Wishing my supporters a very warm
Christmas    
special thanks to Fawn and crazy D,
and Dragos !

my twin in the mirror didst I see standing alone in front of me ?
a shattered piece of glass ,
taken from a piece of art .

But if that piece of shattered glass wasn’t me ,
than who on earth could it be ?

I gazed upon its reflection still
and pondered who and why ,
could this be ,
forever looking back at me ?
For if that glass wasn’t me ,
a stranger then must he be ?

And if I had seen my reflection still ,
a shard of glass ,
from which my
blood should pour Untill it fills my kitchen floor .

And if i saw my reflection still ,
a man before me so pale and ill.


And so.i. took a boat to row across a lake ,
and staring back was the man I saw ,
In the waters but not as he was before .
I smiled at him ,
and he smiled back at me ,
could this be my twin ,
Staring back at me ?

And as i rowed there came a thick pea fog ,
and the lake felt like a soup ,
then came the mud
and then came a thud !
And on that island I fell in love with the moon ,
her beauty shone down ,
and showed me in her fairest light .
And so now and again her beauty would fade ,
and cast me back to my darker days .

And i never again saw the man who stared back at me ,
and to this day ,
I can never figure out how this could be ?
Untill one night staring back at me ,
did I see my own reflection in the sea.

How silent the wood seems now ,
that everyone has left .
Or perhaps they never were ,
to the untrained eyes of the unwanted guest ?

The streams and Brooks are still flowing ,
their waters never end ,
and the birds will soon be chirping,
alive their happy song .
to reclaim the wood that man once trod ,
and thought he once belonged .

Her Queen is now in paradise she  goes a waltzing through her trees ,
caught only by the passing dancing whispers of her leaves .
“ She looks happy now for the strangers bones
have now all broken ,
for they have turned to mulch before her feet ,
and lie a compost for her bed .

and the leaves and trees before her , they form a trail before her ,
and so ,
break out in song .

they go on and on and on .
As the winds and trees obey her ,
and sing her happy tune .

And soon the trees are Waltzing with each other in her wake ,
for nothing shall stand before her ,
not man ,
or beast or snake .

For the costers who once sold apples ,
they stripped them from her trees.                                                         they  came across a glade in the Forrest .
They  lit fires and gorged on anything that flew ,
or swam ,
or moved ,
then fell in silence to their knees .

And by dusk they all had all vanished ,
not a *** or burning ember to be seen .

As as for the men who came with axes to cut down what they could find ? Well they disappeared like the stranger ,
under no rock or stone could they hide .

And as the sun rises softly ,
into a warming pastel hew ,
her warm rays balm in sunlight ,
as the Queen takes up her throne ,
to gaze upon in glorious sunlight ,
for  her throne is made out of skin and bone ,
content that man knows  best,
to think that the Forrest is his home .

If you never hear from me again ,
just remember this ,
it is that I loved you with the fondness of spring ,
for it was not in a twinkling that I did depart ,
but it was to ever lay upon the ruins of my heart ,
the sadness it would bring .
For Not an ounce was it not spared ,
upon these mill. Ponds ,
that rippled ,
that laid bare upon this  frozen earth ,
those daffodils of spring .


But alas this winter is eternal has laid contempt upon my brow ,
as our bodies perish ,
from this cold ,
but  let it not be like this if it  is it to be remembered ,
for only  by the merriment of youth ,
shall it be endowed ,


That we should ever spend our days on earth ,without a friend ?

And the dear sentiments of when we first met ,
are now only tinged with the  deepest regret .
That these bitter winds one day might end ,
and if they do I beg  of you ,
that you will see me ,
not then  as the years have marched on ,
but as a companion and a friend.


But if not the years than what ?
For the years in all their  dearest forms ,
should dare to charm what we once knew .
For if it were my last food parcel would I not give unto you ?

For if it not Charity should ever boast about things just as these ,
It is that this endless winter should ever  bring us to our knees ,
and walk cap in hand to our Lord and master of thi# land ,
that he should take pity on the plight we now stand ?
Or if a passing stranger should walk on by ,
and take ruth,
under these blackened skies ?
Or just find one more thing to wither and die .

But they themselves have not food to eat ,
and walk aimlessly about these  forever cursed streets .

And as of now you lye unmoved ,
upon the ground
as snow gives you  it’s blanket of spring ,
unmoved unbowed ,
the daintiest most beautiful thing ,
Layed to waste upon the ground .

For now I to  must sleep for a while ,
for death is only the first flower of spring,
the most prettiest ever eternal thing

Our love became unthroned ,
all because of you .
Yes  you the one I hold with all my heart ,
for you didn’t  love what we had  known.

I would chisel out of granite ,
with my bare hands what we had left aside ,
from an apple to a heart ,
and take a peek at what’s inside .

Yet what we had was it for real ,
or built on fibreglass ?
For our train at Canfranc station awaits ,
the last to ever leave ,
the billow of smoke ,
this monster breaths ,
it’s last .
it’s whistle slowly fades ,
the doors are slammed shut ,
the clock still ticks ,
my windows down ,
and my heart is out of luck .

A tear rolls down my cheek ,
it’s choked in soot ,
misunderstood,
my love for you was insane ,
and now you have gone ,
and left me alone ,
with Only love to blame .

A fly  died in my bath today ,
a butterfly on the stairs
I know of not how or why ,
they had to die ,
O mournful s pity cry .
For  that what was flying about and knew that it must die, for it
in water it found not wings that it might fly ?
For  it was such a dainty pritty thing ,
O mournful pity’s cry !

Then as for the butterfly that fluttered for a time ,
that it held its wings in valor
to never give up the fight .
For I know not why ,
it even chose to die,
that I should weep for a butterfly ?


Was  it the stairwell  that gave it  it’s bars ,?
It’s lack of light
and pouted air ?

to what even brought it here ?
Or why it felt it had to die ?
O mournful pity’s cry .


It is these things that trouble me most ,
that of all of Gods creation he might boast ,
that he God made such fastidious  things as these .
That  flies might  scavage and feast on rotting flesh ,
that the butterfly and flower should dare with paint
and brush colour Gods earth with love for us .

