I hate the dripping dark hollow behind the little wood;
Its tips a cursed maroon with a blood-red heath.
I think I praised and lamented it too soon;
Before seeing its scent; I saw already its stray mystical death.

My crown is torn, outraged by florid winds and scorn;
Like a tangled old roots of the windblown thorn;
I shall feel scanty by my own poetry,
And throw it about, duly, like a static little joke.

I shall let my heart grow dull and illiterate;
I shall not taste joy, no more, in any clear--flowery fate.
I shall seek everything bitter, and not sweet;
Even not pure as the honey of a bee; for it shall be plain.

I shall curve and bend any straightforward light;
I shall harass it, and blind it--as if my ghost’s dead soul is very not here.
Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Perhaps she is astray in my memory still, and not by my side.

I feel relieved so soon as glanced at her beside me;
She owns still that full lips like a perniciously tasty moon;
She is adorable like the flower of heaven itself;
She strikes me again when away, and tosses me about when near.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
Tame me again with thy rain of laugh;
Saint me once more like a fresh young bird;
Come to me now, and return my unheeded love.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
And kissing her forehead takes me back to that day;
A day of myths, a day of agile swans and storms;
An ornate time of hatred; a whirl of bitter fate; a dust of sorrow.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
And again I was alive in this tale, with a burning heart;
On one eve of tears, a mischief, and a wan poetry;
I caught about shadows in which there was no soul of Maud.

I could only see the stones, lying ghastly about the fireplace;
Ah, Maud, are you but still haunting those whimsical moors?
Their strange murmurs but I cannot hear;
But still they consume me, ah, I am scared;
I wish they would be gone soon, I wish you were but here.

These storms were amusing but peculiar;
They are bizarre, but intelligent and stellar;
And calling thy name out but breathes into me strength;
Ah, but should I be here, and bear away thy image alone?

Ah, and thou wert in but nymphic and lilac dream;
And my heart was still not massaged by the tender storm;
For it meant thee, and hungered but for thee only;
And in the midst of love had it longed, and yearned for thee.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Her with her childish eyes and rounded head of bronze,
With her rapturous steps and wild glittering aroma,
With her atrocious jokes, and a wintry secret touch?

But still she was not anywhere about;
She dissolved like one romantic bough of soda;
And within a rough joke, she would be but gone;
And now the storm returned, but I was wholly on my own.  

Ah, and now the striking storm is mounting the earth;
Should I write alone and chill myself by the green hearth?
For I hath nothing to console and lengthen my parched logs;
I shall wait outside and drift about yon wintry bog.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud;
Maud with her heart-shaped face and bare voice aloud;
A voice that soaked my senses and craving throat;
Maud but teased me and left me to that joke.

Where is but Maud, Maud, Maud and Maud;
Maud, the goth princess within my ancient poetry;
Who but remained symmetrical and biblical in her vain torments;
Who but stayed sturdy and silent; amidst her anger, and vain fellows’ arguments.

Listen to me. I am but full of hatred.
I am neither a gentleman nor a well-bred;
I, who is just a son of an infamous parson;
A malleable son; with a bleak aura of a putrid spring.

I, one who crafted ingenious jokes;
But interminable as they always are;
I made Maud sit still as I held my woodwork;
While she perched herself on yon bench, gazing at dispersed starry stars.

Maud the shadow in my pale mirror;
At times she ceased at morns, but retreated at night;
On her brother’s sight she fled in horror;
But on mine her smile turned me bright.

Maud was idle, sparkling, vibrant, and tedious;
Her heart was free and not marred by stupor.
She was the sun on my very bright days;
She made me startled; she always left me curious.

Maud the green of the farm, the red of the moon;
Without her everything would spring not and remain odious;
Everything would be bleak and stayed tedious;
Ah, but still I could not own her, though I was her saviour.

I was a farmer and perhaps still am;
Perhaps that’s why her mother ditched me with shame.
Maud said she had not places like home;
Her house was the mere shallow--and gratuitous throne.

Maud came often down and agitated;
Her mood shadowy, she cried and cried too aggravated;
I caressed her back, and placed my palms on her white knees;
She told me stories whenever no-one else would see.

She wanted not to mount the throne;
She giggled often, at our country escapade;
She loved my cottage, she sweetened my thin grass;
Even those apple trees had then her eyes, which sprayed tough, lonely seas of green.

Maud took to hymn and dear children’s little songs;
She was popular always among the talkative throngs.
She would love to dance and wiggle and turn around;
While village pupils gathered to sing a noble sound.

Ah, but when the mirthless prince arrived;
With white horses and swords of a knight;
Maud was swallowed every morning, all through day and night;
Maud was no more seen by my side.

I thought I was not alive, for dreams were unreal;
If they had been, then they I’d have want’d to ****;
But seeing Maud not gave me fretful chills;
I often woke up tensely, within a midnight’s shrills.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Maud my bumblebee and my delicate little honey.
I kept waiting for her behind the rustic brook;
I fetched my net and fished by my old nook.

Ah, and where is Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
My eyes were still and my chest could no more speak.
I wearily fancied she had been kidnapped faraway;
She would be jailed in a sore realm, and would no more be back here.

Ah, for had she been lost, then I had lost my ultimate pearl;
For there would no more be magic, there would be no more of her;
No-one would so restore my original spring;
Perhaps there would be no spring at all, and I would suffer in summer.

And I would lose anyway--my lyrical, elusive demon;
For Maud had always been elusive herself.
She wore that evil smile and thin laugh;
As I told her tales of fairies that she loved.

As I am fond of magical poetry and dramas;
Maud too used to read them with genuine personas.
She was my epic fanatical little devil;
She liked tropical cold and a faithful Mephistopheles.

I should be Faust, as she once said;
For had I fair hair, yet a bald head;
She said like Faust, I was cleverly amusing;
But to me, like Mephistopheles--she was unusually entertaining.

She danced before me a beautiful ballet;
She was young and keen to levitate as a ballerina;
She crafted me limericks and such fair lines of sonnets;
She made earth my heaven, and my melodies a twin cantata.

Ah, and where is Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
I need my butterfly amongst this wheezy curdling cold.
I need my lover to soothe my chained hysteria;
I need to get out of here, and feed my love with her charms.

Ah, but where is Maud, Maud, Maud, is not she here?
I was then screaming in my solitude, could she but not hear?
I could speak not, no more--sore and wounded by this snowstorm;
I crept sick and weak like a dumb old worm.

She was not even heard of upstairs;
While I was dying here as a roaring beetle.
I hath almost lost all my creative flair;
I felt tormented and neglected and nearly feeble.

Ah, but a story like this is not such a fable;
So at that time I did shun sadness and seek a warm ending;
But indeed, to escape fate the poor were perhaps not able;
And the farmer’s son shall never be a king.

And ‘twas the nobles’ right to be idyllic;
To be deemed far then fairly righteous.
My charms were trivial, and so was then my wit;
My prayers were too parted and despaired; no matter how rigorous.

I kept my work along the countryside;
I toiled all night and behind fierce daylight.
I hoped Maud would see me back one day;
But what I found was to my dismay!

Ah, Maud, for she was now engaged;
To that pathetic creature the cursed morn brought about;
And parties arranged, voices too raised;
The union was now what people had in thought.

Onto my shoulders my head kept sinking;
I killed myself nearly, for my irksome defeat in this rivalry;
A rivalry that failed to transgress vital destiny;
A rivalry I could not even bear to think.

But again, this love had always been everything;
And thus Maud’s union would equal my death;
One night I crept out of my bed;
I had in hand a keychain and a net.

The soldier was infused by sound sleep;
And into Maud’s grand chamber I crept;
Everything was pink and quite neatly kept;
But woke I her not--as I heard her breast breath slowly.

She was tremendous still--in beauty;
Maud in her splendour; so young and free.
Ah, she was free but not free, I fathomed;
I looked at her over and over again.

I looked at her violet bed and comfort net;
Ah, my Maud too ****** and temptingly red.
She was too abundant in her young and chaste soul;
Ah, I could not imagine how she would soon be one else’s.

Long did I stand; ‘till morning streamed back again;
Still I remained unmoved; I stared at my darling in vain.
I jumped startled as the door opened;
And showed me the horror of the Queen!

