there was an old lady from York
who used to screech and squawk
when asked why
this heinous cry
she answered, 'because i'm a stork'!

now, this strange ol' lady from York
who believed that she was a stork
decided one day
to start eating hay
on a plate with a knife and a fork

when friends offered her some fish
she firmly pushed away the dish
i'm vegetarian
not a barbarian
but i'll eat some eggs if you wish

now i'd like to continue this rhyme
about this bird maritime
or rather this lady
of intelligence shady
but i'm afraid it's reached my bedtime

so, kind reader, as you're still reading
and curious to know where this is leading
feel free to write
something to delight
to give this story the end that it's needing

Dipped into the piping beverage
Smooth like melted ore
Giving extra oomph 'n leverage
To inner Manticore

Rousing sleeping warrior
Ad'lescent sophomore
Breaking down the barrier
Twixt pretext and inner core

Dripping ebony brown
Waxing allegoric
Soft on tongue as down
Whispers sound euphoric

Soothing edges abrasive
From land of talisman
Transforms secular to sacred
This food of gods and man

Goose, force-fed,
eyed me in pain
as they poured down the grain
heavy as lead

horse snorted and heaved
panted to breathe
as rider pulled tight
reined in with might

child wide-eyed
with innocent wonder
suffocated, tied,
till they go under

(fed like a goose
head in a noose
squeezed nice 'n tight
it doesn't seem right.)

till as a zombie
they stumble and fall
automated combi
with no recall

of who they are
'neath the exterior
'neath false coiffeur
o' Mother Superior.

a moonbeam touched the earth one night
it shone through window and skylight
it danced from roof to tree to ground
it lanced the cat and dog and hound

it spread its palest silver light
as one who walks with royal right
with quiet dignity, declared its might
in secret whisper, with no fight

it bathed me with its pearly crown
it wrapped me in its ermine gown
it swooped me up and laid me down
in softest feather'd eiderdown

in wordless voice said mystery,
bereft of cunning or witchery,
there laid clear its history,
orbit of Earth periphery

its waxing waning faceless orb
reflecting light in night's absorb
revealing hidden lantern true
the shine of day in heaven's blue

but more than mirror, i am the soul
of inner yearning, want and goal,
i am the softness in the night
that makes you dream, that makes you write

i am the magic that shines a path
in desolation of war's wrath,
who speaks the badgers and otters' tongue
who comforts babes, and nature's young

i am the cry of lonesome one
ere the light of day's begun
who dreads the hour of dawn's on-come,
the herald of day in rising sun

i am the silent witness of
oppression without love
i am a link in stillness of
your chain to the Above

his loving warmth enveloped my hand
his strong old veins soft to the touch
now that warmth is covered by sand
ephemeral memory, childhood crutch

they tell a tale 'bout a bottle filling with all the tears
shed from all the pain 'n misery of all the years
all the suffering, all the tortures,
all the plundering from earth-scorchers
all the famine and the fever and the fears

and when that bottle's reached its limit will be the time
when salvation awoken starts its clock to chime
when war and famine end
humanity grief amends
and forgotten will be the ache and gloom of crime

what kind of bottle is it that never fills
regardless of the slain and horde of kills,
regardless of the river
of blood and pain and shiver
unending on the hard earth flows 'n spills?

two shadows of shoulder-height
deathly grey, in war's twilight,
each one older than the other,
Each one woven to his brother

Each one begging for morsel bite
to feed the other to last the night
each one's sorrow etched in tears
well runs dry from thousand years

of ******, cruelty, carnage unspeakable,
condensed in a year of black irredeemable,
hearts had fled, souls unreachable,
forever struck dumb, humanity irretrievable

hi there, folks
it's me here,
if i might u coax
to lend an ear

'specially those of you
who have been so kind
read my poetry through
with presence of mind

i'm on my way
for more than a day
don't know when
i'll be back again

[no, not planning
on emigrating,
i'll just be away
how long, i can't say]

can i ask you a favour
if you have the time
again to savour
my lines of rhyme

let me know
in the space below
which poems are best
stand out from the rest

and i'll thank you again
from the bottom of my heart
for being such a friend
though physically apart

'Twas the day when heart slammed shut in opening new door,
'twas the day the children cried, 'our father is no more',
'twas the day when he succumbed to other world explore,
'twas the day the nightingale sang in reaching the seashore.

On metal wings he opened flight on way of no return,
In silent song his ascent grew on path of soulful yearn,
Upon the track blazed by tears, of joy and taciturn,
To reap the years, as preachers teach, 'sow 'n you shall earn'.