That one should be so hated ,
the other loved beyond belief ,
yet both had their part to play ,
‘ that a fly might even cry ,
for the loss of its lover as it was passing by ,
that it should find no other,
then die .

The sun in all its spender you awoke ,
and starlit skies ,
you’re artichoke .
Thats what I saw in you .

The moon though shadows wait and clouds may gather ,
to break and shape you’re winds of desire .

For trees will sway and and bows will break ,
but you’re heart in many days are spent ,
as pure as the driven rain that batters on the roof above my head.

But given though i dare not ask a tear from you’re eye ,
as if a wounded soul .
Ship wrecked and drifting wood ,
you cling to my mast ,
the best you could .

But you a bird of paradise,
can soothe my heart if it you’re will ,
or dash it on a stone
And so heavens angels they are calling for you now ,


you’re cage is open ,
you are free somehow ,
no longer it will be for me to bring a tear to you’re soul ,
goodbye my love ,
farewell I weep ,
to close you’re eye lids as you sleep ,
to awaken in paradise.

Did I tell you that once I heard a blackbird sing ?
for it had in its beak a golden ring .
And upon that ring there lay a crown inlaid with rubies and emeralds all around .
And apron that crown I placed upon you’re head was all the words
I wish i hadn’t said .
For love is so full of hurtful things ,
that dig into you’re heart like diamond rings .

O I once heard a blackbird sing ,
It sang to me about all those troubling things .
that made you cry ,
and made you mad ,
yet you were the most precious gift I ever had .

And that golden ring you wore that blackbird had upon his claw ,
was tinged with sadness like it was before .
for love with all its sins to bear ,
it’s rugged cross ,
It’s nails of steel .

So if we hold each other tight ,
the dreams we held each single night ,
as we kissed and said good night ,
our hopes that love could never die .

And as morning broke a blackbird sang ,
It sang of all the joys and tears we held in our hearts for many years ,
and we just sat there and filled with sorrow ,
for the joys and pains of our tomorrows .
The poets words they flew away ,
as we thanked the Lord for another day.
And the rose bush that bore the scars ,
that held the ring ,
and the rugged crown,
a blackbird perched on it for a while ,
then flew away ,
and made you smile.

Now you are far from my touch, my hands ,and my face .For now I ihave lost you’re loving embrace ,
for the mountains don’t tremble they way when you were near ,
and you’re hand dos’nt make my heart quake  everytime you’re
hand went near .
For now  you are far you’re eyes have gone dim.
You’re eye lids have closed ,
you’re flesh  has gone pale ,
a pallor mortis of you’re skin that I once kissed with a.
loving grin .

The Crows have all gathered they are here in a field ,
now you lie next to you’re Father ,
as soil drops I hear it fall on top of you’re grave ,
for in love you were with me ,
now in death you are found .
Yet  the gardener will still find blooms in you’re hair ,
many years after I whisper you’re name to the moon lit airs.
Now  you are far ,
things can  never be the same,
the sunshine you brought when you called out my name .

So let the Nymphs of earth carry you away to some far away place ,
where we shall meet again some day ,
to Ride together for we shall become one ,
through forests past mountains to find the wings of the sun .
Yet now you are far and all that is left is a tomb ,
a single carnation now falls silent on you’re face

The Stag lies down
the crows peck at his flesh ,
he closes his eyes for  his mistress has died .So
Let  the winds cry fowl ,
as crows perch on the gate ,
as a strong winds howls
pray tell me I’m not too late ?

A water droplet from a rose bush ,
Once fell onto the ground ,
for once it had withered
starved and died .
it’s form was unrecognisable ,
from its romantic story books of love .
Where the fine Prince offered up a rose ,
to his princess with the flickering eyes
Two lovers hand in hand ,
looked up into paradise ,
as two lover birds perched on high sang softy. their  Song of love .

Nobody wanted to pick its buds ,
nobody pruned it’s stem .

Untill  a little girl with a watering can ,
and a red ribbon in her hair ,
came along and with a song , filled it full of love .

Each flower bloomed ,
and she name each colour
by its looks .
This ones pink ,
that ones yellow ,
now what shall I do with you ?

The last rose said
Well I can make you cry
With joy ,
or I can make you very  sad ?
But If your friend can fill your heart with all these things now
That won’t be so bad ?

Well my boyfriend name is red ,
so  name  you after him ,
You will be my pride and joy ,                                                               and I will teach you how to sing,
leave you in my mothers vase ,
and water you with love .

For I shall never let you wither and die ,
and you will fill our hearts with
Joy .

Then one day Reds roots began to wilt ,
and Red  the boyfriend played with his red little truck ,
more than gardening with Liv .
Their friendship died and the rose was thrown  out into  the bin ..

For love is such a fragile thing it’s petals aren’t meant to last .
But when it does what joys it brings ,
to everybody’s hearts.

Did I tell you once there were three ,
Tom and i and the ocean ,
and we all ventured out to sea ,
only two returned so that left me .


But the seas were never a friend of mine ,
but still I would go fishing to pass the time ,
to cast my line over the seas harbour walls ,
and dream of monsters from the deep ,
their open mouths and shiny sharp jaws ..and teeth .


Did I tell you once there once were two
the ocean and me,
and that’s what led me out to sea ?

But I never liked the watery waves ,
the smell of the salt ,
the seaweed and shale ,
the ***** that at night hid under rocks ,
the mermaids that called  the sea their throne .

But I went out in my boat  in a gale ,
I pushed my boat out with the shingle and shale ,
and rowed above those sea going winds ,
And I felt the roar of the seas beneath my feet
and so their monsters I stood and fought ,
each one fell valiant against my sword .
ten thousand fathoms deep ,
they fell unto their graves


Yet The moon was full underneath the oceans waves ,
and all went still .
Untill the mermaids sang
a sea shanty they sang to me
and for a time they were all I could see,
beautiful Mermaids all around me .
For The light of the moon had captured the waves ,
and so the light became their  slaves .
as mermaids sang as if for days ,
their sirens moving  across the waves.


the ocean had swelled ,
and rose ,
then frowned .

and left my boat capsized in front of me ,
and so I drowned .
Then all that was left was the ocean,
and
the sound of the waves ,
and then there were three ,
you and me and our boat heading out to sea .

