the hills breathe verselets high and low
in jigsaw lochans of liquid sky
lure me back to where I want to go
back to the land where poems lie

clouds turn mountains into words
that sing unto the morning sky
and a faintly scattered beach of birds
call out to me where poems lie

four seasons lie forever stranded
await some verse to unlock the spry
in a song that never ended
in beautiful land where poems lie

the setting sun says that all is well
as rhythmic rivers join the cry
of pounding waves of sand and shell
in the Motherland .. where poems lie!

The *** Gardeners there were twelve in all. Hurrah! Hurrah!
everyone a Hero and answered the call. Hurrah! Celagh!
they were going out to war to fight the ***
soon be back as Heroes when the work is done
so get the Cheer Leaders ready...
the *** Gardeners are coming home

poison gas threatened from afar. Hurrah! Hurrah!
Soon be back as Heroes and first at the bar. Hurrah! Celagh!
they climbed over the top of the fields of fire
and complex networks of barbed wire
so get the fireworks ready
the *** Gardeners are coming home

deadlocked enemies on the Western line. Hurrah! Hurrah!
their bodies were earth their hands were slime. Hurrah! Celagh!
they didn't have time to take a breath
out of duty to the King they laughed at death
so get the flagpoles ready
the *** Gardeners are coming home

specialist bombers of an infantry platoon. Hurrah! Hurrah!
our Heroes longed to be home so soon. Hurrah! Celagh!
overhead shellfire scared them out their wits
dropped in their trench and blew them all to bits
so get the coffins ready...
the *** Gardeners are coming home.

remember when you          we set out towards Arkle
started out

you were both young         the sun shone and the air
and a little naive                  was sweet

you got your first house      we made easy work of
                                                   reaching the summit

you made it your home       the view poitively exploded
                                                  in scale

then children came along   but once on the ridge the wind
                                                  picked up

life became a little  more     and walking became more
complexed                                complicated

but you held their hands      we had to hold on to every rock

yet each decision carried      concentration was paramount
a lot of weight        

as you raised them with         every decision mattered
heart and soul

ironically they weren't
children long                            eventually the wind subsided

they had established their
own identities                           and we wended our way back down

before long they had      
their own lives                          to enjoy the pleasant walk back
                                                      to the road

then you look back on life's
long road and ask yourself?   as we look back to the castellated
                                                     ­  ridge so high and way back in
                                                       the distance

did we really raise a family?   we ask, were we really up there?

It all seems so long ago now.     It all seem so far away now.

I knew a Girl once
I was only a child
She was a great friend
We got on so well
We sought each other out in the playground
We played all sorts of children's games
I invited her to my party
I assumed she would come
I dont know why she didn't show
Or why it seemed to cause such a stir amongst grown ups
She moved soon after
I never saw her again
I was very sad
I often wondered why she never came
I still remember taking the invitation to her house
I went with my Mum
Her Father answered the door
A very big friendly man
With a great big Jamaican smile!

the circles still expand...but the fish has gone

people come people go
there it hangs
in a fusty old Charity shop
above a box of battered old LP's.
It was just a normal Saturday afternoon
people come people go

A young man tries it on
smiles as he looks in the mirror
gets the nod of approval from his wife.
His shirt is tucked in, so too his collar
there is no scent of whisky mingled with tobacco
on his breath,
yet he has the charisma of an Easter island statue
compared to the person who had it before
but he's gone now...
like the fish.