head buried deep
she sits and weeps

for soul bereft
for all have left

no twitter of bird,
no song is heard,

her streets devoid
of life destroyed

no children's laughter
on morn thereafter

the enemy's plunder
with fire and thunder

extinguished all
from big to small

no lover's call
no baby's crawl

no longer teens
stroll her greens

groom and bride
starved and died

her sages skilled
slain 'n killed

the pure and chaste
lie in waste

young and old
lie still and cold

her elders' gate
lies desolate

for thousand years
she weeped her tears

yearned that Time
return her prime

her constant yearn
her child's return

until one day
one light ray

a hint of dawn
as shyest fawn

began to shimmer
the smallest glimmer

it waxed and grew
as if anew

a people reborn
though tired 'n torn

from many-a-moon
scattered and strewn

from past tragic
as if by magic

from east and west
returned to nest

as sun arose
from deep repose

and as a lion
with muscle of iron

awoke from slumber
as beyond number

voices of joy
of girl and boy

played in her street
with hearts abeat

farms with lanes
fields and plains

full again
of wine 'n grain

as it would seem
a nation's dream

had come alive
to grow and thrive

yet true spirit
virtue 'n merit

life-force and soul
her aim and goal

her vision divine
her G-d's recline

the blood of her veins
in saints' remains

appeared still locked
as scorners mocked

as though the sun
were playing a pun

as though its light
though white and bright

was as the dusk
a mere husk

a shell to fruit
that lay still mute

that yet to grow
from grey shadow

had yet to rise
from dark disguise

thus she lies
in humble guise

her sore eyes
scan the skies

now more awake
as chains off-shake

she still awaits
her lover's gait

she says, I know
it's not long to go

I sense he's near
he'll soon appear

my love, my dear,
will soon be here

sunrise taps the ground
rays tingle on my skin
warm the air around
fresh and palpitating

sunset in red sky
sunrays kiss goodbye
sinking into the sea
of dark and mystery

a drop of ink on parchment
lines spreading black on white
so the soul in flesh apartment
spreads its rays in black of night

Autumn brushed her golden hair
curling locks of auburn-red
as she shed the gold 'n fair
as she donned her white to wed

she swirled around for me to see
the colours cascade, as waves of sea,
her rain of auric crimson leaves
over hay and golden sheaves

and round about, upon the ground,
a scattered patchwork of earth's finest
clothes of copper, bronze 'n browns,
as befit her regnant highness

weathered skin of palest alabaster
with hints o' coral hue,
glistening dew on whitest plaster,
as cream of marbled statue

as she shed her harvest raiment
stark beauty in the sky
heady jasmine and cider scent
betray her unclad thigh

and he waited, bided time,
with snow and crystal'd silver
bedecking ice-king in his prime
still and patient Winter

wrapped himself in single sheet
of luminous, crystalline ice,
as he laid his ivory feet
on mount of edelweiss

for Autumn, she had melted
'fore his numinous gelidity
invisible she lay pelted
'neath his averous cupidity

he tapped his toe in single tone
in beat of coldest shiver
as in the moonlight, there alone
shot arrows from his quiver

darts of hail and blustering wind
his army of projectiles
hid benevolence as he grin'd
a warm, pulsating smile

for now sweet earth, beneath her blanket
of whitest, softest snow,
giveth forth roots for sumptuous banquet
sun shines on afterglow

there's music, golden melody,
that twinkles, in breathless revelry
that eclipses sweetest heavenly
celestial, ethereal, glorious company

it has no tune nor has it harmony
it jars the ears, is out of key,
but it is sweeter than sugared tea,
and formed the world in void cavity

it's name is laughter, the smile of glee,
it's voice is the voice o' hilarity,
it bears eternal testimony
imperfect's perfection o' first degree

air whispers in the vacant places
"speak to me", I said,
"speak to me in your chases,
in your tiptoes as you tread."

I'm speaking, can't you hear
the golden letters in the air,
when the sky is lucid clear,
longing, waiting, for your prayer,

I'm the dance on quivering leaf,
I'm in silent, sweet motif,
I'm in soft, crepuscular light,
I'm the velvet of the night.