Thimbleful  honey came home to find her pantry  bare ,
her bread was sold for half a crown ,
but she didn’t seem to care .

Now her husband was a jolly soul ,
he spent her money on gin ,
and so mr thimbleful came home one day ,
and. never got-up again .

Yet her pantry  needed filling ,
a piece of soap to wash the cat ,
Mrs Thimbleful went a begging ,
and wasn’t afraid of that .

But the men she saw were easy ,
for a tuppence for a time ,
one by one she saw them ,
by night ,
now wasn’t that a crime ?

Just to buy a loaf of bread ,
which was just enough to eat ,
so no wolf or desperate strangers should come a knocking at   her door ,
or pass her in the street .

yet  Mr thimbleful said nothing ,
he just drunk and slept all day ,
but at least she had a Lader full ,
and a smile to greet the day

I wrote a poem today ,
but now my words have flown away ,
slipped off the paper and said ,
“ once we were part of you ,
but now we are dead “

Just like the summer to Autumn this day
‘ where hast the spring gone ?
for one day Autumn will appear and give breath to my song .


And Autumn with its baritone  voice
will end my  soprano harmonies ,
It will be said .

And so my virtuoso performance must end ,
and after this night a little darkness must descend..

But if those words should one day appear ,
I think they would be most happiest here.

If love was just a butterfly upon a summers day ,
dancing above daffodils then flying far away .
For if love could be a stolen locket ,
taken from a tower ,
with a picture of her lover ,
dancing before a flower ?
But if love is none of these ,
and does not waver ,
and does not flint ,
but shows its many colours in O so many ways ,
in roses and violets and O so many other dainty things
we could love all our days ?
Then let it be like the morning ,
that hope we have each day ,
as rays of light come calling
to brighten up our day.

Because that is what my sister is ,
always thoughtful and serene ,
a lady of many colours ,
a spectrum of crystal beams.
looking out into the sunlight ,
as every morning unfolds.

An all encapsulating flower ,
before it’s petals fall ,
the spraying of salt water ,
against a harbour wall .

A light house to a bird ,
beaten back by the winds entrepid gales ,
but above all a safe harbour when all else begins to fail .

T’was a morrow before St Nicholas ,
the air was stiff and cold ,
even the mice who were running about ,
took shelter from the cold .

Yet St Nicholas still had presents for all the poor and sick ,
their little eyes peered out from behind their curtains
their mothers shood them away ,
‘ after all ‘ St Nick won’t call unless your good ,’
so the fairy stories say .’
Then mother slammed the book and sent them off to bed.
Their poor staving children still needed to be fed .


And yet far away in Bethlehem Angels spread their wings,
six thousand years of waiting and at last th3 angels sing .

And an elderly man who was waiting could now die in peace ,
and so St Nicholas handed out his presents for the lonely and the week .
And so on Christmas morning all the children had enough to eat .

Not in the large houses did he bother with their gas fires at night ,
T’was the  needy and the wanton that brought hope on this holy night

And so for the desperate and the needy ,
For hot food and warm blankets and a bed to sleep ,
he still walks the lonely streets .

And so far away in Bethlehem that wasn’t that far at all ,
a new born baby tomorrow will be born,
A saviour for the desperate ,
The wanton and the week ,
and all those at Christmas time with not enough food to eat .

When black  clouds and white butterflys are all that i can see  ,
and  the towers of Balam stand tall ***** infront of me ,
and the bells of the convent i now ring
with two stubs for arms
and yet no one pitys my cry
and lets me in .
then let  what was lost  in heaven bestow
unto me ,
what  heavenly ghostly apperishans tell .
that  two birds of paradise might  fly down from heaven above
to place a ring of shaphires before my 
Queen of love

when  if all that is left are dafffodills
on Welsh green fields and valleys  ,
so fair ,
and a call from mama ,
thats fine by me for  i wont be missing supper today .
But if what is found is love in my sweet Alices smile than that to me
is worth more than gold ,
if i find saphires in her eyes .

.Bur  if all that is left are daffodils
then thats alright by me
then
ALICE  and i wil be cycling tandom
on our way
home for tea .

The branches still swayed  as a rose petal fell ,
for without these our love wound not grow at all .

Without the raven who circled  the skies ,
for above him were the heavens ,
and the clouds passing by .

And without their rains to feed Gods land ,
for nothing waits and all was   planned .

That we should find in all these things ,
a way to love the daintiest things .

Have you ever watched a flower in bloom ,
or seen  a man or woman decline in years ,                                                         or or ever  seen  a single blade of grass grow ,
then wither at the first sign of the suns heavenly glow ?

For the branches reached out as In love their. tree tops swayed ,
as the rains that fell on sods of Gods earth replenish ,
untill this day .
And  so one petal fell  to remind you of spring ,
that indeed is love .
That  In love .


That in love O it’s scent do I not bring ,
In richest table set ,
that you won’t see the death of my  raven ,
bestowed upon this cloth I lay ,
upon this very night ?

Or sing some sordid melody upon its weeping breast .

Come ,
come it is for love ,
for that is my bequest ,
to dine with me under candelabra lights ,
and feed upon its breast .


And just as they were tucking in ,
a thousand heavenly roses bloomed,
In colours of the blood that pored ,
upon that table loomed .

I can only dream of love ,
that formed the rock pools of beauty that sored above .,
your beauty that which was hidden from my eye ,
as when we as strangers just walking on by.

To me it is not just a hideous dream ,
that you found another just like me ?

That I should with that thought walk through the gardens of Mars !
Did Theodus . not cling to you’re love ,
for he did not even whisper in secret to you
the rock pools  that I once saw in you’re eyes ,
the rocks and gems that I pulled from the skies .
Did he not take you to the fountains of Rome ?
or Keep you from the wild beasts that roamed ?

