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.

Her wings hung restless against the open shaw,
how she needed love like she did before ,
yet the evil knight with temprance went  followed her forever .

There was no cliff that she could hide ,
for her wings grew weary against the tide ,
the battering winds that were her guide ,
the evil knight that stalked her .

O help,me please “ said she but the geece flew south their flock forever honking  ,
"We cant help you we have to fly to feed our chicks or mate or die ,
and you have been left alone said I .
alas we cannot help ya ."

So she asked the winds to help her fly ,
against the bird that sort her ,
they lifter her up way on high above her evil stalker .



And so the evil knight that masked his wings
hid crafty thoughts above all things ,
but he somehow failed to find her.

“ There you are home at last ,”
said the wind that hid the blast ,
then softly died ,
and left her .

And as the rock which hid all things ,
in its cracks
her dainty wings
he hid them all her precious things
their mouths forever open ,
and so death became her daughter ,
and waited until she was alone ,
to stalk her .

How could you love me ,
when I know nothing of love ?
You’re  sweet smelling fragrance ,
when to kindle you’re flame ,
slowly burning yet always the same .

How could you love me if I. Could  tear you ,
Limb from limb for ,
if you ever knew ,
the chains my heart holds down ,
to save me from sin .


For your gifts are more precious than silver or gold ,
a candel so bright ,
a love that isn’t cold .

A warm hug when I’m asleep in bed ,
a cup of coffee ,
when nothing needs to be said .

How you could love me when I cannot love you ,
and yet you stand by me ,
When I never wanted you ?

For that is all I know and it’s what I call home .
But in silence you awake me ,
for it is in silence you breath .
You’re breath that excites when ever you are near .
Laced in perfume you pull at my cords .
For if death dos’nt excite ,
then the loser takes all .

How could you love me any tenderly than this ?
For one day you shall awake me to be greeted by
a  kiss .

And. so the hurried pace of life ,
has slowly come down to this ,
the breaking of the waves at night ,
hidden quieter the ***** making their way to the sea .

Listen even closer my heart apron you’re breast ,
listen even closer the breeze gently on you’re **** .                                      For time has stopped moving ,
the waves are increasingly still ,
the crab has now stopped struggling ,
the birds are yet to wake .
Just you and I on Gods shores of life ,
just taking a break .

There are times when all we can see is just before our eyes ,
of skin and flesh and bone ,

our constant need of care . .
Of food and wealth to feed our needs ,
to build our happy homes
But Gods plan is of immortal things ,
of love and truth and grace ,
For these  are things we cannot see ,
and yet are hid before our eyes
The hardship of a life well spent ,
not counting down the years ,
and knowing that in spite of this ,
Gods love and constant care .

Hope that eternal flame,
that was built so men could  see,
a first bud after winters rain .,
and blossoms returning to the trees .

For when we close our eyes when deaths daughter calls near ,
‘‘Tis it not angels song is all I hear ?

Awake awake O morning cloud ,
that passes hills and seas and knows no bounds ,
then like I without a faint heart will run like a deer that
Leaps and bounds ,
through fields and meadows ,
springs and streams .

And if my hope is dashed as driftwood moves upon the sea ,
I shall cling to that driftwood untill I see ,
The light of Portus in front of me.
Be it not man that we should trust ,
could ever shine such light in hope of us ?
when evening clouds are turned to night ,
at least we shall gaze on such a shimmering light.

If love were a buttercup without any rain ,
If love were the suns scorching rays ,
If love were a melody of two lovers dancing as two fish get cought  up in a net ,
then struggling for their last fleeting breath ?
then why are the daffodils in such need of such rain ?
For  lt is like the downpours of spring followed by parched cracked earth again .

Then perhaps love is sometimes never to be found ,
buried in a Cist or a hole in the ground ?
And loves darkest alley ways are where we first met ,
a life time of sorrows I would live to regret ?

So if you see me passing think not of any of these things ,
Think only of love and what it might bring .
Think only of the times we shared ,
a kiss and a cuddle and the moon lit airs .
Think only ,
Think of me
awaiting your love by the old fir tree .

There once was a lonely angel who. lived on  a rock far away ,
for once he led Gods heavenly chorus in eternal song .

He once became proud ,
thought himself better than the rest ,
and once he thought to himself he knew what was best .

So he became jealous and planned his revolt .

That’s why he sits all alone ,
banished by God to sit on his own ,
to sit behind a rock !

Banished by him who sits on his thrown .

With nothing to do ,
he looks at Gods earth ,
all of Gods children just following the rules ,
and there was him thinking to himself
“ what fools “
here am I alone all by himself .
There weren’t even anything that crawled or swam or flew .
What was a lonely fallen angel to do?

Then one far off day ,
God called him to hell,
cast down to the fiery lake of solfa to dwell .

And so man was left on his planet of blue .
with just one naggin thought that wouldn’t go away ,
that still lingers to this day .
What if ?

I shall know when it  is  ready ,
my *** will start to boil ,
I shall know when you are ready
you’re heart will be tender and soft ,
not the frozen one I took out the freezer ,
when i was feeling lost .

But I kept it boiling for hours ,
and the water never spilled .
Or drained away to nothing ,
so it wasn’t burnt ,.. to a crisp .