‘Come, ye’ fool’, she voicelessly instructed;
Her face emotionless as these words emanated;
‘And embrace thy very fate’, to the handcuffs me she directed;
‘For daring look into my dame’s immaculately flawless chamber’.

She pointed thereof--a black gun at my chest;
It would soon burst out and tear my vest;
And even fly me straight to death;
So drifted I, without further haste nor breath.

Those poor soldiers imprisoned me there;
A cellar room at the top of filthy stairs;
I stayed awake only for grief and tears;
And most of the time I laid about sleepless and stared.

I grew skinless as my bones squinted;
And laughed at me with their sordid might;
Flies were about me, bending onto my rotten pies;
And slices of meat left out by sniggering guards.

I hit my head on witnessing Maud’s cold marriage;
‘Twas on a Saturday on the castle’s rain-wetted field.
I heaved myself onto the windowsill and saw;
How the couples were blessed and sent thereby back.

I could not see Maud’s face and fleshy cheeks;
But didst I feel her discarded tears;
Marred and defiled her lovely fits;
Though just those innate, and not out there.

I struck the lifeless paint with my bare palms;
Now the walls were tainted; they smelled like my blood.
Time passed and desire for Maud was never killed;
I’th missed her every day, since then, and perhaps always will.

But my love for Maud was never probable;
I was decent, honest, but indeed not preferable;
I was not even preferable by fate, as thou might see;
Fate who is neither truthful; nor frankly urges us to lie.

I often laid hopeless by the moonbeam;
Until night came and eyesight grew more and more vulnerable.
I waited ‘till it was dark and left to day no more gleam;
Then took my journal of Maud’s jests and read her affable poems.

I turned around--and would disgrace my bed still;
I was plain starved but had no desire to be properly fed;
Of a dream of death I grew instantly pertinacious;
And of my future tomb I grew fonder--and yet rapidly curious.

Ah, but my sweet Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
And deliriously she somehow became pregnant;
But remorse said she kept the souls of two;
And fatefully could not make them both perfect!

I indeed plain prayed for Maud’s survival;
I cared not whose sons they might be;
Ah, but the twins were still sinning babies--as I comprehended,
For they were formed not from cells of mine!

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud,
And during those last days she was cautiously ill;
And a drive of cholera had again grown widespread;
But she was not maddened; by it she was not marred.

She was sickened by temper still;
And the prince found dead, she grew more terrifyingly ill;
She had a pure heart, so she flourished not over the beast’s death;
Nonetheless, he remained the father of yon sickly offspring.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud,
I was duly growing perfectly anxious;
She was to give birth--ah, to those little ignoramuses;
And within a little chord in one or days of two--she would do so.

But without a father to care for her notorious sons;
And even I was locked away, and could not do so;
I was terrified, I was horribly undignified;
To learn this stern reality we were so sullenly faced with!

Ah, not now! I could not too believe my ears!
Maud and her children were dead--they’d been stillborn;
Before they left Maud alone to receive her fate;
Her locksmith would not come; he had another due in a nameless town.

By the time he arrived my darling had gone;
Perhaps she was now shimmering in heaven;
Enchanting her children with her enormous spells;
Narrating stories no plain human could ever tell.

Even in heaven my love would perhaps be famous;
Her tenderness would make other angels jealous;
And angered by envy, they would gather and complain to God;
How an earthly soul could be more vivacious than their heavenly were.

Ah, but where is Maud, Maud, Maud;
Maud and her chain of songs that were never to be broken;
Maud and her familiarity with gardens and blue lilies;
Maud and her immaculate pets of birds that still sweetly sing.

Ah, but where is my darling, my darling, my darling;
My eternal ocean, my hustling flowerbed, my immortal;
My poem, my enchanting lyric, my wedding ring;
My novelty, my merited charm, my eternal.

And now she was longing for her grave, as I’d been told;
For I’d been told by the dimmed torches and fuss and mirthless air outside;
By the endless wandering and the prince’s wails and wordless screams.
Ah, my Maud had now migrated from her life--but attained her freedom!

And he was thus unworthy of being in her heaven;
Her heaven where there would be me, her true love;
And thus he would be glad to greet his fires of hell;
He would marry an evil angel there--and make himself again full.

But I’d be with Maud, Maud, Maud and Maud;
I’d be again with my gem, indefatigable little darling;
Whose voice was unsure, whose poems were never known;
But ‘twas enough that they’d been known to me, her secret--ye’ dearest lover.

So took I, that spinning penchant and a circle of strings;
The edges I matched to the chains on my ceilings.
I braced myself for my very own fiery death;
But again, I’d be with Maud and death would no more, aye, be sad.

Thus the above poem was done by my spirit;
But with the same token and awe of genuineness and wit;
I feel tired--I shall close my eyes, and thus enjoy my heaven now;
For my wife and starlings are all waiting for me to-morrow.

It is now nighttime in heaven;
And there is indeed, no place on earth lovelier;
I gaze into my wife with a loving madness;
Her cheeks sweeter still, than any proudest swiftness.

I shall take my vow of marriage tomorrow;
My proud wife sitting in yon angelic chair by my side.
I shall cradle, then, those white little nuptial fairies;
They are Maud’s children’s, but lithe and gracious and bow to me in chaste mercies.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, she is but all mine now;
I am still surprised now, as sitting by this heaven riverside.
One even grander than the one I’d had beside the lake;
Which I often farmed when I had needs to bake.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, she is a ghost but as ever lively;
We are both dead but she boldly remaineth lovely;
I know she is worthier than serene jewels or mundane affairs;
And still she is worthier all the same, than any other terrific palace--or heir.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, and this war is but all over now;
Thus let us dream dead of the exciting tomorrow.
We shall see life and our children grow;
We shall witness delight--and miracles none ever knows.

Maud And Star Mirror
Surazeus 2011 01 16

Little Maud walks to wooden barn
where she milks a cow in early dawn
then trudges back through thick mud
in freezing cold to castle kitchen hall.

Flash of light from thick wet muck
blinds her blue eyes for a moment
so she kneels and grasps a long stick
and pulls star mirror from dark dirt.

Dunking mirror in freezing stream
little Maud washes strange object clean
and gasps to see round silver disk
that reveals face of a beautiful queen.

Hiding star mirror inside her cloak
little Maud steps inside hot kitchen
where large Alis shouts you ugly pig
what took you so long to bring us milk.

After baking fifty loaves of bread
and dicing seven bushels of turnips
little Maud runs to her small shack
leaning against towering castle walls.

Little Maud gazes in shining glass
with awe at beautiful elegant queen
whose eyes are blue as summer sky
and hair is gold as shimmering wheat.

What strange painting is this she smiles
full of magic from hand of a sorceress
that she moves and talks in time with me
and always smiles at me like a friend.

What a pretty gown of scarlet silk
sewn with pure white pearls of light
and what a bright tall ring of gold
studded with diamonds and rubies.

Little Maud hears church bells ring
so she steps outside her frail shack
when a dozen women in white robes
whisk her away to a warm bath house.

Washing her clean in tub of water
and dressing her in a scarlet gown
they braid her long soft golden hair
and place a crown on her bowed head.

Riding a horse with attendant ladies
little Maud gazes in mirror surprised
wondering why they treat her so well
as if they thought she were a princess.

Galloping from woods of wild crows
tall man on a horse rides to her side
then grasps her braids with a shout
and pulls her down onto dusty road.

Shouting as he glares into her eyes
he cries so you refuse to be my wife
declaring you are far above my station
because you are granddaughter of a king.

I sent you a letter with a romantic song
hoping to win loyal love of your heart
but when you rejected my proposal
I rode straight to Flandria on my horse.

So I am a ******* because my mother
was daughter of a poor flour miller
and you are too high and mighty for me
then you can reign over wind and dust.

Just because you are a great princess
granddaughter of wise King Robert
and descendant of Charles Magnus
does not mean you are better than me.

I am good William Duke of Normandia
and though men have tried to **** me
a hundred times since I was but twelve
yet I reign supreme over all my land.

Flipping his cape with an angry growl
William turns to leap back on his horse
but Maud grips his arm with a smile
and kisses his mouth with eager desire.