Did Theodus not rise like a god from the seas ,
only for you to sink unmercifully to you’re knees ?

Oh for if we had risen like the birds ,
and flown to Delos on wings of our own ,
and basked in the rays of the sun ,
where Artemis comes out at night ,
and Appolo  is seen when the sun is at its hight .


As for  you and I with Theodus  dead ,
as I had crushed his ****** head to save you from loving him ,
more than I could ever love myself .
And so you caught the number one bus ,
well I guess thats the end of us !
With that bloke you were with that got on the bus .
making eyes at me from you’re  back seat ,
as I waited ,
I still have  dreams and memories of you .

There was a gate. at Waterloo. Station which many soilders  Passed on through ,
home from the war ,
but none of them were  you .
Passionately  kissing their loved ones from long distant shores ,
Life just passed me by that day,
just like many others  I had never seen before ..

And the steamy ,acrid smell of diesel ,
that brought a tear to my eye ,
that choking ,the stench of death ,
as others just walked on by .
have you seen my son ?
and I asked every one ,
what have they done ?
Not even a letter ,
or a note ,
I could trace .

I walked past soldiers some are dead some barely alive ,
Just to look into their eyes ,
yet none can compare to what now wells up inside .

Missing that’s how I now think of you ,
you went to the war ,
and never returned,
not in a coffin ,
or a grave ,
or in a hug or a kiss ,
you’re cold hands I could feel and touch ,
now I can’t even warm them up ,
Is something I will miss .

Just missing ,
that’s how I think of you ,
the door bell  rings,
and when it does ,
I think of you .

Butterflies fell silent to the ground ,
to a backdrop of fire and billowing smoke all around ,
to each one a widow mourns ,
to each one a new day dawns .


For on this day we started to plan ,
to count the cost ,
to laugh and dance again .
Not to look into deaths face and wonder why ?
O tyrant that stalked our foreign shores ,
that goose stepped through once peaceful lands ,
we put up arms against thee did we stand .

The tyrany from which we were saved ,
yet we still remember those who found nothing but a grave ,
and for those who were forced to dig their own ,
a memorial stone .

And those brave fighters above the skies who risked their lives ,
to what cost ?
Our freedom and liberty .

For every widow and every child ,
for every life destroyed ,
for every Jew who died ,
for every sacrifice .

For every Nobel cause ,
for every song birds song ,
for the day light ,
and blue skies ,
and church bells rung .
and every bunting and ballon strung .
This glorious day was won ,
In fields of butterflies.

At home I have a colour box ,
which paints my poetry ,
some words I use a lot ,
for this never bothers me .

Some words are rich in thought my very special pens .
and some I just use a lot because I had forgotten,
every poem  ends .

But this one dos’nt it can paint with love and other different colours
unbeknown to me.
And so vast their tones and fortunes only seen through fervrant  eyes . So you with all your splendour when you’re thought prevail ,
amas you’re wondrous colours and dip into youre colour box again .

My dear old gran ,
had a sowing box ,
a spindled thread of .love ,
to sow our teddies jumpers ,
When we were growing up .

My dear old gran had a bible she read it every day ,
and prayed in the kitchen so I could hear her pray .

“ Call yourself a Christian?
and you haven’t washed you’re face “ .
These things my gran knitted and she never dropped a stitch .!

My dear old gran had a grandfather clock ,
it lived at the top of the stairs ,
and chimed as I moved its hands .
A grandfather clock my grand pa bought ,
as us twins climbed to the top of the stairs .

So  we all had ham and salad and chips every time we came to stay ,
all on grans best silver ,
up the cimla ,
Gran would stop just to hear us say ....

Then there was uncle Bill who forever messed with the tv ,
so much so my gran used to say
“ Uncle Bill did that to me “

A spindled tale of memories ,
my grandma,s. box of threads ,
Of life’s great mysteries like when we drop a stitch In life ,
and forget to pick up the thread !

And so I shall close that box of memories
a thousand happy days ,that
still today reminds me ,of grand mas box of tricks..
that never goes away .

I walked in rooms I had not known ,
In a mansion that was not my own.
A scroll of papers on her bed ,
untill now were left unread .

Now There was once a room above we’re many flights of stairs ,
where Lucy sat to contemplate her thoughts and many prayers .
Whilst alone with candel light she shared
all her dreams and fears .

“ My love is our thread in deep dark twine ,
the kind of love that will pass throughout time ,
for many. a year I have awaited for a stranger.
For there is not one you must not tell ,
or our rondaview must  it end  in hell?
Then for if it is pergetory  that I must stay ,
for smiling at a stranger ?

O For then it is with you  I must reside ,
far away where I can hide .
Might gale and every storm abide this love I hold must  then requent  and die ,
for talking to a stranger .

Come quick for I fear his  every step  his evil eye  his stinking breath



for with each step he takes my heart grows ever colder.
As  with each beat of my heart  a chandelier starts to flicker .

For it is for you my dreams awake each night ,
to the sound of hooves that gallop and torches bright ,
like days of old my shining knight should ever ask upon my favor ?

Where branches scratch and sun grows cold ,
and shifting spirits a curse of old ,                                                             all for a night of talking with a stranger .

And if you are too late my candles dims ,
my light goes out ,
I cannot win ,
for without you my heart can’t  sing
and  so  unto death my blade grows ever sharper
and so my blood runs even darker ,
and  death is as cold as a stranger .

Alone she left him dying as if a thousand daggers were there .
Alone he felt her breathing but he knew she wasn’t there .
Alone he stood as if for hours wondering where she had gone ?
then realised it must have been the flowers ,
O where did he go wrong ?

A single candel stick now lies flickering upon a lump of wax ,
where there once was a table and on that was a cat !

But the cat left when in hot pursuit of a mouse ,
which kept him thinking where on earth did she go ?

Now the dinner Theodore had set before her covered the room ,
from head to toe .

So Theodore as charming as men go ,
set off in hot persuit of the woman who he loved ,
through the door ,
she left her glass slipper on the floor ,
down the steps ,
and galloped away .