Knock, knock! - 'WHO'S THERE?!',
{I fairly shouted, I do declare,
but then I cowered back, quivering in my chair
all a-shiver like a shawl o' prayer,
for there arose outta thin air
sepulchral aura everywhere,
from eyes blood-red, demonic glare,
to sallow skin and pasty hair,
a curious charisma that bade 'beware!'}

ooh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare
{here bowed he low with flourish and flair}
I've been sending you messages all through the year,
all winks 'n hints that I'm to appear,

{I'd have mustered strength then 'n there,
bellowed, "I adjure you, spirit of air,
be thee fiend, or phantom fair,
daytime vision or strange nightmare,
get thee hither to place elsewhere!", (- or "banish thee I to world nether!")
but dread demeanor 'n awesome stare
caught my tongue; I could not dare}

Come on, now, don't start to fret,
nothing's over - well, not quite yet!
{he masked a chuckle that gave me a turn,
then continued nonchalant with little concern}

hmm, you've been dilatory all your life,
i don't expect anything better now,
I've brought me tool, me carving-knife,
brandishing grandiose blade before my brow

{then in undertone I could scarcely hear,
whispered grinning into my ear,}
don't take offense, don't take umbrage,
all it takes is the slightest scritch!

'Wow, what a fine specimen, a work-of-art',
I said loudly, trying to sound smart,
'looks the epitome of a cutlass' blade.
Bet that can cut through man or shade!'

Why, of-course it can! in jaunty tone
death replied (with air of sensibility),
there's well nigh nowt that this can't own,
here held he it high for me to see

as off he went, waxing vociferous,
recounting tales o' strength so vigorous,
unending litany of victims passed,
until for breath paused he at last

well, the rest, say they, is history,
as i made rash grab for immutable edge
and, unabashed, lopped his belfry,
fell'd with one swoop, i do thee pledge!

i tell a tale of misery
a tale that must be told
a part of human history
of men whose hearts were cold

they dressed in human clothing
that hid inhuman loathing
urbane and winsome smile
that veiled poisoned bile

one day the sun forgot to rise
as thousand men and women
the young, the old, the daft, the wise
were led on evil mission

made to march on gravestone
away from home and house
this people, flesh and bone
victim of cruelest chouse

no doubt there were the children
who knew not where they go
knew not how much a villain
upon this earth could grow

and pushed and shoved upon the ground
the matriarch of year threescore
who every day would knead and pound
the bread for all the poor

towards the forest's warning frame
these starving hordes were forced
as mounted beasts grinned at their game
with gunshot force endorsed

betwixt the dumbest trees
who held their heads aloof
in winter's freezing breeze
as hungry dogs cried woof

three ditches long and wide
were hacked out in the frost
and 'fore the thousands died
into thence were tossed

no doubt they'd left their clothing
in a pile so neat
as bodies decomposing
as souls their Maker meet

the shots rang out in cold air
spelt death and dark despair
as skittles to abyss
as spirit to God's kiss

the crying groans were heard long after
as night threw on its gown
like bodies swinging from the rafter
like ghosts around the town

the devil's fiendish laughter
sought this world to drown
in this and in hereafter
he'd knocked off G-dly crown

beyond this world of make-believe -
far above this world of sorrow -
where the hearts of grown men grieve
blind to see the hope of morrow

in green plains, in the meadow
where the rivers four do meet
where the sun shines, source of shadow,
drenching yellow fields of wheat

there i met my true beloved
saw him with the eyes that see
saw him bless a world corroded
bless a race that's lost at sea

and there i stumbled 'pon the sighing
'pon the tears that bitter be
salty tears of his crying
flowing to a deep blue sea

there they mingled and embraced
with the tears of the dying,
the faults of man, of souls debased,
souls of men that lost hope trying.

kissed those tears that bitter be,
became as one in bluest sea,
carried those souls in his embrace,
carried those souls to highest place

to the palace of Messiah
soared distillate of pariah
turned from darker than the night
sweetened to the brightest light

as the essence of omnipresent
turned the bitterness evanescent
turned the bitterness opalescent
the shine of sun in moon-like crescent

blue velvet
eternal sea
royal curtain
'I am that be'.

