souls entombed
In plots devoid of green
The living mass of those inhumed
With walk-ways in-between

Beneath the window, shadows paint the hill
And rooftop solar panels feel the chill
Blue eyes are drawn down to the river's flow
The Derwent sweeps majestically below

Across the water, shadows stretch and climb
The twilights of the city start to shine
Above, the mountain cloaked in cloudy stripes
That race along above the ***** pipes

The setting sun now sets the clouds on fire
A fiery orange blazing funeral pyre
It lights the heavens with a mystic glow
As nature plays her perfect picture show

The colors shift and swiftly turn to red
As bloodstained cloudy fingers start to spread
Then in an instant, beauty is undone
As darkness falls above the setting sun

Son of Zeus-Ammon,
How thou reined, arrayed and reigned!
Thy name lives anon.

How I fell for you?
The dull hit of a bullet,
A clean through and through

Rest peaceful 'neath a dusk-kissed brass engraving,
Atop the climb a stony path has reached;
Look down on all the troubles you were saving,
Thankful you rarely practiced what they preached.

The boldness of a beauty fair
To conquer love, to take his bow
And loose his arrows in the air
To watch them fall to strike a blow
On one with who one's love would share
To watch them fall beneath the blow
And gasping for a breath of air
To stand and take a final bow
So falling to a beauty fair

There lies one in Rome
With whom all England was blest,
Whose bright star came home;

And if thou wouldst roam
To seek for all that is best,
There lies one in Rome

Beneath stately dome --
A spirit too young to rest,
Whose bright star came home

And whose living tome
Gifted the heavens their crest --
There lies one in Rome

O'er seas laced with foam,
Whose words still quicken our breast,
Whose bright star came home --

His name gleams as chrome,
Where water writ his bequest --
There lies one in Rome
Whose bright star came home.

Arise!  Arise!
Oh wingless serpent
Oh jousting knight
Gleaming in sunlight
Arise like Samurai
Mounted on a steed
Of deadly sins
Arise and greet the morn
As wives grieve and mourn
As children grieve and mourn
As husbands grieve and mourn
Oh world, grieve and mourn
Our fallen knight
Our fell serpent
Our seven Samurai.

My love desires but ev'ry dream
Love knows and holds love tight,
Desires and carries on our dreams
But holds on through dark night
Ev'ry love our dark yearning takes
Dream tight, dreams night takes flight!

Love is like a rose —
It hastens hearts a-tingling,
Tickles all your toes!

Friendships fade to throes
As hearts begin a-mingling —
Love is like a rose,

And each day it grows
It sets your nerves a-jingling,
Tickles all your toes!

Your skin brightly shows,
With blushing blood a-sizzling,
Love is like a rose!

It tweaks on your nose!
And sets the stars a-twinkling,
Tickles all your toes!

Do not fear for woes
Of love that ends a-dwindling —
Love is like a rose,
Tickles all your toes!

☀ ☺

    ☁ ☂ ☔ ☹

        ❄ ☃ ☺

            ☀ ☃ ✞ ☹

                ☕ ☺

If I would ask these things of thee
Wouldst thou compose sweet poetry
And carve our hearts in symmetry
Upon a cherry blossom tree

Wouldst thou accept on bended knee
A vow to love but only thee
And sacrifice thy liberty
In service and in sanctity

Wouldst thou endure the changing sea
To chart a course that none foresee
To drift to see what e'er we see
Beyond forgotten shore and lea

If thou wouldst do these things for me
Our hearts would bloom in sympathy
And love, my love, I'd ever be
Thy love who scribes thy poetry

A stylish beauty born of elegance
So full of life, so wondrous to behold
How sweet the perfumed fragrance of romance
Beguiling timid lovers to be bold
The velvet softness of your petal skin
As gentle as the fall of purest snow
Such vibrant colors, where should one begin?
The white, the peach, the red, an endless show
To name a thing is but to give a name
Yet names are naught but locks wrought with no keys
Constricting like a portrait picture frame
That fails to capture aught but what it sees
        Yet in the end I’ll name you I suppose
        The beauty of a perfect English rose

A sheet of paper and a pencil:

    Einstein would amaze the world with mathematics
    
        Picasso would astound the world with art
    
            Dickens would enthrall the world with fiction

                What would you do with yours?

Insipid hour I dread your looming call
Condemned waiting for thee inside this cell
My days will end when finally I fall
Down the abyss as summoned by your knell

In life the mornings ever found me bright
An endless optimist of no reproach
So how I fear your vast and empty night
My mind asunder doomed at your approach

I beg a dream to fill the lonely void
To reach inside to see beyond the veil
Yet even sweetest dreams are still devoid
Compared to morning light they shine so pale

Consciousness fails, my soul is yours to plunder
Until the morning saves me from deep slumber

To sip vines brew and ponder thru a night
When night alone knows naught of loves sweet cheer;
To toast a love with feelings e'er contrite
And know tho’ love is gone that love is near;
For love is twine that binds two lovers twinned
Not as a fettered shackle on the calf
But holding two as one against the wind
Then two as one stand stronger than each half;
So tarry not when night has lost his crown --
When chorus breaks to herald first suns praise;
Tarry thee not unto a waiting gown
Of warm embrace thru many coming days;
        One night is all yet still one night is long --
        Night bear love swift to where love doth belong

Whether thou art true as

        ((to be) or (not to be)),

Or false as

        ((a summer's day) compared to (thee)),

My love for thee is a tautology.