So to this day he still could not find her ,
and that was many moons ago .

So if you hear horses hoofs and neighing when you come to stay ,
Just remember Theodore isn’t far away .

Into shallow waters we shall wade ,
side by side our serenade ,
two lovers hand in hand ,
Kicking out sandels off in the sand .

Oh turtle love won’t you come to ?
and the shell fish two by two ,
follow us to deeper waters splashing our hips and upper quarters.

Where is the crab ,
the star fish too ,
Caught in plastic oh are you ?
Another can of Coca Cola ,
Seaweed drowning not in salty water ,
but what man throws disguarded by day ,
what the winds just blew away ,
what the rain clouds will claim some day ,
our ever dying sands .

The steps to the museum were many ,
you helped me climb the stairs .
Before my eyes ,
behind every glass frame you had placed every living ***** of me .

You bought a program which you called art ?
A wooden chair .

Before  me lied exhibit number one .
Burnt out ,
torchered ,
bleeding ,
dying ,
I saw my heart ,
in a frame ,
In front of me .

For it was there in a dungeon you left me ,
with nothing but stale bread to eat ,
you hung you’re axe of judgement O me .
For What ?

For it was deaths daughter of the crimson lip ,
that had touched my lips .
A traitor ? Not I ,
A herotic maybe ?
For her words were like flowing rivers eastwards towards the sea.
And her chambers  had  a soft fluffy bed .

Angels hold locks and keys ,
they hover above my head ,
a jailers cart you ride with horse and whip ,
With me clinging to iron bars inside ,
with chains upon my heels.

Oh butterfly where are you’re butter cups ?
Where is you’re lavender wine ?

As we left the museum the doors were bolted shut ,
and the evenings light caught the roof tops of a red sunset ,
forever frozen in time .
As if two thousand lovers prayed .
Could this be our lasting memory,
our final serenade ?

The curtains are drawn ,
no one wakes ,
the nights are long as the wolf lies in wait ,
for and when the sun burns out it’s days
the world will  be a happier place .

For no one dares now to venture out ,
their doors are shut ,
and are all bolted up .

And on the hearth a boiling stew ,
of rabbit or what ever runs and crawls ,
they will catch that  to.

Fasten down the bales in the wind,
for everything moves and nothing is still .

And if the winds die down for a while
the frost will bight ,
and break the bones of this  bitter night .
for  nothing is gained by the watch mans light .

Then when  the wolves and dogs will catch your hens ,
don’t fall asleep ,
to their wailing ends,
with flint lock poised ,                                                                ­             fo for the dead can’t awaken the wolf’s crafty stare ,
and pritty soon your hens won’t be there.!

And yes the nights will shorten soon ,
for one day they will end ,
and your crops will one day dance in your meadows again

The skies are quieter now ,
the birds were  full of song.
and. as  ancient. woodland stretches out her hand
their dark fickle  shadows fall ,as if to say ,
“ You’re not welcome here  go home you really don’t belong .’


And so the. stranger  rests his staff  for  a while gently against
a tree
to sit down besides a brook . .
For  his days are getting shorter now ,
for they are much more than whenst he took .


A gentle whisper in his ear from a starling fleeing her nest
She says “time waits. for  not even for you ,                                            so please do not invite
him in and think that he’s your guest .”

And so the stranger  picks up his staff and goes upon his way ,
and never again finds time to stay  
as the woodland soon gives up her song ,
and falls silent along his way

Yet silence is an unwanted guest ,
she never asks to stay ,
but if she does ,
don’t leave her long ,
for she might never go away .                                                                ­   For the woods which were once full of song ,
now hides a deadly grin .

What horrors that lie in tell ,
no words no man has ever seen .
except for the singing of the birds ,
and the dancing of the leaves .

Of all the secrets that wood holds ,
this stranger  will ever  tell
for no one has ever heard or seen,
the mystery’s of her  dancing Queen .
That shifts the branches to and fro ,
who tells the winds which way to blow .

And all that was left was a babbling brook ,
When the sun arose the following day,
no stranger lost was ever found ,
and is still goes missing to this day .

There was once a game that was played on grass,
on a Saturday at three pm .
Or up for the cup ,
beneath flood lit lights on a Wednesday at half past seven .
No sky tv ,
no Thursday nights ,
not even Friday or Sunday afternoon.

The keeper wore green ,or yellow or white , or even blue ,
not pink or purple or orange .

You could pass the ball back from the half way line,
to the keeper who would take his time ,
to pick up a white ball and thump it .

No VAR ,
to screwtenise ,
the players every move .
  No stockings worn by players or mits or muffins or gloves .
No nice green lawns which never flood ,
so teams come off caked in mud and blood after ninety minutes .

Not even women screeching commentators getting excited all the time .
There’s no John Motson ,
no more Brian Moore ,
no sportsnight,
watching highlights with bleary eyes at what seems like midnight ,
in you’re pjs with coco before bed time .
Spotlights shone on cold Highbury nights of Armstrong ,
Ball , Charlton or Best .
For there are no turnstiles at White hart lane ,
pay as you enter ,
never quite the same.
So here’s to sky and bt for spoiling a game once full of romance ,
will it ever be the same ?

Poetry of love that moves every part ,
that is the very being of her beating heart .
It holds  the tender stem and plants the root ,
and shows the starling where to find her seeds  .
It charms the sparrows from their nests in blind despair,
For nothing is too much to bear ,
for it even holds your hand when you climb the stair
and holds the brush that combs  your hair .

For poetry is everywhere,
It’s in the blades of grass that sway in the winds
It’s in the sleet and snow that winter brings .

It’s in the times when everything was said ,
and you just wanted to go to bed .

Far above what nature brings the lilies the daisies and her  daffodils.
In all these wondrous things ,when
Poetry sings it lights the way for falling stars ,
The crimson ray ,
the velvet fox gloves ,
to the man who says “ I’m not in love “
For she will still whisper ,
“ above all. these things you’re days my love are not yet done “.

I once knew a poet a long time ago ,
her words were of silent thoughts ,
even though she would not tell me so.