But lo, the monsters dark, of shadows black engulf,
Betwixt the light and soul, a chasm and a gulf,
The energies created in acts of grave impulse
As heavenly court disown, soul in repulse.

But as the many tongues of fire reach out to ensnare,
words of pain, as English rain, drench and clear the air,
arrow o' troubled oppression, arrows of despair,
shoot the many headed devil in hellish nightmare.

And from the blackness there arises secret nest so bright,
An unknown treasure of unknown deeds, curious crown of light,
Scarce materials of gems and jewels encrusted with delight
The goodness sown, the deeds that breed, when done out of sight.

And so, ethereal winged bird opens her beak in bliss,
In rapture and in joy she sails towards the heavenly kiss,
as cries of wolves surround her, bidding her dismiss
unparalleled star, a million suns, her soul's genesis

'keep it real', he'd said
so i plunged the knife in deep.
not surprising, I ended up dead,
while others around did weep

so ended my carceral life
as shard of former self,
ground by constant strife
to fleck of dust on shelf

they wept, they cried,
they wrung their hands,
('such a pity he died,
we don't understand')

they shook their heads,
they wiped their eyes,
they wound red threads,
they looked sky-wise,

as for me,
hey! I'm free...

tried to light a candle
a flame by the window
squashed by a sandal
an ogre and its shadow

dark like the night,
where the black is bright,
in favourite haunt
his prize he taunts
his suffocating air,
of decay and blight,
in web of hair -
i've lost the fight.

lost the fight 'gainst invincible darkness
envelops all, the heart, and heartless,
***** the life with nonchalance
blocks all light from ambience

hanging, gaunt, i sink still further
hellfires cackle with glee and fervour
lick my soul with blackened tongue
from lifeless body hung and strung

if it's your pain i feel,
i'm living

crushed by heel
stronger than steel,
if i can forgive,
i'm living

hit by hand,
slipper and shoe,
crushed under stand
by bullying shrew,
if i'm surviving
i'm living

but those who delight
in offence and spite,
those who take joy
disturb to annoy,
those who take pleasure
in receipt of cringe,
needling at leisure
like dermal syringe

are dying

they see the morning light
but behold the mourner's night,
see white in Lady Moon
yet are deaf to her gentle tune,
though they breathe air of life,
their air's noxious as carver's knife,
as the shadows of twilight
that close in without respite.

no-one knows
i'm stuck in here
where no-one goes
'n no-one can hear

i've got no strength left to struggle
to dicker, bicker or to wrangle
soon a sound like geese-a-gaggle
as the rope squeezes the vagal

and then, release from veils 'n parable,
release from meanings allegorical,
from pretence, lies 'n deception,
from politic's priests of misdirection.

and then all bliss?
or a snap and a hiss
of ten thousand voices
all of my choices

haunting chasing
watching me racing
for in hell there's no escape
from black devil in hooded cape

he shook the sheet o' cotton,
                                               torn beyond repair
and aired the slept-in bed
                                               home and nighttime lair
shooed out the air that's rotten
                                               privy to his despair
and laid the warm bedspread
                                               attenuate, threadbare

he puffed up the pillow
                                           must put on braver face
and laid it down with care
                                          straightening out the lace
opened up the window
                                         looking up to space
and let in cleaner air
                                         with hope for Divine Grace

thus ushered in the new day
                                        his heart in hope and prayer
of new earth, and sunshine ray
                                        with beat of love-affair
as yesterday's forgotten,
                                        his hands carving out the air
as comes a new born day.
                                        as comes the L-rd of care.

the competition starts as you're born
its championship's not foresworn,
the gun is fired on very first morn
the finish-line reached as others mourn

on the way you'll find much to nettle
there to prove your grit 'n mettle
if moral compass's in fine fettle
you'll emerge stronger, as quenched metal

if you fall on the way, help is at hand,
that too is innate, divinely planned,
it's human nature, you'll understand,
just keep on, maintain your stand

as best can be, that's all that's required,
try not to look if you're being admired,
do as your soul is heavenly inspired,
until you're tired, all strength retired

then soul ascends with all it's acquired,
the bruises of life, as medals, attired,
and as the spirit is gently expired,
G-d whispers, 'yes, it's this I desired'.

there were maggots in the wood
that swarmed and crawled as maggots should
bark beetle and grey wood-louse
that'd made in beam their home and house

around that wood so rotten fair
was gilt and gold of glint and glare
that onlooker could only stare
and to his friends so declare:

'beauteous is yonder beam
of gold and auburn sunshine gleam'
for little did he know or dream
of rottenness that vermin teem'd

but hidden 'hind that wood o' canker
was wood so solid as steel of anchor
it had but no coat veneer
looked quite drab and dry and drear

no paint nor precious metal
did hide its strong 'n sturdy fettle
its pure wooden essence
provided its inner luminescence

so when next you spy the gentle bow,
the urbane polish and sweet 'hello',
don't be fooled to say 'wow',
not all is good that bears a glow.

manners maketh not a man,
though they may add to pleasantness,
inside can lie a trashing-can
though outside all is eloquence

it's the acts 'n speech 'n honesty
that make a true man's worth,
they give the soul its modesty,
the true gold on this earth.

is it normal to feel fright
every time i take a bite
knowing that you're in the room
scanning me as camera zoom
focused on my every action
driving me to distraction

i take a step and i'm aware
of your so very intrusive stare
i say a word and feel uneasy
often faint and slightly queasy
what was it in your history
that gave cause to this mystery?

i pity you, it cannot be easy,
always on watch, never breezy,
your scorpio moon, secretive, intense
thinking everyone's, to you, against,
to be on guard your sole defence
a pressure-cooker, simmering, incens'd

that i am the brunt of your emotion
coupled with your strange devotion
is my lot in this world i suppose
and, I must, take it on the nose,
bow my head to superior wisdom
or else, take flight? flee the system?

as playwriter put in the mouth of the Dane,
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
If 'tis nobler suffering fortune's arrow 'n chain,
Or to end them. Abscond. To quit the session?
To take flight, to act —aye, there's the pain:
For in that change i know not if i'll freshen

or as yacht flotilla set in sea tub
be drowned by circumstance as by depression
today i know i bare your snub
but what if i'm fated to public aggression
so that, when i'm free, as drinker from pub
i'll never master my self-expression

is the better part of valour discretion
or is caution best expressed by it's lack?
will i flounder in my own self-egression
or will my soul make final it's comeback?
and what of the children? part of concession?
i cannot on them turn my back...

so it's settled then, i must sail on,
be resigned to path of no return
and when summer nights have all but gone
allow myself luxurious yearn
of what might have been in life bygone
had i struck out in its sojourn

-
Based on 'Oranges and Lemons'

Lozenges from heaven
Says minister of depression

It'll cover the shillings
Deficit in our billings

That's coz I'm brainy
Says administrator daily

We're not in a ditch
Never had a glitch

We're in years o' plenty
Since year of 1920

We'll grow and grow
I've always said so

[I'm in the know
With doctorate to show]

Here comes a whopper
To chase you to bed

And here comes a scandal
To chop off your head

does cycle start with autumn
the shedding of the trees
the dark 'n naked columns
bereft of nature's leaves?

does she start the year
depressing and of drear
robbing air of cheer
staining cheek with tear?

or does it start with winter
with biting freezing cold
like a naked sprinter
plunged in icy fold

is he the start of cycle
as men and boys go idol
the sleep of all things vital
in wait for life's revival?

or does it start in spring
with pink and purple blossom
the yellow daffodil
from mama earth's *****

does spring commence the year
with laughter and loud cheer
its promise ringing clear
of goodness very near?

or does the year with summer start
with boiling sun and ripening fruit
the filling of the apple-cart
the carrot and the radish-root?

tell me now, is it summer
that starts the sprint as a runner
that with loud shot from the gunner
blurs legs as wings of hummer?

indeed, does day with night begin
with all things dark and quiet,
to clear the air, to usher in
a new day's life and riot?

or does the night end the day
as matters draw to close
the sleep of night to melt away
all stress through sweet repose?

i ask in all sincerity
don't mean to be captious
i seek wisdom and clarity
where is the point of axis?

can you point to time
in day or in year a date
that marks the start or prime?
or is beginning to rejuvenate?

is in truth the year and day
a cycle everlasting
there be no start, or end decay?
this is what i'm asking

methinks the year with spring doth start
the genesis of all things
and like the spring, doth daylight mark
life's birth on ancient wings

i remember the time it all came together,
the child that was lost, the constant pressure,
the accident on the road that sent me flying,
the watches at midnight of wailing and crying

the father had gone, the grandfather followed,
jocundity had stopped, in sadness to wallow,
the starling replaced the *** and the swallow,
and imagination raced like Hermes to Apollo

till all of a sudden i went pop
as if part of my brain had gone for the chop,
flummoxed, bewildered, fright in backdrop,
like train without breaks, i couldn't make it stop

the blackbird does as blackbird should
he sings the morn in view
and at dusk, as sun dons hood,
farewell's the day's deep blue

and though the sloth seems lazy,
a-snoozing in the tree,
a sleep that might seem crazy
to you and to me

a sloth does as sloth is,
he cannot other be,
much as the black moth is
nocturnal frequentee

during the day, he lies under
leaf or vegetation,
it's all a part of the wonder
of G-d's machination

it's just man that has a say
in how he spends his hour,
he may choose to be gay,
blithesome as a flower

or saturnine and severe,
without a hint of cheer,
though DNA may play a part
man is ruler of his heart