devil incarnate
shatters the peace
muscle of hate
venom'd release

scarlet tears
human blood
Ancient of Years
buried in mud

metal and powder
pierce the external
but no earthly power
can stop the eternal

for yet from chagrin
shall salvation sprout
as new world begins
and old world will out.

and so i fell
into an abyss
far away
from my soul's bliss
far from His
arduous Kiss
into a pit that i had dug
into a darkness that i had fashioned
into place of devil's laughter
of no floor, no wall or rafter,
place o' nothingness, save deepest black
to salve soft spirit's yearnings' lack
for 'neath the fall was emptiness,
wilderness of stealthiness,
the bivouac of the soul
flapped with wraps more black than coal,
void of form and void of courage,
void of charm of spirit's marriage,
yet like the dimpl'd glow of youth,
the glistening white of false front tooth,
the empty love of harlot's booth,
it blinds my eyes to wisdom's sooth.

a million cries in one tear
dropped into a yawning crevice
take your time to lend an ear
or else be part of that abyss

a million cries in one tear
that formed the oceans long ago
as men blind in life career
its waters rush to and fro

in its movement hides a sigh
a yen for haven long ago
when all was one, the heavens high
with dust and creatures down below

that ocean's tides, the ebb and flow,
is yearning for that status quo
can still be heard in your heart
so still a moment, be a part

of that oneness, spirit that's singing
proclaiming plainly, loud and clear
of those million cries still pinning
to join together in that One big tear.

in the shadow
of a rainbow
through the prism of divine
in the soft light
by the window
sits a woman in her shrine

there she paints
among the saints
that like the sun and stars do shine
in the night
when all is faint
her expression of divine

free of slander
golden candour
gives her voice to yearning pine
shining bright
as shining amber
caught in moment crystalline

Covid 19 they called it,
Coronavirus' latest hit,
Through air 'n breath contracted,
Through touch 'n cough, sneeze 'n spit.

The plague it swept humanity
Plucked sweet lives of too many,
And suddenly, respite for yee,
Approved vaccines to keep us healthy.

They flashed the headlines with its news,
It beat Trump's company out the pews,
But then the naysayers proclaimed their views,
"It'll **** you; it's a public ruse!".

"It'll change your DNA", they said,
"Bill Gates is out to make you dead",
They came fast, those prophets of dread,
On social sites and media threads.

I heard it from son's father-in-law,
I heard it in the streets galore,
I heard it in God's Name swore,
In chemist-shop and grocery store.

Was it coincidence that the majority
Of those cynics said no to authority,
Disagreed with statistic, with facts in their face,
With death that had decimated the human race?

Might it be that the deniers
Were the real death-suppliers
They that spread the false fires
With their rumours and coloured flyers?

So I went online and booked my appointment
For a jab by the NHS and a dab with ointment,
I'll roll up my sleeve, I'll savour the moment,
I've made my decision, I'll have my enjoyment.

And with the injection, I'll fight disappointment
The confusion sown, the anxiety poignant,
I'll do my bit with the needle's deployment,
It's the ayes that have it, not your street-clairvoyant.

Silent boy,
Face, melancholy,
Your brooding eyes
Tell a story.

Tell me why yon golden tears
Course a cherub's cheeks?
Why the sorrow of four-score years
Plows velvet in coarse creeks?

Sweet boy, speak out,
Tell us your pain,
What your eyes have seen,
Your heart, its bane?

The child, he looked,
His eyes, unseeing.
His soul abrooked
Torment in being.

'My father', he whispered,
'My father', he said.
'My father', he whimpered,
'My father . . .  he's dead'.

i remember my grandfather
white beard 'n saintly,
soft of countenance,
smiling faintly

his grandpa passed early,
he, an unborn babe -
but his grandfather saw his,
Grand Rebbe of Ropshits.

So goes back a chain,
passing years, time immemorial
Rashi, from Rabbi o' Mainz
from line of Judaic kings' inaugural
Up Time's jugular veins
to royalty, King David's arboreal

So, surely, will come a time
generations hence'll form a line
of men and women so sublime
and i amongst them?