But her love for me was kindly that none should walk away,
or at least that’s what I thought at least unto this day .

But if words were like ships that sail out to sea ,
far away to paradise would that even  bother me ?
So  if dreams of paradise is how I think of you ,
then every word written ,
I would bestow  unto you .

But if words could send me to paradise and every thought came true ,
then why are we on different ships with storm clouds O and not blue ?

You hid the moon ,
you took away the stars ,
a table for two ?
You had all night to say I was leaving you.
The quill of your pen was all dripping
and wet  ,
a life time of sorrows I would live to regret .
Youre eyes as wide as saucers,
smoke from you're cigar turned my eyes a bleary red .
Youre hair as wild as the forest ,
you're eyes a crystal blue ,
a tapestry of colour,
you always hid from.my view ,
you had all night to tell me ,
how that didn't bother you?

A table of blue you set before me ,
" we can live amongst the stars ,
I will be Jupiter you can be Mars !"

And so you left without me   ,
what will you ever do ?
how could you live without me  ?
Now you're lifes a constant blue .

The moon left the night you left me ,
the stars in hot pursuit,
you had all night to say you were leaving I guess the rose in your glass was misunderstood!

I awoke this fine morning ,
threw open the curtains,
the morning sun caught my eye ,
was that you with that stranger ,
who was just passing by ?
Now my days seem weary
I guess it's hard to understand .

My friend tells me " there is a beauty
with eyes of crystal blue ,
hair like a wild forest should I introduce you ?"

In silence we mourn,
for it is in darkness we awake ,
and peek through holes as the daylight appears ,
in the light of the gate ,
that  snuffs out the wick in the march of the years .

Then slowly and quiet.y our coffins await to be drawn out in trains ,
out of the Nectropolices gate.

For as the bush fires burn ,
and scorch the land ,
and the war Lords gather to map out their plans .
For even if the Netropolics  train is running late ,
and we play hopscotch by the stations gate ,
but it’s to late the carriages move ever on .

But the preacher waits there is a cure ,
and the trains wagons will stop im. Sure .

So tell the sick Christ’s work is done ,
the cross ,
new life in Gods only son .
There  is a way past Brookwood crem,
and deaths train is not the end at all ,
for them .

The guns now fall silent ,
to not a single sound .
No marching bands or mothers cries could be heard ,
none that could be found .

Then I heard a bird singing alone ,high above where I stood .       Alone  it perched then rested beside me,
as I knelt with flowers ,
beside a grave stone stood .

You see he died the morning after he left me for the war ,
he died and left me alone as I had never been before .

He died with guns beside him ,
some a hero might say ,
but to me he was my lover ,
my dearest friend always .

And now yes the guns have fallen silent albeit for just a day ,
for somewhere there is another war ,
even to this  day .

Somewhere someone will shout you took my neighbors cat ,
or stray into an unknown land ,
their guns shall rise again .
But  for now There is silence and for now I shall settle for that .

I sailed from tranquil waters to where the waters swell ,
with no compass to guide me .
alone in my sufferings for i knew them well .

For   my masts and riggin were being battered With every fleeting breath ,
from mast to stern I wandered this clipper ,
as my eyes sort no rest .

Then the sun lost its gaze as I drifted further out to sea ,
but  all I could see was a tempest within my soul ,
abating me .

O howling winds and shadows that hath taken me to this night ,
the stars spread out vast and broad were their sight .
with no rudder or compass I’m lost as the stars shone O .

Then I heard a voice much clearer than before ,
a one I loved so dearly ,
down below .
One like I had always heard before .
for my captain with helm knew where I had trod ,
his arms stretched out towards me not far from where I stood.
for This war within me and battles some I have fought and won ,
rage on within me to the glory of the setting sun .



For the seas are now  like mill ponds stretching out to distant lands,
and peaceful the silence against the prevailing shore ,
in this forever changing land .
For just  for now they are still ,
will they still haunt me to my grave ,
the mill ponds of silence or the forever rushing waves ?

I. watched  you sleeping ,
so Peacefully  as deaths dark curtains fell ,
When veils are drawn unto thy brow ,
and the watcher waits ,
a spectors parade of many souls ,
one by one .

You looked so peaceful sleeping when I said my final goodbye,
So peaceful sleeping when something caught my eye .

For It was a silence I could not mend ,
for you would never rise again ,
and have blood pump through those beautiful veins ,
a heart pump to you’re many organs again .

Yet something cought my eye ,
not a splinter or a fly ,
could ever feel that droplet down my cheek ,
fall on your lips so dry .


Cold is you’re coffin
Yet how joyless  you’re fate ,
that two lovers should part ,
as you’re soul leaves as like a ship sails away ,
I feel it ,
too late .

And all is left the calling of the birds ,
and the crashing of waves against the harbours walls ,
For the watcher sees each silent soul ,
pass far away ,
as the candel blows out ,
he sees them all .

When the snow covers the hill tops ,
and turns to ice the mountainous springs ,
when angels wings covet the skies ,
when all that can be seen are these things .
For only  mountains split when  God is near ,
only then I shall  fall into you’re arms ,
because you are so dear .

So let  snow covered   mountains then  tremble in you’re sight ,
above the earth ,
where perfumed goblets pour out amugst the stars ,
and crows that once gathered ,
are now scattered near and far .

Then  statues of you and I will rise in marble and pure gold ,
their metals will glisten by the fountains of Bairn                           tthat     told by scribes that have long since died .
Passed  down though time bybirds with heads of maidens ,
for so black are their bodies ,
as we grow  old  ,
their faces gaunt and pale.
But our hearts grew strong in love and grace ,
even as our bodies grew weak and frail .

O then for  it is it not you’re beauty I await .

Now the song birds have fallen silent to this fate ,
so then do the stars and the moon await ,
and shadows in the garden now appear ,
now you are near .

And so when morning comes I shall await for the sun ,
it’s bitter cold winds now that mornings begun ,
on clouds carried by Nymphs of the earth
when Gods holy messengers cover their wings ,
for even they can’t look on such beautiful  things

For by this gate I wait for you’re return ,
where you’re Father lays buried  beneath the wings of the sun .