Tender green shoot
Carelessly crushed
Reckless, underfoot
parents that rushed

Providence, miracle,
sapling survives,
its smile lyrical
humanity revives

forever scarred
innocent childhood
memories marred
charred firewood

bloom it bears
with full apology
hiding its wares
a damaged psychology

i go outside, it's sunny,
but half a mo, that's funny,
Microsoft PC says 'rain'!
i must be dreaming again

else i'm living in alternate reality
of imagination or sweet fantasy
for the computer never lies
so who am i to say otherwise?

our lives ruled by externalism,
idle chatter and palaver,
egotism, journalism,
pave the way to world disaster.

let's tune in to inner world
morality and true goodness
let us stop being swirled 'n twirled
ruled by puffed up lewdness

give me a leader of themselves a master
before he drives world to disaster
because if himself he cannot rule
we might as well be led by mule.

glistening with mountain dew
tiptoeing in ballet shoe
from deepest black to darkest blue
she kisses sky to start anew

and from the silence, the sweetest tune,
the music of the sun and moon,
in harmony with daybreak's croon,
ripples softly to nature's boon

as Dawn spreads open her sweet wide wings
of rainbow colour and silver'd strings
and with the birds begins to sing
of ancient One, the King of kings

[Who sits on high beyond the all
Who places high beneath the small
Who sees all life, from Spring to Fall,
Who sees the little and the tall]

And as she tells her tale of old,
the sun he spins his web of gold
o'er high mountains and valley folds
delighting lacewings and marigolds

as moonlight sphere bows with grace
allowing sun to take his place
allowing sun to start his race
with redshot eyes and blushing face

and in the light of new born day
sweet Dawn in silence fades away
just like the wave that ebbs in bay
as girl and boy come out to play

unploughed soil, with pebbles 'n stone,
none witness to its prowess,
it lies there empty, all alone,
but of potential boundless

nothing ventured, nothing gained,
sleep will not build Rome,
only through action summit's attained,
and then you may dine at home

We owe fealty to ourselves,
fealty to our soul,
for therein the divinity dwells,
till death doth take its toll

What shall we do with the child so wild?
How do we tame his flame 'n fire?
What shall we do with the child so quiet?
How do we allay his disquiet?

What do we do with our child so proud,
Strutting around with a spirit unbowed?
How do we deal with our child so vile,
Our delinquent juvenile?

What shall we do with our child, the clown,
Makes his class roar but his teacher frown?
What shall we do with our child, the boaster,
Who proclaims his prowess like a theatrical poster?

Plant a kiss on the wildness,
Whilst encouraging the calm,
Praise 'n embrace the shyness,
Pointing out his bonhomme.

Esteem 'n treasure the lordliness,
Give it a place of safety,
Love 'n welcome the vileness,
Whilst training his sensitivity.

Hug and adore the childness,
Like a jewel, the swagger,
Direct them with wiseness,
With acceptance, not a dagger.

Kiss the frog and watch it change,
An angel prince devoid of rage,
The sleeping princess shall awaken,
Before you, your golden maiden.

i tip-toed forwards through time
glancing over my shoulder
swirling round in tempo rhyme
as soul would not grow older
eternity was mine to keep
though shell might break and moulder
though frame would one day fall asleep
i'd be with my Beholder

"** ** **", said the gruff he-goat,
nodding his beard and shaking his coat,
as he playfully kicked at his little kids,
his admiring doe batting her lids

"look at me", cried the peacock in glee,
as he fanned his feathers for all to see,
gave a little run to the hen opposite
with a shake of his tail, his train composite

"I am the greatest", boasted the ape,
pounding his chest 'neath woodland cape,
informing the missus who was the boss,
who's the alpha, who not to cross.

is it woman alone of all creation
who rules her roost with subjugation
that all men quiver at the turn of her nose
at her meandering moods, her highs, her lows?

more than man, she panders to fashion,
to drive her mate to love and to passion,
why are the rules here in reverse
different from the rest of the universe?

the brown female of blackbird genus
is more than happy with mate's dominus,
the moorhen brown of drab feather 'n plume
is quite content to sit in the gloom

why then does the human lady of the house
turn bumbershoot inside out
in all ways proclaim charge of her spouse
with guile or smile or rant or pout?

