The snow lay crisply on the sill
And gripped the windowpane.
A coach and horses scurried by
Slowly, slithering down the lane.

Beneath the gas light in the gloom
A group of choirboys sang.
‘Ding **** merrily on high’,
And all the church bells rang.

Whilst in his bedroom, up above,
A little schoolboy lay.
He’d hung his stockings on the posts
And he dreamed of Christmas day.

And on his bed an old greatcoat
Around his neck held tight,
And on his feet a rag knot rug
To warm him through the night.

His water bottle at his chest
Had now become quite cold.
But in his mind the warm thoughts raced
Of many stories told.

His Mom and Dad below him sat
Less warmly by a candle,
And worried how to pay the rent
Thus to avoid a scandal.

‘But one things sure’, his old mom said.
‘This year may be our last,
So we’ll do all that we can do
To make it better than the last.

‘Remember to be quiet’, she said.
‘Don’t wake my baby boy’.
Here’s an orange, apple and monkey nuts
And a little wooden toy’.

His Father crept into his room
And by his stockings knelt.
He slowly placed inside the gifts
Then in his waistcoat felt.

A tiny farthing in his hand
And in his eye a tear.
He gently pushed it with the rest,
Then to his boy drew near.

‘If only I could give you more,
Then Son I surely would.
For if it were the only thing to give
Then I would give my blood.

His Son lay there without a care,
A smile upon his face.
He kissed him gently on the cheek
And left without a trace.

Then slowly creeping across the hills
And softly clipping trees.
An orange globe of Christmas cheer
Began the frost to tease.

Wiping sleep out of his bleary eyes
And awakening to the cold.
Quickly rummaging into the socks
Clutched a farthing as if gold.

A little boy whose Christmas dreams
So simply had been blessed.
Sang a little Christmas song
And rapidly got dressed.

Each breath he breathed froze in the air.
His tiny hands and feet were frozen.
His mind already at the shop
Espied the sweets he chosen.

Liquorice wood and kali dabs
Pink sugar candied mice.
The little journey down the lane
And sliding on the ice.

His mom and Dad they saw his glee,
Forgot their sorry states.
At least upon this Holy day
They’d have food upon their plates

My boot on the stone,
Lace is stubborn black.

Greatcoat collar whips grey -
Joins sky.

A flat day for colours,
Boot on stone,
Stone is dim,
Dim like sky,
Sky grey.

Stubborn black won’t knot -
But why, it won’t say.

I spent hours walking, trying to thumb a lift, no one stopped. Near Slough, I caught the last bus going in my direction- at least it gave my feet a break- but not for long. In the early hours, near Marlborough I saw a car approaching, it's headlights cutting through the darkness along the otherwise unlit road.
It was two o 'clock in the morning and  my weary spirits rose as the car came to a halt beside me. It was a Police car! The two policemen questioned me, checked my twelve fifty, (identity card) rummaged through my belongings and then drove off, leaving me to continue alone in total darkness.
At six thirty in the morning a motor cycle roared up and stopped beside me. He wore an airman's greatcoat! "Where are you heading for mate."
"Innsworth I replied hopefully. "Me too, jump on if you want!" I did want, desperately! I arrived on camp twenty minutes late at eight twenty,  They were nearly finished kitting out, I just made it in time. "Where were you when I called the C's.?" The sergeant asked. " I could have been in the loo"
I didn't sound too convincing but he let it go. "Take off your blue uniform and put this on, then bring your blues back here." I was looking at tropical kit. "There must be some mistake. I am going to the second TAF in Germany."  (The Second Tactical Air force.)
The sergeant grinned. "You and six hundred others, you can get sorted out when you get there." I did what I was told and changed my clothes, and handed in my blues. There was quite a buzz in the accommodation block, Harry came to meet me. "What a monumental cockup! Harry said grinning. It must be ****** hot in Germany, that's all I can say! I spent the rest of the day resting my blistered feet, we were flying out tomorrow. I expected to fly from RAF Lyneham,  in a Dehavilland Comet but I should have known better, life was never that simple! To be continued.