Then I hear the pounding of hooves ,
far away in the distance .
O now you are near ,
as my horse gains pace o so many the year,
as our hearts beat faster for now they are one,
two lovers together ,
their joy hath begun .
together forever ,
now you are near ,
by the grave of you’re Father how bitter you’re tears .

**** ..” Take this flame from me I heed it not ,
That my blackbird should  die before my very eye .
That my burning torch should light a flame ,
that cries out to who so ever killed my love ,
to eternal darkness render thee “

Robin ...” But you sir on this darkest of night ,
Might need that light to bury your dead ,
that lies before thee as still as this very night .”

**** ... Let me first persue this creature,
that took away you’re life ,
be it man cat or bird ,
come forth before me now whilst you still can .
For no trees or barns ,
house or home canst ever hide you away from me .”

Robin ...” The bird is dead ,
                   the deed is done
canst it not wait untill the morning sun ?

****... This night if this creature does not come forth ,
it will be too late for it will lay dead before my beek”

Then from behind a tree came a fox ,

Fox. “ I saw what killed the bird it fell from this tree it was quite obserd !”

By then other birds from the wood had gathered around ,
as judge and jury .
The ravens clacked and clicked ,
the blackbirds chirped ,
others sang , but it wasn’t a happy sound .
Each one with piercing eye on the intruder who had just walked by .
With ****** mouth , which kind of gave him away ,
and soon lay dead upon the
ground ,
next to where the blackbird lay.

Curious came and went ,
for curious could never stay long ,
for by the morning she was gone .!

No bows or arrows with their jagged edge ,
could piece the heart of this winsome ***** .
No quick harpsichordal  melodies of love ,
will ever well  up or spring from her heart for thine .
For she  smiled like the beaming first rays of a summers day ,
yet  in a few hours  she had gone away just as the pappi disappears before the sun on a hot summers day .

So shy but anaware of her beauty that once led her there ,
So delicate like the pappi of a dandelion ,
flying away in mid air ,
“ forget me not .
Forget me “ as she walked away .

Far far she went ,
faraway she walked away from me ,
how could i forget ?
But  that’s what I did .

That’s why when she whispered her last Papu  away ,
I still can’t remember to this day.

The rain clouds after summer why did they last so long ?
And left   me to wonder where it went so wrong ?

They grey clouds still linger as did the death of spring ,
and summer lasted as long as a leaf falls ,
and yet they do not sing .

Like a mulch it’s flavors rot ,
and are raked then carried away,
And very soon ,
the moon will be full
but will last but just a day

And all is left is a  naked branch which sways along the way .
It’s so longing for those leaves it lost to restore its beauty some day .



Ah you say beauty is in everything,
it’s just what you don’t see ,
It’s charms it’s flaws. ,
It’s brittle and weak ,
but still in everything I see .

The skies and trees are sown in falling leaves ,
their branches thimbles break .
And so the moon takes back this hour my dear old granny. spake .

So each cloud that passes O  is filled with spite and hate ,
and every sunlit boat that crosses every lake ,
is my every thought that dreamers make ,
and  dreams I’m not too late .

Yet  the skies are growing darker ,
and your boat is yet as far ,
and so  my dreams of seeing you are now hidden. by a star .

But Granny’s words my old gran read when I was just a kid ,
spoke of crystal streams and dancing nimphs as the sun caught my eyes .
along with all the things she said .
So along with the many books she read ,
she sung a lullaby .

And so we went a fishing in nets to catch frogs and toads and newts.,
and granny said “ one day you will catch a lady ,
just like you caught that newt “

So I still dream of paradise and all the love she might bring ,
and prayed those darkened clouds won’t cause her boat to sink .

That’s why I’m standing by this pond all alone ,
awaiting for my paradise ,
a falling star ,
holds many dreams ,
and a nimph to show me how far.

Act one is the timeless joy of the hope that a new life brings,
before the curtain falls .
When everything is possible to a world that’s lost in sin .
When innocence is lost you can  stray too far from home ,

so  nothing is as it seems ,
and you wonder where the clowns have gone ?
They just hide behind their sneering smiles ,
and life in all its gawdy ness is now where You think you belong .?

But Those   pritty looks and charming smiles  are now ruin to a bottle of gin ,and life’s great act just wanders on again and again and again .

But the final act has yet to come you must enter the stage once more ,
the tyranny of modern man .
For life's  great highways seem far away ,
as you have walked where the snake and cockroaches gather their nests in empty doorways along your way .

And all you have is  six shillings to last you through the night ,
unless you flutter your eyelids to that gentleman ,
for your lodgings for he will gladly pay .
And yet each day goes on as summer follows spring ,
as the seasons morph into most glorious days .
Man with all his struggles does the best he can ,
for he was never asked if he wanted to live or die ,
yet here he is awoken to a screaming babies cry.

A man walked into town ,
his clothes were ***** his breath stank of *****,
he hadn’t washed in days ,
and he took his rest under a  sleepy shade ,
beneath a sleeping moon .

No one bothered him except for one lad ,
What’s you’re name mr “ said the boy ,
who  never went back .
Then the man stretched out his arm ,
and in his coat drew a Bible in his hand ,
and gave the lad a quote .

“ judge thee not or he cast the first stone “
   It’s been a long time since I left home .

you see my woman left me so I took to the drink ,
i at first didn’t know what to think .
You see she gave me a bone ,
when all I craved was her love ,
then she went to church,
well heaven above !

So I took the car untill it ran out of gas ,
for that light in my flame was not from heaven above .

Now i loved that dear woman  straight from my heart ,
but the  meat from that bone was full of gristle and grit ,
and no man should ever have to settle for a piece of it .
That’s why I’m here at the end of you’re street ,
a most heart breaking story you are ever likely to meet .

So the gristle and bone of this story be ,
Leave your heart in heaven ,
and don’t bother me .

Imagine if I was King ?
KinG  of what ?
King of glory and of grace ?
For that would only seal my fate .
King of love or understanding ?
that would only be for the immortals that are above ,
on whispy clouds we cannot see ,
unless we give our hearts to thee !