Pressing close to his heaving chest
Matilda slips hands behind his head
and opens soft lips to taste his soul
and two hearts beat as one wild hawk.

Leaving him stunned with wide eyes
little Maud leaps back on her horse
and smoothing her long scarlet gown
she smiles and rides forth to her chapel.

Sitting in chapel by sparkling river
little Maud gazes deep in star mirror
and smiles when she sees William
appear behind her with flushed cheeks.

William and Matilda sit side by side
in small stone chapel by crystal stream
and drink together from holy grail
smiling at each other with loving eyes.

Come into the garden, Maud,
  For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
  I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
  And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,
  And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
  On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
  To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard
  The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
  To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
  And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, 'There is but one
  With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
  She is weary of dance and play.'
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
  And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
  The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, 'The brief night goes
  In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those
  For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose,
  'For ever and ever, mine.'

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
  As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
  For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
  Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
  That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
  In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
  And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
  One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
  As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
  Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
  They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
  Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
  Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls.
  To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
  From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
  She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;'
  And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;'
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;'
  And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
  Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
  Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
  Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
  And blossom in purple and red.

She came to me at Calvados,
A single night, without repeat.
The woman of my soul’s love longing,
to consummate with kisses sweet.

She entered in my midnight room
a simple pastel shift she wore
Smiling as she bared her shoulders,
the garment dropping to the floor.

So beautiful, this child of Gonne,
to this poet’s bleary eyes.
How often I had praised, in print,
her auburn hair and hazel eyes.

I was silent, she as well,
neither keen to break the spell.
She kissed me deeply on the lips
just as  the stroke of midnight fell.

Her fingers deeply  in my hair
she brought me to her freckled chest.
I licked and nibbled at one ******
like a baby at her breast.

She mounted me, her Rocinante,
and slowly, we began our quest.
My Willie in warm velvet wetness
wrapped as I returned her thrusts.

In spirit, we belonged together.
In truth,she’d wed another man.
A brute who’d tried to **** her sister.
She, too, had suffered at his hand.

As we played, she bent to kiss me
sweet Celtic sweat was in her hair
In another life she’d been my sister.
In this life’s love war all was fair.


She gave out with a little cry
as she took my Willie deep.
we came in unison so sweetly
but quietly, her child was asleep.

I remember, one time, Maud had asked
what type of bird I’d like to be?
Back upon the hills at Howth
when we were young and both still free.

“I think”, I said,” I’d be a gull,
playing at the shore for free.
Soaring high above the water
taking my living from the sea.”

Now we lay here in Calvados
near the town  Colleville sur Mer
Her villa was named “Les Mouettes”
For one night only, we coupled there.



It is rumored that, in the Summer of 1907, William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne shared physical intimacy for the one and only time in their lives. He the famous Poet and Playwright, she the famous Irish nationalist.
At the time she was separated from John MacBride, but they had not divorced, being Catholic. Yeats had a belief in reincarnation and both had, at times, dabbled in the occult. See also my poem
" Making Iseult"

The child asleep in the adjoining room would be Sean MacBride, later in life a Nobel peace prize winner.

Les Mouettes is French for "the (Sea)gulls."

I have read that Yeats wrote a love poem about this night, but that it has been lost. This is my attempt to replicate that lost love poem.

I thank Patrick McFarland for helping me revise the original version of the poem. His suggestions improved the flow of the piece.  










.

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
In a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
"For ever and ever, mine."

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

Come into the garden, Maud,
     For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
     I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
     And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,
     And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
     On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
     To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard
     The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
     To the dancers dancing in tune:
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
     And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, "There is but one
     With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
     She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
     And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
     The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
     In babble and revel and wine.
O young lordlover, what sighs are those
     For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
     "For ever and ever, mine."

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
     As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
     For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
     Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
     That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewelprint of your feet
     In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
     And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
     One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
     As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
     Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
     They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
     Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
     Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
     To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
     From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
     She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
     And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
     And the lily whispers, "I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
     Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
     Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
     Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
     And blossom in purple and red.

Rocks; these are my rocks.
Sediments: make me sedimental.
Smooth and round, asleep in the ground.
Shades of brown and gray abound.
~Maud Pie

We don't have time to live,to die or even give living a try,so what's it all about and why or what are we here for anyway?
In the year dot when God had a soft spot for Adam and Eve who didn't believe in anything at all and before Eve's fall from grace,there was a place to be in harmony and not some grotty dump like today where we pump our misery,carried away by tanker truck and no one seems to give a,
hard luck story's ten a penny.

Where are you Maud?
we came into the garden at three and now it's time for afternoon tea,has it come to pass that you'll be found in the long grass with some son of a gun?
'come into the parlour' said the fly,I don't know why because fly's don't talk and neither do I.

I walk through dormitories thinking long bed rows of stories and sleep in paper boats which float me on high seas,high teas,no Maud.

Which all amounts to diddly squat,slightly more than what I've got and what I've seen,
but I have been to London and I have seen the Queen who stole the tarts,while Jack was busy stealing young girls hearts,
and all my life is one cartoon,one dimension,oh but soon, there are inventive men who'll wrap me round a reel again and off I'll go.
A push and pull me,random figure on a top,spinning circles into carpets 'til I stop and pop goes one more weasel,
written on the board in chalk which in turn is stood upon the,Lord have mercy,save me from this nourishment,
Maud lent me her key,where is Maud? it's time for tea.
The men in coats come down for me,they're as nice as nice as nice men can be and work in the infirmary attached to the asylum.
I'll be back.

It was chilly in the house of stone
where the body of Maud’s  son
had been interred the year before.
(Her first born had died young.)

Her lover was a Frenchman,
Maud Gonne was her name.
She was, of course, a famous muse-
as William Butler’s flame.

She let down her golden hair
and her clothing came undone.
Lucien lay a blanket down
on the gravestone of their son.

She lay her naked beauty down
and took a passive role--
convinced the child conceived that night
would have her dead son’s soul.

Mystic occult spirits danced
as mortal flesh entwined.
Lucien spasmed flush with lust
Maud called on the Divine.

In course of time a girl was born
a child of beauty rare
But that she held her brother’s soul
none can, for sure, declare.

AN EXOTIC JOURNEY TO THE
               KHYBER PASS!
              By Raj Nandy

“When spring-time flushes the desert grass,
Our caravan wind through the Khyber Pass.
Lean are the camels but fat the frails,
Lighter the purses but heavy the bales!
As the snowbound trade of the North comes down,
To the market square of Peshawar town.”
- Rudyard Kipling (Dec1865- Jan 1936).

Those immortal lines of Kipling had enticed me,
To delve into famous Khyber’s exotic History ;
And today I narrate its wondrous story!

THE KHYBER PASS:
Steeped in adventure, bloodshed and mystery,
The Khyber remains the doorway of History!
Winston Churchill, then a young newspaper
correspondent in 18 97 had said, -
‘Each rock and hill along the pass had a story
to tell! ’
Cutting across the limestone cliffs more than
thousand feet high,
This narrow winding path of 45 km’s stretch,
Cuts through the Hindu Kush mountain range!
Forming a part of the ancient Silk Route between
Central and South Asia;
Linking Kabul with Peshawar town during those
early days of Pre-Independent India!
The area is inhabited by fierce Pashtun tribesmen,
who live by their ancient Honor Code;
They value their land and liberty, and their winding
mountain roads !
They can be the greatest of friends and deadliest
of foes;
And as the saying goes, for a friend a Pashtun
can even give up his life;
But he never forgets a wrong or when rubbed on
the wrong side !
He always avenges a wrong deed done, -
Even after decades, through his sons!
The indigenous tribes living along the pass,
Regard this area as their sole preserve!
They have levied a toll on all travelers from
the earliest days,
For their safe conduct and passage through the
Khyber, - as Historians say!