Grey is the gentle night sky on a moonlit night
A small scurrying field mouse
A soldiers greatcoat as he runs through a trench

Grey is the gentle lake in twilights sight

Grey is the color of the last heartbeat

Grey sounds like the feathers of an Owl
Without sound as it sails to its prey
Without sound it steals its last heartbeat

Grey is the sound of the gallows
The last struggle

Grey feels like soft velvet
A rabbits Fur
The feeling of sweet loves embrace

But Grey also feels like loneliness
On a rainy night, when love is needed most

Grey tastes of Rot
Of decay and death
And of the sweetest cinnamon

Grey tastes like the old ways

Grey smells like the trenches
***** and old
Filled with pride and death

Men dying for their country
So that one may be the winner of the world

He was an old man to us children
Long unkempt white hair
But brown wrinkled skin from hours
spent in wind rain and sun
He spent his time wandering the country paths
and woodland trails
Our parents said we should keep away
but we weren't scared
We found his home in the bushes overlooking
the road leading into town
A tatty threadbare tent just big enough for one
containing a couple of blankets and a well worn
army greatcoat
At school we used to have lessons about nature study
but that old man was better than any teacher I ever had
He would spend what seemed like hours
talking to us kids
Where honey came from, what wild plants were good to eat
and the ones to avoid
He knew the lives and habits of just about every wild
animal and bird
Then one day he was gone, we never did find out where
His tent and few bits were removed by the authorities
And within months that patch in the bushes had grown over.

I look back on those early years and wonder if it was that
old man who gave me my love of nature.

The Little Boy

Out of a grave dark street
On a stiff and sterile morn
Walked a stringless marionette
With a ghastly ashen form.

I clasped my greatcoat close
For a ripping wind thrashed by
And pencil-thin limbs shuffled
Past a man who couldn’t cry.

Against the wrath of winter
Crying havoc round the lake
He wore defiant rags like banners
Wildly flapping in his wake.

‘l hope he soon finds shelter’-
Thought I wrapped up so warm
‘gainst the whirling swirling leaves
And a frenzied snowflake swarm.

His face then turned towards me
With lifeless stone grey eyes,
That seemed to have full  knowledge
Of  my  self-supporting lies.

So I pursued him boldly
As he scurried on his way
And threw my coat around him-
A shield  to storm’s affray.

Alas! I stumbled forward
And fell into the snow
For the stunted waif I followed
Had gone where I could never go.

I'm not sure who you were speaking to but the man in the greatcoat assumed it was him and he could have been 'the thin man' or 'the third man' but not the 'bird man of Alcatraz'

see me and
it's jazz painting by Dali
or possibly
Toyah slings Goya on the canvas
she's a lass is our Toyah
but is she from Lancashire?
doubtful.

Tracey
will you race me
around your unmade bed?

There's
nothing peculiar in being peculiar
the peculiar thing is it's not.

WOKE UP IT WAS A CHELSEA MORNING

I decanted myself
from sleep
poured myself into this new morning

this being
the only body I had
I asked the morning to be gentle
"Ha! This ol'thing!"
the morning smirked
plunging me into a passing moment

I dive into the skin
of the moment
at one now with Time

"Hey..howaydoin'"
smiled a second I hadn't seen before
gone...before I could even say hello

my sleep self
feeling naked without a dream
adopting to this human realm

"So, here we are in the actual!"
my sleep self yawns at the world
"Well, didyaevah!"

I engage in conversation
with my legs
we indulge in the first step...next step

I put on the world
like a greatcoat that don't fit
Life smiles at me

my sleep self still
gossiping with my awake self
"HEYWATCHWHEREY'AREFUCKINGGOING!" screams a taxi

birds write themselves across a sky
or sit like notes
on telegraph wires

one bird flies off
another arrives
the music changes

I rearrange my life
around
( your absence )