It gives me fright,
makes me ponder
i have no right
to stand, to maunder,
'mongst such august
gold stardust,
a link betwixt
new souls untold
and G-d-transfixed
prophets of old

and yet, as scion,
i'm more than a tie
between earlier aeon
of angels on high

of great lions
attached to the Sky
giants of Zion
who rode on high

and offspring hence
of future ages
babes of innocence
and learned sages

i am to serve
as loyal transmitter
a royal nerve
of heavenly glitter

the people, in jostle,
of divers emotion,
eddied by current,
eternal motion,

this one pushing a nascent life,
this one pushed by trouble and strife,
this one sniffing his way to heaven,
this one sniveling twix six or seven,
this one's nose high up in the air,
this one's tripping with jazz a-blare

discordant melody that rocks the earth
surrounds one's life from home and hearth

happy's the one who attaches to spirit,
thinks instead of repeating like parrot,
material of life to disinherit,
dissolves the chains, the collar of garrote.

"daddy's dying",
what did he mean?
daddies don't die!
don't be obscene

i looked at my father
so thin and so drawn
but he smiled with laughter
eyes like the dawn

but the dawn never came
for those smiling eyes
as G-d came to claim
his soul for the skies

we seldom appreciate
what we have or we own
until it's too late
and we're left all alone

the night began with revelry
with joy, with song, with dance,
the choir sang sweet melody,
the rabbis in sweet trance,
the flames leapt high towards the sky
as roundabout advanced
the voices of a myriad sighs
soul's spirit-flame enhanced

but lo, a tragedy on the way,
ere long begun the day,
as hundred thousand men would sway
towards enchanted arched gateway
a hundred thousand men o' ardor,
there to bargain and to barter
with heaven's lore and law of order,
squashed against the barrier border

the lights became their funeral lamps
leading groups of mourners
the cave became where death encamps
'stead praying saints in corners
and all about the yell and shout
'stead praise from G-d's adorners
tears and cries from hearts worn out
as carrion for the scorners

The smoky shadows prance and sway,
Voices rise, as incense in the air,
Minds fence, ideas clashing, debate sparking,
Every word a dagger's whispered mark
As disputatious souls dance through rhetoric
Seeking truth in dialectic duel.

in the beginning was a dot
and the dot begat a line,
dot and line, letter begot
and letter became a sign

from the sign, a word appeared
in that word, laid hidden sign,
Through sign, letter, line, dot disappeared
But dot's still there, clandestine.

in the beginning there was no time
No-time spoke, begetting time,
and from the time, there awoke,
a turning wheel, axle and spoke.

In that wheel was ascent, descent,
north and south and east and west
but in the centre of gyration
was place of nothingness, of no station.

And in that space there was No-time
Who was the prime but had no prime
Who was the beginning of the dot
The dot that is in all, and all begot.

as the waves of the sea
hitting wharf rhythmically
as the suckling of the babe
past midnight hour on astrolabe
is the cooing of the dove
in the silence of alcove

like the call of the cuckoo
as sweet spring breaks forth anew
as the hoot of tawny owl
'midst the canine's nightly howl
is the cooing of the dove
in the silence of alcove

as an angel drawing near
whispering secrets in my ear
as the mysteries of world beyond
juxtaposed to burning pond
is the cooing of my dove
in the silence of alcove

birds stopped their twitter,
grasshoppers, their chitter,
dragonflies, their mating,
air was ... anticipating,

'twas as if the world was slowing,
as the silence thickened,
'twas as if the gods were showing
as the music quickened

as darkness edged onto the stage,
spread its lonely wings,
as silver orb had come of age,
bit into the fiery ring.

favoured man with its fright,
savoured us with its blight,
age-old omen not lost its bite,
silver enchantment of the night

i saw their edifices, beautiful structures,
and gave a sigh of despair,
i'll never be able to manufacture
monuments of such flair

i felt a tap, tug on my sleeve
looked down on wizened man
said he, asmile, 'please believe
your skill to do what you can.'

'each day a brick you can lay
upon the ****** ground,
with dedication, day-by-day,
you'll have built compound'

'a base to build higher still,
one brick at a time,
until there rises upon the hill
a place you can call heim.'