HISTORIC INVASIONS THROUGH KHYBER:
At its highest point the Khyber is 3500 ft in height,
But its strategic importance can never be denied!
Around 2000 BC came the Indo-Aryan tribes
from Central Asia,
Migrating to the rich fertile plains of Ancient India!
In 326 BC, the great Alexander came through,
By bribing the local tribes to gain their favour,
To defeat King Porus on the banks of Jhelum River;
And set up his short-lived Bactrian Empire!
In 1192 AD Afghan warlord Mohammad Ghori, -
Invaded India to set up The Sultanate at Delhi!
In 1220 Genghis Khan with his Mongol hordes
came through the Khyber;
With the help of local tribesmen to plunder the
ruling Arab Empire!
In 1380 through this pass came Timur Lane,
To wreck and destroy the Delhi Sultanate!
And finally from Kabul through the Khyber path,
Came Babur to establish the Mogul Empire with
his victory at Panipath!
From 1839 till 1919, here the British had fought,
- three ****** Anglo-Afghan Wars!
And before retreating, drew the famous Durand
Line to ally fears;
But this Line is now the cause of bickering and
tribal tears!

THE BRITISH KHYBER RAILWAY:
At Jamrud Cantonment town 17 km west of
Peshawar,
Lies the doorway to the historic Khyber!
The track passes through a breath-taking rugged
mountainous terrain, -
Through 34 tunnels, over 92 bridges, a 42 kilometer’s
of winding stretch!
A five hour’s journey at Laudi Kotal gets complete;
The line stands as a tribute to British Engineering
feat!
The legendary Khyber Rifles had guarded the
western flanks of the British Empire,
With garrisoned troops guarding this route entire! @
Since 1990 this train is run by a private enterprise, #
With local tribesmen always taking a free joy ride!
Recent Taliban attacks made Pakistan to close
the Khyber Pass,
An uneasy truce prevails, only God knows how
long it will last ?!
But with that Durand Line of 1893 demarcated,
Forty million Pashtuns today stand divided, -
Between Pakistan and Afghanistan!
With hopes, aspirations and dreams of becoming
United!
- Raj Nandy
New Delhi .

NOTES:-
Battle Of Panipath, April 1526, where Babur defeated numerically
superior forces of Ibrahim Lodhi; thereby establishing the Moghul
Empire in India!
On 04Nov1925, the British inaugurated the Khyber Railway to carry
troops up to Laudi Kotal on the other end, short of the Afghan border
to guard the western flanks of the British Empire!
@KHYBER RIFLES: - Raised in early1880s with HQs at Laudi Kotal,
& garrison troops manning the Forts at Ali Masjid near the
mid-way point of the Pass, and also at Fort Maud to the east of the
Khyber Pass.
KHYBER RAILWAYS: With 75 seats, a kitchenette, and two toilets;
pulled by two old Lancashire engines of 1920 vintage! It cuts across
Peshwar Airport under Air Traffic Control! It was stopped in 1982, as
economically not viable! Started again by a Private Enterprise
in 1990, in collaboration with the Pak Railway! After the Partition of
India in 1947, the Khyber is under the Federal Administered Tribal
Area of Pakistan! A difficult and a volatile region to govern! The
Khyber now remains closed due political reasons! Thanks for
reading.
* ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH RAJ NANDY

When you walked out the pub doors
On a sea of tears and last embraces,
The town stood still.
You broke my heart,
Set it back into place
So that I could feel again.

I was amongst the grown men
Turning backs on each other,
Wrangling our hair,
Pacing the floor,
Until we could not hold back
The occasion any longer.

I know when my plane comes
There will be brief handshakes,
Warm, worn smiles
Fastened from the heat
You gave so generously
To a town that grew cold
In your departure.

You taught us that kindness is enough.
Now rejoicing in private sobs,
Return of feeling for someone else.
This town we complained about,
Until you moved each man to song.

French lessons over the ashtray,
Anecdotes and private jokes
As far as the ear could hear.
I remember when the chemicals took over
And you danced in the sunglass shade
Of a darkened room.

Your energy bounced off the walls,
A pink-noise that echoed as I came down,
Nestled on my shoulder, totemic,
As I fought the speed, tried to sleep.
Beer bottles remained, the splintered ends
That serve as proof for last night’s fireworks.

You always made sure we were safe.

Our chance encounter,
Brief moments which collide,
Leaving marks,
Etching names
Onto stone that cannot wear away.
You taught me that sea of strangers
Is not a place to drown,
Just an avenue towards new land.

You could drink all the time
And it would not consume you.
Get stuck on a blue mood
And still leave your slumber,
Wide-eyed and hopeful for balance.

You left us standing in the rain
Our minds a roulette wheel,
Scattering between goodbye and farewell.
I guess I did not understand the stakes
Until you walked out of those pub doors.
I guess I had forgotten what loss meant,
Those years running from the blade of love
That cuts so finely the line
Of grief and glory.

I am bleeding here.
I am not sure when it will stop.
I am feeling again.
Thank you, friend.

Thank you.

I'm from the land of candy, which is as rare as gold.

I'm from the land where fruits are our desserts and rice is a must.

I'm from the land where cheese is a treat and milk is banned.

I'm from the land where determination is my Parliament Building,

The Library is my City Hall,

Technology is my Plaza,

And Music is my Town Square.

I'm from the land where Math is our School,

Lucy Maud Montgomery is our teacher,

And Creativity are our Artists.

I'm from the land of pine-smelling air and strokes of sunburn.

Where laughter is heard at every corner.

I'm from the land of a Dominating Dad and a Mature Mom.

I'm from the land of a Busy Brother whom is somewhat caring.

I'm from the land which changes constantly,

Hot and Cold,

And is always forgetful.

I'm from the land where Pheonix Wright is our King and Meg Cabot is our Princess.

I'm from the land where friends are our special jewels,

And family is priceless.

I'm from the land where my valuables are my memories

And I'm still collecting them.

Beautiful lofty things; O'Leary's noble head;
My father upon the Abbey stage, before him a raging crowd.
"This Land of Saints", and then as the applause died out,
"Of plaster Saints"; his beautiful mischievous head thrown back.
Standish O'Grady supporting himself between the tables
Speaking to a drunken audience high nonsensical words;
Augusta Gregory seated at her great ormolu table
Her eightieth winter approaching; "Yesterday he threatened my life,
I told him that nightly from six to seven I sat at this table
The blinds drawn up"; Maud Gonne at Howth station waiting a train,
Pallas Athena in that straight back and arrogant head;
All the Olympians; a thing never known again.

Do you remember my love
Our tryst at the old Blue Bell Inn
its so long ago now.
We were both married to others at the time.
You to Harry me to Maud.
We loved ourselves silly
on that old lumpy bed in room one-eleven
God you were beautiful
I used to pray to him
and thank him every day for you.
I honestly don't know
what I would have done without you.
Religion was Maud's Lover
and I don't think Harry
ever found a pub that he could pass.
I think you gave me more ***
in a week than I got in ten years with Maud.
When I found out that I was in love with you
I was scared stiff love.
But Wednesdays were always ours at the Blue Bell.
You know we kept that up for twelve years.
Little Elsie was ours. She looks just like you love.
There's never been anyone for me but you my darling.
You were always everything to me.

The old man raised himself up slowly from the grass
leaning on his walking stick for support.
"I just wanted to drop by and say, I love you honey".
He turned to the gravestone and gently
touched her name engraved on the granite.
Its golden filigree glinting
brightly in the autumn sunshine.
As though she knew he was there.
"Bye for now Darling"
he whispered
See you next Wednesday

I saw Stewart and Maud under a locust tree in Kensington market.
They had new bicycles. She leaned her sweaty, curly head on his bicep.
They had baguettes, flowers, asparagus and apples from the farm booths in their packs,
Buzet and Minervois from the liquor store, library books. They had life-loving things.
He says that for him this new life is instead of being an artist in Paris:
Backpacks, bicycles, the look of young lovers. The little possessions
That don't feel like a car or a house.  They are wearing bright white t shirts
And denim overalls. His children are confused. They have little money.
He joined the many who have refused to be punished for a mistake.

My friend Stewart lives with a university student.
You get to their Annex apartment up iron stairs bolted to the
Outside of  a building of old brick coloured like a driftwood campfire. The bed's iron.
She's been an adult for seven years. Iron, bricks, flowers, white iron bed,
Stewart has the skills to make it good, he's done this before, made the Muskoka
Chairs, the harvest tables, and sold them, repaired window frames and doors,
Advertised in supermarkets. He likes to breathe, to drink water, to cut wood and dress it,
To study, to read, to live well with a woman, to write in the evening, to make life like art.