The longest night
        must fade to shortest day and morning light
        must bring her ill portent for summer days
        cut short (they will not pay) when widows wake
        to wail their long lament

Her fingers stretch
        to touch our icy cell where walls play host
        to ghostly shadows cast of bars of
        iron cast (they will not sell) and brings her
        lamentation unsurpassed

The dinted straw
        retains his slumbered shape to taunt my
        tortured mind, I hear the screams of pity in
        my head (they will not wait) and dare not sleep
        to find him in my dreams

I cannot dare
        to hope yet hope I must till hope for hope
        has fallen into dust

This is the Field Marshall, tall and grand,
Who bellowed at Generals beneath his command,
Who shouted at Brigadiers in fine attire,
Who hollered at Colonels to make them jump higher,
Who screeched at the Majors and caused them to shake,
Who yelled at the Captains to keep them awake,
Who squawked at Lieutenants to keep them in line,
Who wailed at the Sergeants in double quick time,
Who shrieked at the Corporals and made them feel small,
Who screamed at the Privates worth nothing at all,
Who stood in the trenches and will never forget,
When they ran a man through with a fixed bayonet,
And held his hands tightly, as watching him die,
They whispered to no one, *"Oh why, but oh why?"

When tanks sit empty
Outside refineries,
Every drop of blood and oil
Spilled and spent

When the world is plunged
Into pre-digital chaos,
Knowledge trapped forever
In e-books and emails

When civilization collapses,
Falling on empty bellies
To the desperate cries
For help in the darkness

There will still be fools
Running down abandoned streets,
Struggling beneath the weight
Of large-screen flat panel TVs

Dark summer days
            when woe is full in bloom, when men of mettle
            bend beneath the load of doleful doubts, backs
            broken by the gloom, heads drooping low from
            stress and strains untold

Rake up your strife,
            rake troubles in a heap, uplift the rug,
            sweep sweep the grime below, and in a sack,
            stuff all the ills you keep to bursting, till
            the sack must overflow

Trundle your woes
            down to the market square, set out a stall
            and hawk to trade your wares.  Like-minded folk
            are cloistered everywhere, imploring you
            to give your sack for theirs

Well friend, would you
            exchange for the unknown, or else relent
            to take your own sack home?

Upon the bridge
Upon the bridge
And proudest of the three

The mighty bridge
Stands on the bridge
Upon the Devil's lee

Him swift to gloat
With forking tongue
His path above the scree

Until his goat
Was bitter stung
By woman's trickery

My genteel shepherd,
                                                      F­ondly I recall
The beauty of your Lignon, where we'd share
Neath monuments around your stately hall,
A fleeting moment free from any care.

Embracing midst that noble rustic arch
With marble stone emblazed with bas relief,
Where Poussin's likeness captivates the heart
To tell the tale of Arcadia's grief,

Those shepherds and their shepherdesses gaze
Upon the tomb, Utopia's demise;
Their faces full of woe for darker days,
As humbly now, your servant bids goodbye.

        Yours always, in memoriam and so,

        Adieu,

                Et in Arcadia ego.

Does not the rain kissed garden fair the fairer?
Untamed sunlight wouldst wilt the brightest flowers,
As love unchecked might bring to bear the bearer
And feast to bite the mind it swift devours!
When darkling clouds loom storm-like over thee,
Weather thy thunderous rage tho' thou detest it,
Love sallies hence and makes a bold decree:
"No cloud is e'er so dark love cannot best it!"
Light shines its brightest in the dankest dark,
The better then that thou should plainly view it,
So of each storm make light with thy remark:
"Love is the light and darkness shall renew it."
        If thou wouldst doubt it so thou knows love not,
        Love knows it still long e'er these lines forgot.

O! Such our lot in life that we must choose
To wander lonely 'mongst the desert dunes
Thru shifting sands with e'er unchanging views
Till sanity abandons us as loons --
Or yet to wander love's relentless road
That wends a lush and fertile tributary;
No - Not alone, but sharing of life's load
To laugh and mock the loons we thought to be --
Yet those who know that ev'ry road must end
May choose to wander lonely o'er the sand
And thru their maddened eyes may comprehend
What those upon love's road won't understand --
At journey's end, love's toll must take it's dues
And those who never loved have naught to lose

I can hear the music all around me,
The thrum of long-boat hulls against the shore,
And drummer boys with stockinged feet resound me,
And heavy hammered horse shoes pound the floor,

And gunners with their twenty-ones astound me,
And diggers crash their picks into the floor,
And cannoneers launch volley fire to pound me,
And bayonets clash like cymbals on the moor,

And fighter pilots boom above to ground me,
And tank commanders rumble to the fore,
Submariners slosh water up to drowned me,
And infantry sing heartily of the corp,

And all around I hear their music roar,
The ghosts of all our heralds gone to war.