We wandered up the mountain-side
me and a mate of mine,
though hard-going, we kept our stride,
managing just fine

but lo, the weather, it weren't our friend,
surrounded the hills with mist,
so to our steps we had to tend,
in case a step we missed

Surreal was our surrounding,
wrapped by whitest blanket,
sight of ours confounding,
yet bow we did 'n thank it

for there is beauty in the unusual,
albeit not what we wanted,
for it made for the delusional,
as if the fells were haunted

well, on this hike that I tell of,
on place of hardest rock,
in order that i not fall off,
i slid down on me buttock.

and as extra care was needed there,
i dropped my rucksack down
on plateau beneath rock-stair
that i shouldn't break me crown

and what do you think happened next,
just wait until i tell you,
for it made my mate be mighty vexed
and caused a ballyhoo

said rucksack with his camera 'n drone
of almost two thousand quid
it started rolling off the stone
and down the scree it slid

over 'n over it somersaulted
like an egg omelette,
and i tell ye, as it vaulted,
my son, i did so fret

to my luck, there was little harm done
to his precious dear contents,
to his drone was damage none,
but his camera had glass indents

it'll cost him three hundred ton
to fix that iPod good
but what else should I have done?
I did the best I could

what think you, was this aleatory?
should I pay up all the same?
what say you of my story,
am I the one to blame?

life awoken
from rotten grain
to flourish as new paragon

world broken
can grow again
only when once truly gone

what was spoken
once thought insane
becomes world's new dawn

sun a token
of golden chain
a link to world bygone.'

world once askew
aligns anew
humanity as one

the chocolate brown, curling brew,
with ebony structure,
opens my eyes so i see you,
conscious rupture

what magic is this that stirs the mind,
bewitching spirit,
opens the eyes, gives sight to the blind
breaks speed limit

though indeed i rarely gormandise
this be my third cuppa
i need four cups before i can normalise
to last me to supper

what was that you said
a minute dear, me hearin' aid ...
your father? he's long dead
****'d in the last air-raid

aye! the war, the blitz
scared us out of our wits
what's that you say?
do i remember D-day?

' Course I do, remember it good,
like the rations, the stamps for food,
come again, my sweet, me hearing's bad,
aye, they got him alright, your granddad

orange-carts for seats we had in them days,
yer uncle, a milkman, would bring home his wage,
two shillin' a week, was considered good,
well, it'd keep us in bread and yer fire-wood

were we happy, you ask?
don't make me laugh,
with a pint and a half
beer in the cask

there was nought to keep our spirits down,
think o' the joy when I found a half-crown,
spent on baccy my pipe for the puffin',
them were the days, we didn't lack nuffin'.

he took the mike
became inspired
crowds hanging
on every word

his appetite spiked
'i'm being admired'
by looks wide-eyed
of human herd

as hypnotised,
mesmerised,
all statement accepted
without a question

thus voluble windbag
in adulation
believes own narrative,
i'm god of one nation.

I dip my quill
Into the ink
And wait for it to write,
Thought starts flowing,
Letters appear,
As sweet fire ignites.

Letter begets word,
And word - image,
Creating worlds old and new,
Magic of words
Combines with mind
Enchant you as voodoo.

From my mind,
The words flow,
Guided by rhythm 'n tempo,
Through my arm,
Into a pen,
Rising to a crescendo.

Like musical notes
There is a beat,
A tune the poet hears,
With dexterity
He arranges
Sweet music for your ears.

Quill, quite dry,
I let it rest,
Peruse rhyme manifest,
Mind finds pleasure
To read at leisure,
And sweet rhyme ingest.

Love is the smile,
The warmth in my *****,
As I hug my child
To his presence succumb.

Love is the crying,
The longing for father,
On his death-bed dying,
Face softer and calmer.

Love is the tea
I make for my wife,
The nod, 'I agree',
To avoid her strife.

Love is the worm
Fed to chick 'n nestling,
Grubs as they squirm
Into hungry fledgling.

Love is the strokes
Of artist on canvas,
The mellow sweet notes
Of musical stanzas.

Love is the cry
Of soul in prayer,
The longing eye,
The hot, sweet tear.

Love is the beat of butterfly wing,
The buzz of the bee with honey and sting,
Love is the heat of summer and spring,
Love is the language of Elusive King.