                                       Paul Anthony Hutchinson
                                       www.paulanthonyhutchinson.com
                                       copyright Paul Anthony Hutchinson

Streatham's White Garden lies between a walled Old English garden and a small orchard in the Rookery, once the grounds of a large house dating back to 1786, and now an historic Grade II listed public garden. The elegant double borders, backed by trees and climbers and edged with lawn, echo each other down the length of the garden, with white benches marking each end. Still the only white garden in any of London's public parks, the White Garden pre-dates Vita Sackville-West's famous grey, green and white garden at Sissinghurst by at least 30 years.

Local volunteers under the leadership of Kew-trained designer Alison Alexander and project co-ordinator Charlotte Dove (both working for the Friends of Streatham Common, who successfully raised funding for the project from the Heritage Lottery Fund) carried out the recent restoration. The restoration was based on archival research and visits to other historic gardens, and is faithful to the spirit of the Arts and Crafts-inspired Edwardian original. Many of the plants in the new design have been chosen for their historical associations, including shasta daisy (Leucanthemum x superbum), ostrich fern (Matteuccia struthiopteris), and a white cultivar of the old-fashioned English rose, Rosa spinosissima – all plants that would have been as familiar to the leading lights of the movement, such as William Robinson and Gertrude Jekyll, as they were to the Edwardian gardeners who planted up the original garden.

This is a serene place, much loved by visitors. But serenity is not the whole story – determination also plays a role in the history of this garden. Streatham residents fought a public campaign to rescue the Rookery grounds (the house itself was demolished in 1912) from the wave of suburban housebuilding that reached a peak in the years before the First World War. The gardens were laid out by Major Philip Maud of London County Council (LCC), and opened in 1913.

The concerns surrounding cramped urban living conditions that gave rise to the public parks movement in the nineteenth century remain a reality today. Open spaces are a necessary release valve: an escape from the pressures of city life, and proven to have a positive effect on mental and physical health. It is no coincidence that the LCC designs for other public gardens designed in the period (including the Old English garden in nearby Brockwell Park) were also influenced by the Arts and Crafts movement: it was a style ideally suited to the purpose, being itself a reaction to the negative impact of industrialization, and an expression of nostalgia for an idyllic imagined past.

Despite the pressures of the city, horticulture has long been part of this area's heritage, and for much of last century it thrived: amateur and professional gardeners alike participated in fruit and flower shows organised by newly-formed clubs and societies, well-maintained civic parks delighted visitors and residents, allotments flourished, and local nurserymen like John Peed of West Norwood produced lavish catalogues of the latest horticultural discoveries.

As government funding for green spaces has decreased, however, gardens like the Rookery have suffered from reductions in maintenance budgets: as late as the 1970s, seven gardeners were dedicated to the Rookery alone, but today only two contractors are based there. Once again local residents have responded, developing community groups, volunteer-led projects and local fundraising, and working closely with the Lambeth Parks Service. One such community group, the Streatham Common Co-operative (SCCoop), aims to take on the gardens and increase the number of gardeners. Applications for outside funding have been productive: most of the plants for the White Garden restoration were purchased with a grant from the Heritage Lottery Fund, with the Metropolitan Public Gardens Association providing a grant for new white roses. But resources are finite, and – in the best tradition of ecological planting – the new plants for the White Garden have been chosen to suit the prevailing conditions, and to flourish with minimal maintenance. Gardens have always thrived on both innovation and tradition, and the restoration of the White Garden at Streatham Rookery is a tribute to those who are prepared to find new ways of looking after treasured open spaces.

Love Mary ***

press your forehead on the barrel of hope
put your neck inside the optimist's rope
jump off a bridge, into the warm light below...

...crack your skull on the idea of tomorrow.

"I was born with a reading list I will never finish."

Her name is Amanda,
Like mine!
Though I prefer to go by Mandy.
Amanda Taylor, believe it or not,
You can't deny it. We're good friends.
Though you may not like full metal,
And though you can bore the heck out of me!
You will be my best friend.
I know, the inseparable friend I had in second grade,
Was really nice and oh so cool,
but she moved on.
Yeah, you may not be so popular,
But you're my best friend.
And nobody's going to change that.
For your dry humor,
Nice smiles,
And nerdy conversations,
Thank you.
For your independence,
Smart style,
And your loyalty to me.
You may be Maud Pie in real life,
But you're my clique,
My clique of twenty three.
Yeesh, I have a lot of friends!
Come join with me!
(Thank you for being my friend)
Mandy aka Pleasure.

Racing down the corridor past doors with
numbers I don't see,
past people who would rather be
anywhere else than
in the hall with me.

These sweating faces, dripping hands, fingers
filed with golden bands in jewellers drawers,
down and in more corridors where faded pictures
***** their looks, past the racks of dusty books which
no one reads,
more beads of sweat
I'll get there yet or in the evermore
and another corridor.

Who makes these things?
who brings the corridors to entertain
me and the ******?
The pictures look at me with eyes, I
once mistook as being full of piety but
devilry is braided in their frames.
What names they call as I race headlong
down the hall.

At the end where all points lend themselves
to what we would prefer
I will no longer race through there, instead
I shall take some air
in the garden
with Maud.

When I was young, sometimes I’d forget
to be afraid of the Jabberwocky.
I’d skip along beside his emerald-wet
scales, on the sun-strewn sidewalk, me
prattling on about apple ciders
and Lucy Maud Montgomery,
half-humming boats and spiders
beneath a pale sky, dry and summery,
and he would lumber, unsteady, by my side,
trudging heavily through wild glens
till the dusk at long last turned to night
and I remembered his name once again.

Love,
Has made me shameless.
I see your face, your car, your dog,
Pointless things that I attribute to you,
But I don't see them,
Not really.

And so I am here,
In the dark, lit up by the blue
Of Facebook on my computer screen.
I hold no shame,
For I am desperate for a sample of you.
I am hungry for you.

This sort of thing I'm doing, kills you inside.
But I need to see you
I need to remember your details,
I can't and won't forget you.

I know you don't do this
To me,
Things I thought were romantic was just friendship,
The weakest of friendship.
I'm just too dumb.

You and me; We pretend
That we're just friends,
Well, maybe you're not pretending,
But I am.

I see you to remind me of you,
The way you crouch over your guitar,
The jut of your chin,
The way your eyes shine,
When I make you happy.
Long, delicate fingers,
The bump in your nose,
Your acne,
Your hair,
The girlish colour of your mouth
That I hoped would touch one day
With my own.

For you, I have not suffered for my art
I have simply suffered.
And all that has come of it are the silliest, the dreamiest of girly love poems.
But I mean every word.

My dear, I've wasted my precious time
I'll let you sing your pithy rhymes
My darling, you've been a fool-
I'm a crazy lady, I'm no light touch-
But so have I.

You're a crazy boy, you're no light touch
You pulled me in with both hands-on
How was I supposed to get out?

Leave your places of worship,
That we share.
Perhaps you were special;
You were just different
But I am integral, and you are temporary.

You're just a friend, I suppose, if that's what I want it to be,
But that's confusing.
We pretend
To be best friends,
But were we really?

All I see, is just me
And you blowing me off,
And me saying to your mother
"Oh no, we're friends, it's fine."
My God,
What a ****** boyfriend you would have made.
What a bullet I dodged!

Darling, it's been ten months,
And we only live once.
Ten months ago,
Maybe I'd think differently.

My dear, perhaps you'll realise
And then, you'll feel
Your head will romanticize it all,
And perhaps you'll write some of your finest love songs,
About a girl, who cared, and cared far too long,
And now she doesn't think twice about you.
Ain't that sad?

I used to like
The idea of being your muse.
Bob Dylan's Suze Rotolo,
WB Yeats' Maud Gonne,
But
I'll be my own muse,
I'll inspire myself.

Life moves with water and sun, not with you.

Because, darling, it's been ten months,
And I
Am
Over you.

Fixed upon a
stare
and I dare untie the look.

needlepoints and button hooks
and afternoon spent with Aunt Maud.