'an edifice of your making
of which you can be proud
an edifice that's breathtaking,
soul-deep and soul-profound.'

its girth was wide five hundred years
its arms stretched up to the skies
beneath its branches a world appears
with beasts and fish and flies

it brought succour for millions,
the strangers and civilians,
beneath its shade green grass blades
'twixt bluebells in the glade

its succulence gave cornucopia
luxurious utopia
full fruits of every variety
all bursting with vitality

fresh water flowed beneath its boughs
pure and sweet and clear
it quenched the thirst of young and old,
the far-flung and the near

and in its trunk lay secret gold,
a sawdust to be prized,
it housed the life of worlds untold,
within its bark disguised

one day with saw black hooded man
made one nick, a small 'un,
and from the midst of golden wood
flowed nectar bright and good

and man begot a friend
till nick became a chasm,
as they carried on the trend
with cold enthusiasm

from round about came small voice
telling them to quit
while they still had the choice
but they couldn't care a whit

it's only a small mark
we're making in the bark,
this tree will stand forever
no need to stop endeavour

and each year they sawed deeper
into the depths of tree
until one day they saw the reaper
rubbing hands with glee

with horror they did jump away
away from living tree
but now the trunk did wave and sway
it teetered dangerously

we'll do no more, we'll stop the cut,
they cried out in effusion,
but the case was closed, closed and shut
with no other conclusion

the tree came crashing down,
its leaves and boughs and branches,
no more did it wear its crown
no more its fruits advances

and darkness spread over the land
desolation for five hundred years,
abject misery fanned by hand
of those who cry no tears

Aromas sweet of sherbet smell
Lily-o'-vale softest parget
Among the lightest blue harebells
Danced the fairies on lilac carpet

As river-current's shimmering wave
Shafts of golden sunlight
Bewitched the purple feys' enclave
Of pixies, elves and sprite

Dappled sun in woodland dell
Afore the hours o' nighttime fell
Like magic chessboard o' bluebell
'Twas the place the little folk dwell

In rolls of sky-blue tapestries
Checkered piebald mauve
Beneath the oak and hazel trees
'Mongst herb-robert 'n foxglove

There dwelt the wood-nymph fairie queen
With yellow hair and gown of green
Eyes dark-black and lofty mien
Spoke of things hidden, unforeseen.

She whispered as the seashell talks
As the soft tread of lovers' walks
As the windswept Dover chalks
As the wings of buzzard hawks.

There she taught the secret tune
Of eternal life, nature's boon,
'Twas the song of midnight moon
Whitest sphere of silver strewn

It was the song of constant yearning
Constant running and returning
She said it kept the earth-sphere turning
'Twas the secret of sages learning.

Then as the twilight spread its shadows
As the creeping water primrose
As the buttercup o' green meadows
As the dying in death's throes

Then I heard no more her whisper
Perhaps it was the water stream
Or the ripple of the river
Livened by the white moonbeam.

there was an old temple of Thai
whose monks just wanted to get high
so they got hooked on meths
but were exposed through their breaths
so they all bid their temple good-bye

now off they all went to rehab
to cure them of the sniff and the jab
but their bright robes and habit
of the monks and their abbot
made the inmates think they'd gone mad

"we're seeing orange" they said to the quack,
who put down his bottle of Jack,
said he, rather tight,
"i think you are right,
but the bottle is better than crack".

dry as a beggar's over-parched throat
as an over-burnt piece of blackened rye-toast
as the golden sand in Sahara roast
was the air o' the day of the black death-note

as the air crackled with the laughter of death
and claimed the millions as it left bereft
daughters of the earth their heart a-cleft
from the breath of the devil with the head of Macbeth

Houses, untenable, ditched searing memories,
Turned sarcophagi from life and its treasuries
Scorched skeletons of sagas and histories,
Of family feuds, celebrations and victories,
Of open secrets and whispered mysteries,

Years of toil blest by gold sunbeams,
The laughter of babes and the giggle of teens,
Now fractured windows and ash blackened beams,
Skeletal remains of life and its dreams.