King of what then you might ask ?
Perhaps I should choose a lowlier task ?

One that no. One would want to seige
King of words that do not rhyme ?
but that would be a waste of time .
A King of Poetry ?
then I could charm all the beautiful ladies with word and deed .
For  that poets would in the night do away with me ,
with cloaks and daggers with which quill and ink spill ,
beneath my feet .
Dead in a pool of ink .

Perhaps a more lowly state ,
where other Kings won’t besiege my walls of fate .
Perhaps a King of fools ,
and diamond rings ,
and knowing what misery brings .
A table for two with Duck and a nice glass of  vinderloo ,
and a ring for you ,
just to see what you would do ? .

My Aunty Jane once possessed a cuckoo clock ,
as two little boys we watched it chime ,
holding our ice creams ,
bought for fifty pence .
I forgot about the panda cars and aunts cups of tea ,
and for a moment the cuckoo struck ,
it struck for me .

Cuckoo,
Cuckoo it sang with all its might ,
gracefully.
And  pritty soon the dancing girls came out ,
they turned and turned untill Jack came too .

And so I was sent to some far away place ,
with long green grass and meadows grazed ,
and where my little sister was nowhere to be seen ,
somewhere hiding in the apple green .

A long pole were girls went round ,
and didn’t stop ,
they wore masks to hide their faces ,
but they took me to far away places ,
playing hide and seek in the apple yard .


And still round and around they went ,
such was their contempt ,
then much to my lament ,
as i tried to leave ,

they drew me in ,
untill their childish games began .
My ice cream now was on the floor .

The  cuckoo clock chimed once more ,
my mummy said “ what a mess you have made “ .

Home I went wothout tea or cake ,
and sent to bed ,
oh for pity’s sake !
My sister walked in slammed the door ,
with Berlinda in hand and ,
with a smiling face said
“ you won’t see you’re toys no more “ .

Now there once was a pea lady who walked our narrow streets ,
as day light broke for sixpence she woke ,
her neighbors up each day .

So they could trudge for their bread for lunch ,
too feed their hungry souls ,
to walk each day in the pouring rain right up to the factory yard .

So many peas she shot that rattled each window frame ,
come rain come hell or shine ,she would be at it again ,
untill they all trudged down to that factory road .

Whilst others used canes or other noisy refrains.,
they all said was “ miss  Peawinkles  at it again .”
and “ those  ****** peas will be  the death of me ”
as they walked each day right up to the factory yard .

O to the bells that toll at heavens gate ,
which tell me now am I too late ?

Yet here am I on this mortal slab I lay ,
with  just my bell to ring to pass the day .

They come to  poke and bellow and stare ,
yet they cannot see if I am there ??

‘ Is he dead ?
O for pity’s sake we hung him once at Tyburns gate ,
they pulled his legs to hasten the blow ,
and waited there untill his legs turned cold ,
an ode to be such a happy soul !


And so I wait with bated breath no prods or wails now ,
it must be said ,
for at last now they think I am dead .
Hung by a noose ,
a darning thread ,
the thrill of the crowds roar ,
alas they are no more .
But  I still have this bell to ring
at the end of my bed,
just in case they think I am dead !
With the scent of fungi and truffles
all around on this bed can be found,
with my bell to ring when ever you are near ,
to catch the wind ,
now come hither my dear .

Where are you my love “ ?
The  woman cried out ,
she searched here home where soldiers came ,
and the abandoned streets where children once played .
“ Where are you my love ?”
and she walked barefoot in the streets she once called home ,
dead bodies strewn ,
all alone .
Her  neighbors her friends around her lay ,
and still she cried out for her lover .

Amugst  the fires and soot that choked the air ,
amugst the evil that once preyed there ,
amugst the echoes of the bullet and gun ,
that still rang in her ears .
She still looked and cried out
“ where are you dear , where are you my love “ ?
Her face and clothes were covered in soot ,
all day and night she looked ,
yet not once as sunlight rose ,
did she not stop to cry out ,
Where are you my love” ?

Then as she returned home ,
there was he with a big smile and a hug. ,
with newly cut flowers on a vase on the table ,
and birds went a singing as well they were able.

Then a man she had never met ,
took her hand as she wept ,
“ I know where you’re lover lies ,
hanged on the tree where you first met “
and that is all he said .

And so with bitter tears amugst the ruins her dreams and fears ,
she sat alone in the dust of what she once called ,
home .

I once had a wife who went down to the river to wash my clothes,
she dressed in red and had a funny shaped nose .
One day when i was still at home ,
she left with my washing to walk down to the brook ,
her red dress grew heavy so much she stumbled and fell ,
so  under she went as she sank like a stone .


The current was swift she knocked her head on a rock ,
and that was the last time I saw her pritty red frock !
She drowned that morning,
with the birds in full song ,
nothing else could be heard ,
she always said she wouldn’t be long .

The last time I saw her she nearly choked by the fire ,
she always complained those flames are getting higher .

And now I need to build a chimney now won’t that be grand .
Our good king hath decreed  it’s the law of the land .
But at least I won’t get syphilis now that she is dead ,
and at last I can sleep alone in my four poster bed .

For tomorrow I shall rise and leave for the door ,
and draw some cold water something I’d  never done before .
Down to the river where my woman died ,
and if I die with her at least I shall be by her side .

There you lay one charming night ,
were in you’re caverns you seeked no light .
the Fogwroth arose you from you’re rest ,

Arouse in me what can not be said ,
least Fogwroth ties you to you’re bed .

Lest you wail into this night ,
and I set alight a candle bright ,
so that you with a smile upon thy brow,
might gaze with longing upon my tinted glow .

So i can set free you’re ties ,
when morning breaks ,
and Fogwroth dies .

And so ride off shall you and I ,
with the blood of Fogwroth  still not cold ,
at least it was you who had a heart of gold .

So to my chambers rest ,
not that you should think it best ?
To lay waste you’re silk white dress ,
and my breeches ,
you thought best to wait not untill the morning.