She covered up piano legs
and
wrote letters to the press
but,
as mad a box of monkeys
nevertheless.

Down the coach and horses in the 'snug'
with a bottle of stout
easy to get her in there
next to impossible getting her out

and then dear Lord you took Aunt Maud
a mistake you'll come to rue and
when she bends your ear for half a year
you'll not know what to do.

I was nineteen, almost twenty
back then. In the fifties.
The small after war mill town
in Lancashire
held dark hope for the future.
Smoke stacks and coal stained
buildings left from the remnants
of the industrial revolution.

Now all I felt in my heart was anger.
No jobs poor wages if you could get one.
But I had my looks and burning passion
to get somewhere in this ****** World.

My dad got me a job in the offices
At the coal mine where he was a miner.
it was on the
bottom rung of the ladder
I hated it, but it was a job.
That's where I met her, my boss.
The eldest daughter of the mine owner.

She was pretty and spoiled.
Well educated
at rich daddy's expense I guessed.
But used to her own way.
Nepotism was rife in those days.
She was thirty four but she kept
looking at me almost inspecting me.
Like her next toy I thought

But I was nineteen.  
I had never been with a woman
And she was well built and pretty.
She spoke to me gently and respectfully.
Like a teacher does to a pupil.

And as I listened all I could notice
Were her beautiful breast
and the impressive cleavage
In her blouse.

Every morning is he smiled at me
and wished me  good day.
What she did not know she had starred
In my ******  dream last night and in it
Her expensive clothes lay carelessly
On the  floor next to the bed,
That we were sharing.

She spent time with me
and taught.me a lot
about the business.
Her family owned half the town.

I had to work the weekend
the auditors were coming in
on monday morning early.
At seven o'clock on Saturday evening
we finished our preparations.

Thank you so much she said softly.
You must be famished I am.
She took me into town
in her MG sports car.
We ate at nice pub I had
three glasses of red wine.
I liked it I had never drank wine before.

She said do you have a girl.
I blushed no miss.
Why not, you are very nice looking.
Have you not found one lady
that you would like to ask out.

Yes miss I.mumbled there's one.
She looked at me I thought
I saw a tiny bit of jealousy.
But it could be the wine.
Who is she?
tell me about her it was half an order.

I called upon the glow
of my new found wine friend and said.
She's beautiful miss.
Very very stylish.
Lovely figure
and perfect gray eyes.
I don't think I have ever seen
a woman as lovely as her.

She sounds lovely she said.
But I noticed she was a bit miffed.
Why don't you ask her out.?
Because I don't think
she would accept miss.
Look she said out of the office
You may call me Elisabeth all right.
I said yes miss….er... Elizabeth.
Who is this lady you talk of anyway?

It's …..its you miss.
She went silent.
Looking at me intently.
Have I lost my job miss I asked.
No you haven't its alright.
I am much older than you.
It would not be appropriate.

Men go with ladies
much younger than they are miss.
Yes I know they do.

She took me back to the small
flat she kept in the city.
For nights that
she may be out on the town.
It was cosy and comfortable.
She poured more wine.

Why have you never married? I asked.
She smiled.
Because all those
that asked I didn't love,
all those I loved did not ask
she quipped.

I took my jacket off
it was warm with the wine.
And  the closeness to her.
My small pocket novel sided girlie
magazine fell out of the inside pocket.
I grabbed it quickly.

but she saw it.
Let me see it she said.
I passed it to her blushing.
She looked at the pictures
of the large breasted naked ladies.
They are lovely she said.

They are not as lovely as you are miss.
Have you ever been with a lady.
She asked.
I blushed no not yet,.
She said its time you did.

Taking my hand
she led me to her bedroom.
I am not sure what to do I whispered.
Hush hush now come to me,
She took me slowly and patiently.

I felt my childhood leave my body
Irrevocably rushing into her as my
manhood appeared in its place.

I slept in her arms and
when  I woke in the night.
she took me again
and held my head
onto her beautiful breast
as I slept like a child.

After that she took me to her place
after work almost every day,
She took me to her bed
and we made love.

After  few months I came into work
she called me into her office.
She looked troubled.
I thought I was getting fired.

But she said I'm pregnant.
In those days abortions
were illegal and dangerous.
And out of  wedlock babies poured
shame on lady and family.

She said I want this baby.
I told my mother
She broke it to daddy.
He's furious he wants to see you
in his office now.

I nearly collapsed
with fear and. confusion.
But I made my way to the
managing director's office.
He was a big man with a
moustache and silver hair.
Noted for his temper.

He said I make no bones about it.
You are not suitable
to a member of my family.
I had my lawyer draw up an agreement.
and termination package.

He brought out his checkbook.
He wrote a cheque payable to me
for thirty thousand pounds.
An enormous sum in those days.
Move on leave town
and never bother Elisabeth again.
He said strictly.

I do not know where
I got the courage from.
I looked at the cheque.
And thought of my
hundred and five pounds net worth.
And I tore it half.

Sir, You can fire me,
blacklist my name
in the north of England .
Make my life a living hell.
you have this power I know.
.
But I shall not leave Elisabeth
unless she tells me to go.
And even then
I do not want your money.

He stopped silently.
He always got his way,
No one ever talked back at him.
But.
There was something about this boy
that reminded him of himself so long ago
when he had not two penny's
to rub together.
and truth be known,
he married his wife Maud
because she was pregnant.

Very well
we will call my errant daughter.
and she can tell you to go herself.

Elizabeth came in the room
Her pretty eyes.
Red from crying.
Tell him to go daughter
he commanded.

I offered him thirty
thousand pounds to go away.
But he tore up the cheque.
He wants to hear you
to tell him to leave.
And he will leave
without a penny.

She looked up into my face
She saw the love
in my eyes that I had for her.

Do you want me she asked.
I answered
yes I do

Do you want this baby
she asked firmly
Yes I do.

Do you want to marry me
she asked?
Yes I do .

Old Abel her father knew defeat
when it was inevitable.
Alright against my blessing
you get married next week in white.
No bride of my family
Will go to altar great with child.

Ten years later

Abel had retired
And became the doting grandfather
To  our four children.
After the twins were born
then a year later his granddaughter
a year later his grandson.
he realised that his daughter
was the happiest women
in the north.of England.

.And his son in law
was  good husband and father.

I ran the mine
and expanded his interest
into electronics manufacturing.

We sit together on the river bank
sometimes Elizabeth and me.
I say l love you honey.
You are still the most beautiful woman
i have ever been with.

She laughs
i am the only woman
you have been with
I corrupted you as a youth.

.I am so happy you never
asked me to leave
that day in his office.
She smiled.
No,
I proposed to you instead,my  love.

Why did you not accept the huge sum
of money he offered and run.

Because
Of something you once said
about not being married
What's that then she questioned
All the ones you loved
did not ask you.
And
You were the one I loved
and you did ask me

The end was nigh, he scanned the sky
For portents, dark and deep,
He’d sensed some troubled signs within
While tossing in his sleep.
He told his wife to pack some things,
The least that they would need,
But she said, ‘You must leave alone,
I’m staying here, God speed!’

He found he couldn’t change her mind,
No matter that he tried,
He told her of the darker times
That he had sensed, inside.
But she was quite content, she said,
‘In fact I’m quite serene,
I shall not run before the tide,
It may be but a dream!’

The Castle walls with hallowed halls
Held shadows grim and bleak,
Where muttered shades from former days
Would flit from moat to keep,
From tower, to hall, to bedchamber,
He cast his nervous eyes,
Where even in the flagstoned floors
He thought, ‘There evil lies!’

The evening skies were tinctured with
A weird orange glow,
And then the Moon rose up above,
A baneful, blood-red show,
While winds that howled like none before
Now clattered at the eaves,
And whispered down the chimney’s core,
‘God help the one that leaves!’

He wandered round the halls at night
And shook in some dread fear,
At sounds of chains, and distant pains
Deep in his inner ear.
He stood up at the battlements
And scanned the dark surround,
Where gargoyles leered, to spout their cheer
All on the hallowed ground.