Utterly invisible,
There is a Gown He wears,
Through that Gown He's visible,
To those who are aware...

That Gown reflects His Name,
Hidden in life's affairs,
Through It the world became,
Through It He hears your prayers.

Oh, the grand old Duke of York
He lost his right to the crown
he did something he didn't do
[woops!] and dropped his trousers down

And when they were up, they were up
And when they were down, they were down
And when they were only half-way up
They were neither up nor down

Oh, the grand old Duke of York
He eyed another's skirts
He did something he didn't do
And couldn't get rid of the dirt

And when they were up, they were up
And when they were down, they were down
And when they were only half-way up
They were neither up nor down

Oh, the grand old Duke of York
He lost 40 million crown
he met someone he never met
And let his country down

And when they were up, they were up
And when they were down, they were down
And when they were only half-way up
They were neither up nor down

Yes, the grand old Duke of York
He hid in his mother's skirts
When he did something he didn't do
And couldn't get rid of the dirt

Yay, that grand old Duke of York
He hired the best law men
He marched them up to the top of the hill
And he marched them down again

And when they were up, they were up
And when they were down, they were down
And when they were only half-way up
They were neither up nor down

Yes, that grand old Duke of York,
He had 10 million quid.
He gave it to someone he never met,
For something he never did.

[all together now:]
And when they were up, they were up
And when they were down, they were down
And when they were only half-way up
They were neither up nor down

Oh, the grand old Duke of York
Caught with royal pants down
When he did something he didn't do
And lost his right to the crown

And when they were up, they were up
And when they were down, they were down
And when they were only half-way up
They were neither up nor down

Silent, grey,
Memories call,
Bodies decay,
Spirits enthral.

Forest of stones,
Soldiers *****,
Markers of bones
Command respect.

Here, a soul,
In shadow, hides,
Tries to console
Young widow-bride.

There, a spirit,
of little merit,
dallies in grit,
whit to inherit.

Sobbing, a child
Kneels by her father,
Lips that once smiled
Buried before her.

Love-blind groom
Aches for his partner
Asleep in her tomb,
Asleep to his ardour.

Sighing tears,
Wind and rain,
Love and fear
Entwine the twain.

And gravel and grass
Watch from afar
as death and life dance
with bid, 'au revoir'.

Between a rock and a hard place you can find
A blessing in disguise of the challenging kind,
As every cloud has a silver lining (so I'm told),
Go chase the rainbows and the pots o' gold.

At the end of the day, hit the ground running,
Think out of the box, be ever so stunning,
Touch base and break the glass-ceiling,
Push the envelope, leave others reeling.

But throwing 'em 'neath the bus is an ignoble act,
And actions speak louder than words (-that's a fact),
So by all means make lemonade when life gives you lemons,
But don't use folks as step-stones to embrace your demons.

Better late than never, they always say,
But it is what it is, come what may.
Now the ball's in your court: take it to the next level,
In this game of clichés, we're quite the devil.

wet eyes a-twinkle with unshed tears
from northern wind's raining spears
grazed silhouette of solitary deer
antlers branching as tree austere

then, a hind of tan and grey
tiptoed forth from underlay
followed close by calves to play
'pon the shadow'd bracken'd brae.

and as the deer midst berries bent
in sweet paradise of wet pine scent
in nature's naked, raw element,
sharp rustle was heard, clear, evident

"soft!", cried hart, "who goes there?"
all looked, still, statues a-scare,
"'tis but me", grinned the hare,
his nose a-twitching in the air.

"Well, welcome, then, my good ol' friend",
said he with nuzzle on nose'd front-end,
"I know I can on you depend
those sharp ears to apprehend"

"smallest hindrance to our meet convivial,
for sound though minor be not trivial,
thus we may enjoy our meal
as our young frolic by mother's heel."