He ventured forth upon a lofty quest
To seek a beauty told in legends tale
A maiden whom no man could e'er behest
Tho' many tried, but all were doomed to fail

Whilst resting weary on a low-slung ledge
Aside a pool, its surface calm and clear
His eyes were drawn down to the water's edge
And in reflection, spied that she was near

He found himself held captive in her stare
Her hissing voice, her clawing fingertips
How wild the snake-like tendrils of her hair
Her sharpened fangs revealed by venomed lips

Too late, he turned to find his love had flown
And e'er since then, his heart was turned to stone

Stars tell white lies each night, they wink and lie
And promise us our dreams, the dreams they steal
Away into a sunrise, to conceal
In leaded pots where rainbows go to die;
And when the careless night comes by the by
And shouts: "look up, look up!" the stars reveal
Your hopes, dreams, thoughts, a future so unreal
That even hapless lovers dare not fly;
And still they wink and whisper every night
As if to tell your secrets, tell your dreams,
The very things they promised not to share,
And left bereft you wonder how it seems
You ever trusted to that distant light
Long whence the stars that lived and died were there.

How green the grass beneath my feet,
A vibrant gown with verdant strands
Of earthly fabric, grown replete
With woven blades from nature's hands;

Yet envied eyes look from this scene
To distant hills in far off vales,
And dare to dream of fairer greens
In secret glades down hidden trails;

Yet still my eyes do strain to pry
O'er oceans and the briny seas
Where jaded mountains clamber high
Above the glistened emerald leas;

Yet here beneath my weary feet,
This green green grass is where I'll stay,
And when my days are all complete,
Beneath this grass is where I'll lay.

Upon a lofty perch
Nestled warily
He waits

A gargoyle
Still as stone
Unflinching

Trained eyes
Gazing far below
Ever watchful

The forest swaying
Willows leaning
Over a dry river bed

A murmur
Among the trees
Awakens senses

The prey approaches
Flanked by willows
Unaware

Still he waits
Transfixed
Hidden

Swiftly swooping
Three sharp shrieks
Sing out

A lofty perch
Left with empty
Broken shells

Willows weeping
By a river
Flowing

A book without a cover,
No pages and no ink,
That I alone discover
Each time I deign to think

Each line a shared adventure,
Each word a tender kiss,
Each chapter I remember
Reminds me how I miss

The things you never said to me,
Our ending incomplete,
So perfect in my memory,
My love, you can't compete.

Ah, memories, capriciously you choose
Such wondrous moments worthy to retain;
Important things, so oft' you're apt to lose,
Yet how you cling to those that brought us pain.
You offer but a glimpse of yesteryear,
And fill the gaps, with things which might have been,
So oft', we find it's never truly clear
If what you show was real or but a dream.
How can we trust that what you say is true,
When all we know is what you choose to share?
Do you record the tales of things we do,
Or conjure up our stories from thin air?
        Without you, all my past would cease to be --
        My life is naught but one long memory.

Upon the wing above an ancient oak
Two love birds soared and swooped towards the ground,
In harmony their tender voices spoke
And sang a tale of all the love they'd found.
With gentle grace they landed on a bough
And bathed in sunlight while they stopped to rest,
A rustling breeze blew softly on their brow
And billowed lightly on their feathered breast.
With deadly eyes locked on their perfect frame,
Both unaware of their own mortal plight,
My arm outstretched I took a careful aim
And hurled a stone which took an evil flight --
    The joy I hoped to find turned swift to sorrow,
    No song of love will bless this oak tomorrow.

Where is it,
The magic button?

You text me,
I get a fix

You call me,
I get a fix

If you smiled from within an
Hermetically sealed room,
I'd get a fix

This high doesn't come from you,
This high isn't yours to give,
It's mine

A chemical reward from
Some prehistoric pathways,
Deciding you were the one

If I can find the magic button,
I can fix myself

Because you left me,
*You left me broken.

Upon my life, upon my soul,
On everything that I hold dear,
For love of thee, my only goal,
To keep thee from a life austere

I swear to love, and love thee whole,
I swear to hold and keep thee near,
To guide thy hand as we two stroll
And keep thee safe from living fear

I cannot hope, but hope to see,
And keep thee safe in wedded bliss;
To make our vows in sanctity,
Upon the edge of loves abyss

Thy love, my love, gifted to me
When all the world has gone amiss,
Our pledge unto our family,
We seal it with a loving kiss.

The Avon Bard served to inspire
Young Keats unto his Bright Star sonnet

The sea took Shelley to his pyre,
Bestowed with words of Keats upon it

Yet Keats wet not the widow's eye,
Nor counted clocks that tell the time

Yet Shelley drew no Bright Star nigh,
Nor flowered a tale more sweet than rhyme

So why I ask would any poet
Claim unto them another's craft?

If thou has not the wit to show it,
Pray, keep thine own words saved as Draft.