‘But surely you must hear them, Maud,
They’re plain, so plain to me!’
‘I only hear the chirping bird
That flits in yonder tree.
Perhaps your mind has been disturbed,
You need to rest at night,
I’ll lock you in the Castle Keep
Until your dreams take flight.’

That night, asleep, but fitfully
He heard a horse’s hooves,
That clattered in the courtyard, echoed
With its iron shoes.
And then he heard his wife, who whispered
Like some painted *****,
‘He’s almost driven mad, I’ve locked
Him in, and barred the door.’

Then like a charm that runs its course
And sets its victim free,
He knew that she’d been feeding him
With Belladonna tea.
He waited for an hour, and then
Burst hinges on the door,
And sought his wife’s bedchamber
Where her lover felt secure.

‘I told you I’d sensed darker times,
Such darker times, for you!’
He said as he approached the bed
And ran her lover through.
He raised the sword that dripped with blood
Then stood with drooping head,
While she went pale, to no avail,
In moments, she was dead!

David Lewis Paget

Don't call me
I am going down to surgery,

impossible in a hospital
not to
feel the pain and yet,
we live perpetually
on the edge of uncertainty
given prescriptions of
invincibility,
hoping for immortality,
but knowing that old bones
are set to remind me
that nothing lasts forever.

It pains me to say that it's raining today, just another hoop to get through, wet through and no umbrella, need a shell, a hood.
a hell of a way to wake when the day's like a lake and you don't fancy swimming.

Women,
ah
women I fancy like,
Joan,
Maud and Nancy make the Sun shine,
but at this time of day they are dreaming away
and it's raining outside.

As wide or as tall or as short
I go on for too long and I know
this is wrong.

In the internet
I have met a friend
silent and knowing
with me to the end
of the contract I made with
the broadband provider.

It's still lashing it down
the rain's still
whipping the ground and
if you listen
you'll hear me
messing around
with the radio.

I.

I’ve always formed an instant bond
with eccentric people
the ones scorned for being weird
by a society focused on coloring between the lines
but I love the unconventional
the oddballs the misfits
minds that are bottomless wells
of inspiration, innovation, creativity
of dreams turned into reality
it doesn’t surprise me
why misunderstood people
prefer to live as hermits
ain’t no use playing piano to cows

II.

take my girl, ms. emily d.
an introvert poet who lived in isolation
she probably preferred
the friendships of her ghosts
the companionship of her thoughts
than to waste time with people
who underestimated her because she was quiet
no use convincing them QUIET doesn’t mean SHY
but then I wonder
if she ever regretted
not falling in love?
did she even try?
or was she so afraid of falling
of failing
she never let herself jump

III.

stop dwelling on the negative
be positive, they say
like you can control your feelings
an on off switch
so I try not to bother them with my emotions
because they’re always annoyed if I’m not smiling
not pretending to be the light giving energy others need
but last summer I visited the moors
following the footsteps of the Brontes
it rained all day
the land shrouded in ghosts of gray
so contrary to my California Sun
and being quarantined now
I empathize
how one can lose sight of hope
it’s hard to keep smiling
when day and night intermingle
until you lose sense of time and meaning
and you get lost in loneliness
lost in your thoughts
lost in their fascination of turbulent men
so lost
it’s terrifying
will I ever see the sunlight again?
will I ever feel love on my skin?
did they wonder if they could tame
the rochesters and the heathcliffs
of unrequited love
did charlotte finally panic?
was that why she settled for something less?
what if I die loveless and unhappy at 38?

IV.

in fourth grade I read
the works of a Canadian darling
dear Maud
so began my love
for Anne and her imagination and romantic
lyrical prose
and the longing to find kindred spirits
who understand
my brand of weird
on my 31st birthday I traveled to the island
for a chance to breathe her air
Maud Montgomery also gave up
on romantic love eventually
his name’s not important but I believe she loved
a man her family deemed not good enough
and he died soon after
no wonder she deemed love tragical
she settled too
when she finally married
at 37
I’m getting there
dearest Heavenly Father, you do realize I’m getting there, don’t you?
but nothing could live up to the ideals of a romantic dreamer
I’m afraid

V.

I’m afraid
falling could mean failure
all my creative heroes died depressed and alone
never discovering the love they craved
the touch they desired
logic says if p then q
or something like that
I’ve never been good with math and logic and that rational ****
but if
they are my kindred spirits
then
am I doomed to share the same fate?

I'm not the type
To slip her bra and
******* off for some
One night escapade.
I have more technique,
A woman clean and boutique,
Sophisticated, not some broad
I'm a treasure, something better
Not Mrs **** for your playing with,
I'm not some mistress, not your Maud.
Strip of me of my dignity once shame on me.
Do it again, I will not pretend, I will have to show you the hand
When I leave.

Live and Let Die
Roger Moore 'a first outing as 007
He would go on to do 7
George Martin manager of the beatles
Scored the haunting Music
Paul McCartney sang the title song
And he could never go wrong
Jane Seymore as Solitaire
Bond girl amongst none compare
African American Villains
In the Coccaine business
Yaphet Kotto as Kananga
Perfect for this Bond saga
Bernard Lee and Louis Maxwell
Return as M and Money Penny
Desmond Llewellyn did not reprise his role as Q the quarter master
Audience missing him did in a big way matter
The movie outgrossed Diamonds are forever by 2 times
Established Roger Moore as Bond for 6 more times

The Man With The Golden Gun
Christopher Lee in the title role
Best Bond Villain ever said the polls
Solar device in the wrong hands
Takes the film to the far east lands
Bond Girls in Maud Adam's  in Britt Ekland
Title song by Lulu
Wonderful score by John Barry

The Spy Who Loved Me
Rated by many as the best Bond Adventure
Submarines missing requiring immediate Counter measure
Nobody Does it Better sung by Carly Simon
With Oscar Winner Marvin Hamlisch conducting
Curt Jurgens as Josef Sttomberg
Underwater city  creating his new world
Barbara Bach as Agent ***
Made the fans connect
Delivered yet another super hit
Egypt Italy and Austria
Filmed beautifully through
Alan Hume's Camera

Moonraker raked in the Box office
Film about the Space Race
A Colony in Space for the Physically perfect
Destroy the earth to keep it Private
Michael Lonsdale the French actor
Cast as Drax the creator of the Moonraker
Lois Chiles  the Bond Girl
Dr Holly Goodhead a  NASA scientist
Placed by the Secret Service
Venice Rio De Janeiro locations captured
Jaws with his steel tooth
Hired to bring Bond to book
Title song by Shirley Bassy
With a riveting score by John Barry
It's the Biggest Its the Best Its Bond And Beyond

For Your Eyes Only
Oscar nominated score by Bill Conti
Sheena Easton providing the vocals
First time the singer part of the title Visuals
Attempt to return to the basics
Met with great reception with the masses
Villains with Clawed hands and Steel Teeth laid to rest
Everyone felt for the best
ATAC system stolen
Retrieving it Bonds burden
Checkpoint Charlie and the Greek Mountains
Some of the exotic locations
Carole Bouquet Cesar award winning actress and Supermodel plays the Bond girl having failed to land the role on earlier occasions

Octo** shot in the Indian Subcontinent
Throws in everything including the kitchen sink for entertainment
Maud Adams as the Bond Girl
Has the distinction of repeating the role twice
Louis Jordan as Kamal Khan
Steven Berkoff as Orlov
Want the Warheads to detonate
With the final objective of a World to dominate
Rita Coolidge sings All Time High
The title of the film not appearing in the lyrics
The film was a massive success with the audience and the Critics

A View To A **** Roger Moore in his last outing
Oscar winner as the Villain
Max Zorin played by Christopher Walken
Title song by Duran Duran
First James Bond song to be number one
Destroying Silicon Valley in his plans
With Grace Jones in his command
Tanya Roberts the Bond Girl
Eiffel Tower and Golden Gate the places where jaw dropping stunts unfurl.
John Barry conducted the score
Waving goodbye to an era led by Roger Moore

1951 a small mining town in Lancashire

I was only a young man of 18
back then. In the fifties.
The small after war mill town
in Lancashire was a desolate place.
Its dark soot stained buildings factory chimneys
that poured dark grey smoke
into the coal dust of air we breathed.
Even the town felt choked
by the dark hope for the future.
Smoke stacks and coal stained
buildings left from the remnants
of the industrial revolution.
Seemed to say to me
get out of here lad,
there's nothing for you.