As my legs brushed the bulrush,
As my hairs bristled fibres,
Long and slender brushed they by me,
As I traversed the golden whiteness,
As I crunched the golden snow,
Glistening, shining, in the spring sun,
As the maiden in her bride-gown,
As the delicate, trailing mayflower,
Sparkling white on the prairie,
Vellum soft 'neath scribe's beard,
Flowing like the ocean river,
Speckled grey as starlight clusters,
As the feathers of the starlings,
As the grey of children starving,
There he stoked the strokes of blackness,
Stroking, drawing, marking, scribing,
Drawing dells of deepest darkness,
Marking summits of sweet sharpness,
'Midst the valleys of butter-yellow,
Midst the velvet, whispering whiteness,
Midst the plains of swaying wheat-corn,
Coursed those rivers of ink-black starkness,
Dark as the midnight in icy winter,
Dark as the secrets of youngest maiden,
Dark as the cravings of inner madness,
Black as the heart of yellow sunflowers,
Black as the eyes of hater's glower,
I, the housefly, witnessed these secrets,
With my eyes composed of myriads,
With my senses known to no-one,
With my tender tip-toe foot-pads,
As I tread the path of no-man,
As I licked those tender fibres,
As I dallied 'neath the scriber,
As I fled my pad of scribes,
As I circled the ocean tides.

waxen ivy, leaves verdurous
wind around the succulent shoot
cleaving as malignant virus
sinking deep parasitic root

as star heliacal, it makes its debut
with innocence and propriety,
growing flexuous in situ
of sun maiden of society

but as incessant circumpolar
star of eternal reign
it is stronger than star solar
sun orb of yon kingly train

round soft bark o' younger sapling
twists 'n weaves the strangling twine,
hand-to-hand contestants grappling
with hate and love, the two combine

sapping strength, convolvulus curls
its lips, agape in poison'd glee
as from its midst, river pearls,
satin bells in filigree

the sweetest blooms of ivory,
tender as a fairy's wings,
with splash of pink-toned livery
as courtiers of ancient kings

sweet reminder of beauteous nature,
hand that guides all things that are,
from thickest trunk to slend filature,
from snow crystal to morning star

i bend my ear to the cackle
of conceited, binding ****,
as whining howl of the jackal
standing over carrion feed

within i see the empty crackle,
hollowness and selfish need
to capture others in its shackle
to feel worthy in life's stampede

as those who love to feed off others
are starved of own self-worth,
and thus they need life another's
to live on G-d's good earth

There's a mystery beneath the ground,
beneath the rocks and singing brook,
a screaming of no sound,
sealed letters, an unread book.

G-d the soul You put in me is pure
planted in a grave it rattles cages
beats against the stifling lure
Deep within its crying rages.

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.

there was a man from Tunbridge Wells
who gave off the most offensive smell
friend and foe
told him so
"go away! you smell like *!"

so this man of whom i tell,
the man from Tunbridge Wells,
he took a shower
till he smelt like a flower
and went off to climb the fells

but when he returned from his hike,
he smelt like haddock and pike,
said he, "what's the point
o' me washing me joints?
I'll smell like I ***-well like!"

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

Said nettle to butterfly, 'welcome back!'
'i remember you when you were black,
bushy and wrinkled, fat and hairy!
hardly a month since last you fed on me!'

'bushy and fat? don't be ridiculous!'
snorted Painted Lady of colouring meticulous,
'but what can one expect of insolence infamous,
just like your hairs, pointy and venomous!'

'don't be so hoity, my young lady',
hummed Urtica dioica, 'I'm not so shady',
'you, on the other hand, have changed your look,
you're like a chameleon or shifty crook!'

'Don't nettle me', said m'lady blushing,
'i'll not be accused of guile or bluffing,
it's you that ought to be of yerself ashamed,
hiding burning-needles in hairs untamed!'

'Each to their own', shrugged the burn-****,
'Don't ask anyone to touch me Harris tweed,
but i'm here for you, to meet your need,
i give you food, I help you breed'.

The butterfly appeared though not to hear,
Engrossed with the nettle's front 'n rear,
Her abdomen bent, spiracles as bow,
She laid her young children, her seed to grow.

'It's not too late, my little young'un,
a little courtesy and manners to learn,
be nice to he who gives you good turn,
'cos it's your eggs i do discern

on underside of my green leaves,
the least you can do is say "how d'you do"',
but butterfly had gone, as succulent beeves
to little brown wren, in beak as he flew.