Now all I felt in my heart was anger.
No jobs poor wages even if you could get one.
But I had my looks my youth and burning passion
to get somewhere in this ****** World.
And if I got the chance t would take it.

My dad got me a job in the offices
At the coal mine where he was a miner.
it was on the bottom rung of the ladder
I hated it, but it was a job.
That's where I first met her, my boss.
The eldest daughter of the mine owner.
She was pretty and spoiled.
Well educated and well dressed.
At rich daddy's expense I guessed.
But she was used to getting  her own way.
Nepotism was rife in those days.
She was thirty four but she kept
looking at me almost inspecting me.
Like her next toy I thought.

But I was eighteen.
I had never been with a woman
No experience, whatsoever with women.
And she was well built and pretty.
She spoke to me gently and respectfully.
Like a teacher does to a pupil.

She would bend over my desk
Teaching me the intricacy of the business,
And as I listened all I could notice
Were her beautiful breast
and the impressive cleavage
Inside her blouse.

Every morning she smiled at me
and wished me  good day.
What she did not know she had starred
In my ******  dream last night and in it
Her expensive clothes lay carelessly
On the  floor next to the bed,
that we were sharing.

She spent time with me
and taught.me a lot
about the business.
Her family owned half the town.

I had to work the weekend
the auditors were coming in
on monday morning early.
At seven o'clock on Saturday evening
we finished our preparations.

Thank you so much, she said softly.
You must be famished, I am.
She took me into town
in her MG sports car.
We ate at a nice pub I had
three glasses of red wine.
I liked it I had never drank wine before.

She said, do you have a girl.
I blushed, no miss.
Why not, you are very nice looking.
Have you not found one lady
that you would like to ask out.

Yes miss I.mumbled, there's one.
She looked at me, I thought
I saw a tiny bit of jealousy.
But it could be the wine.
Who is she? tell me about her
it was half a question
yet half an order.

I called upon the glow
of my new found wine friend and said.
She's so beautiful miss.
Very very stylish.
Lovely figure
and perfect gray eyes.
I don't think I have ever seen
a woman as lovely as her.

She sounds lovely she said.
But I noticed she was a bit miffed.
Why don't you ask her out.?
Because I don't think
she would accept miss.
She is far above my station.

Look she said out of the office
You may call me Elizabeth, all right.
I said yes miss….er... Elizabeth.
Who is this lady you talk of anyway?

It's …..its you miss.
She went silent.
Looking at me intently.

Have I lost my job, miss I asked.
No you haven't it's alright.
I am much older than you.
It would not be appropriate.

Men go with ladies
much younger than they are miss.
Yes, I know they do.

She took me back to the small
flat she kept in the city.
For nights that
she may be out on the town.
It was cosy and comfortable.
She poured more wine.

Why have you never married? I asked.
She smiled.
Because all those
that asked me, I didn't love,
all those I loved, did not ask
she quipped.

I took my jacket off
I was warm with the wine.
And  the closeness to her.
My small pocket novel sized girlie
magazine fell out of the inside pocket.
I grabbed it quickly.

but she had seen it.
Let me see it, she said.
I passed it to her blushing.
She looked at the pictures
of the large breasted naked ladies.
They are lovely, she said.

They are not as lovely as you are miss.
Have you ever been with a lady.
She asked.
I blushed no not yet,.
She said then it's high time you did.

Taking my hand
she led me to her bedroom.
I am not sure what to do, I whispered.
Hush, hush, now come to me,
She took me slowly and patiently.

I felt the boyhood leave my body
Irrevocably rushing into her as my
manhood appeared in its place.

I slept in her arms and
when  I woke in the night.
she took me again
and held my head
onto her beautiful breast
as I slept like a child.

After that she took me to her place
after work almost every day,
She took me to her bed
and we made love.

After  few months I came into work
she called me into her office.
She looked very troubled.
I thought I was getting fired.

But she said, I'm pregnant.
In those days abortions
were illegal and dangerous.
And out of  wedlock babies poured
shame on lady and family.

She said I want this baby.
I told my mother
She broke it to daddy last night.
He's furious, he wants to see you
in his office now.

I nearly collapsed
with fear and. confusion.
But I made my way to the
managing director's office.
He was a big man with a
moustache and silver hair.
Noted for his bad temper.

He said I make no bones about it.
You are not suitable
to be a member of my family.
I had my lawyer draw up an agreement.
and termination package.

He brought out his checkbook.
He wrote a cheque payable to me
for thirty thousand pounds.
An enormous sum in those days.
Move on leave town
and never bother Elizabeth again.
He said strictly.

I do not know to this day, where
I got the courage from.
I looked at the cheque.
And thought of my
hundred and five pounds, net worth.
And I tore it half.

Sir, You can fire me,
blacklist my name
in the north of England .
Make my life a living hell.
you have this power, I know.
.
But I shall not leave Elisabeth
unless she tells me to go.
And even then
I do not want your money.

He stopped silently.
and looked at me
as he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

He always got his way,
No one ever talked back at him.
But.
There was something about this boy
that reminded him of himself so long ago
when he had not two half penny's
to rub together.
And truth be known,
he married his wife Maud
because she was in the family way..

Very well then.
we will call my errant daughter.
and she can tell you to go herself.

Elizabeth came in the room
Her pretty eyes.
Red from crying.
Tell him to go, daughter
he commanded.

I offered him thirty
thousand pounds to go away.
But he tore up the cheque.
He wants to hear you
to tell him to leave.
And he will leave
without a penny.
tell him to go now.

She looked up into my face
She saw all the love
in my eyes that I had for her.

Do you want me?
she asked
I answered
yes I do.

Do you want this baby
she asked firmly.
Yes I do.

Do you want to marry me
she asked?
Yes I do .

Old Abel her father knew defeat
when it was inevitable.
Alright then,against my blessing
you get married next week in white.
No bride of my family
Will go to altar great with child.

Ten years later

Abel had retired.
And became the doting grandfather.
To  our four dear children.
After the twins were born
then a year later his granddaughter
a year later his grandson.
he realised that his daughter
was the happiest women
in the north.of England.

.And his son in law
was  good husband and father.

I ran the mine
and expanded his interest
into electronics manufacturing.

We sit together on summer nights
on the river bank.
Sometimes Elizabeth and me get a little
alone time. No kids no work.
I say to her  l love you honey.
You are still the most beautiful woman
i have ever been with.

She laughs
i am the only woman
you have been with
I corrupted you as a youth.

I whisper,
.I am so happy you never
asked me to leave
that day in his office.
She smiled.
No,
I proposed to you instead,my  love.

Why did you not accept the huge sum
of money he offered and run.

Because
Of something you once said
about not being married
What's that then?
she questioned
All the ones you loved
did not ask you.
And
You were the one I loved
and you did ask me

You walk in the room and I lose my head,
Walk in the room and you run through my mind.
Some spoken words, a smile, my face turns red,
My courage, my voice, I never find.

What beauty with which you are inflicted,
Such that, by you, my dreams may be wrecked,
Their enduring secrecy, insisted,
My thoughts and feelings, you’ll never suspect.

All this to you, my beloved’s beloved;
My own Maud Gonne’s John Macbride, to I, Yeats,
What contrary roles are we behooved,
I, the ground she walks, you, her heavens’ gates.

Such looks, such passion, more than I could be.
I hold no ill-will, no scorn, just envy.

Margaret's hands are small and white
they will never hug her mother
or feel a lovers hand squeeze hers
never play piano like her sister Maud
or wear a wedding ring
not any of these things
Margaret's hands are marble still
each dove at rest upon her chest

hard     sell—the    sale of the
    idea that    those Golden Girls:
                           Rue/Bea/Bet/Get—
    are more existential
more    radically (Maud, folks!)   ******
    than any      Sartre translation—

and     that Nico,
      Christa, she:
          like a necrotic moth ate her own clothes
          died on her last *** run, a great stoner
          was finished rambling and gambling
These Days —    and  was more existential than
     any      loud Lou.