So I shall season it with peppers ,
to give a wicked tough to you’re mouth ,
so sharp I shall grin from ear to ear just to hear the. words come from
you’re lips .

Then I shall serve it to you warm straight from my heart ,
with garlic and mustard just so it dos’nt ,
fall apart .,
just so I can hold you tenderly to my heart
.

And so on this longest night ,
the moon and the sun danced all night ,
and when the stars wanted to join in to ,
it was time to say goodbye to you .

Goodbye because darkness creeps ,
goodbye as because the daylight weeps .
And soon the the suns rays will  one day be eclipsed ,
by darker days .
When the sun will find it hard to get out of bed ,
and the moon will stay out all night in stead .
And some of the day he will steal from you .

With champagne flutes he will think he is the toast of the town .

But tonight at least the romance can begin ,
the sun and moon together again .8

The pace of life is mournful I stumble and I fall ,
like a new born baby ,
no one hears my call. .
I cry out at night to those who think me dead ,
and listen to those voices I hear laughing in my head .
Though it might not be audible the laughter is just as real ,
as those that come in the dead of night ,
are of those of us who steal .

The pace of life is frightening,
the poet heals my soul,
like Christ a long lost friend I knew a long time ago .
And O the pace at which my friends travel ,
have left me alone on this weary road ,
when everyone has travelled ,
they left their heavy load .

My pace of life. Is now steady
pray lead me along the shore ,
where ever he might take me ,
however fleeting life might be .
A life well travelled passing ruins on my way ,
ahead of me might lay castles or palaces of clay ?

Or even if they are humble shacks or caves where rock cliffs fall ,
at least you are right beside me ,
though you are not Lord of all !
For my heart is still the same as when I first met you ,
I pray one day you might change it ,
so I can follow you .

Ahoy ,
the spirits gather all around us as we are ,
a multitude of angels now look upon a star .

In Godly heavenly realms we trust them ,
some are near some are far ,
some haunt us ,
some bewitch ,
But Jesus Christ is amgst them that wage war unto our beliefs.

But yet we seek not kindness or love in all its ways ,
but of what we do not know to guide us all our days .

Of chariots  of stars and what they say ,
behind well locked doors. ,
what moves when all is still ,
Is against the Lord .

So seek out what A God to trust ,
and not what sooth sayers say ,
it’s in love that we must trust ,
not deceiving voices along your way .

We give to God what we call love ,
our simple gift to our creator above .

But what do we with all our sin look a while and enter in ?
Our blackened souls know nothing of love ,
that only comes from God above .

As black as coal ,
as sinful as the dark clouds that hide us from his light .

So must we walk in sins dark ways ,
for to know Christ we shall bring forth our praise ?

But the bright things of heaven trouble us still ,
as sins corpse we drag around ,
like some unwanted guest ,
who has stayed too long ,
and bids us no rest .
It has no skin or bone as such ,
and the chains attached are not of metal or steel ,
but something worse ,
our lust ,
Our greed ,
our never ending need .

For its parades  we love so much ,
we drag around like blood and guts ,
and we wonder why God loves us so much ?
each night we must die to what we know ,
and Christ’s light like a rainbow must rise ,
after the rains ,
has dampened our skies ,
it’s only then his light will shine ,
when we have only one heart ,
that’s thine .

felt the bone rattling chills. of the.night  against my face.


I have felt the hunger pangs of not enough food to eat ,
half starved by the cold and sometimes the snow .

To where I must go ?
Home ,
This is where I belong ,
not a warming stove a
nice coal fire .

To this is my home where no body cares if I awake ,
or die .
Or if frostbite tears my toe from my foot .
To this is a cap where only pennies not gold coins land .

And wait each day on this floor on the ground ,
for the general public to give me something to eat .

For yes I have slept in doorways past people walking by ,
in the street .
So cold are these nights alone on the streets .

Even though the autumn leaves aren’t far away ,
we live for this most glorious day ,
when the sun though at first wasn’t seen ,
lived apon this happy dream.

Of distant clouds far away ,
and blue skies and sun kissed seas,
for the isle of Delos lies in-front of me .
As I sit upon this boat of mine ,
ravaged by the years of passing time .

The isle where the sun beds down at night ,
to rise in the morning pure as light .

And so you look O hills of green ,
where sheep have grazed and now aren’t seen .
To a yonder star on high ,
filling up the skies. ,
In magnificent colours far and wide .

You stand before an open shore,
watching colours you have never seen before .
Wishing you had someone to hold the,
Reds  and yellows blue and golds ,
fill your eyes when  yesterday all you saw was black.

Still wishing for that someone dear ,
someone to love ,
or just to be near .

It’s five in the morning a July sunrise ,
have you ever seen anything more beautiful,
more serene  before your eyes?
But a July sun is still,
a morning as cold as the coffee you hold ,
and throw out  towards the sea .

This grave is now all I have of you ,
In silence and grief I think of you .
Where once our dreams they all came true ,
for now in death you depart .

A shallow pale leaves no earthly light ,
but for now at least you are shining bright ,
with God and his Angels and all that is true ,
so here is a rose I have picked for you .

It is a rose that grew out of soil ,
that once was crushed between the garlic and the clove that ,
you planted one day ,
you’re hands hid dirt ,
you’re hands a blood red ,
a love in you’re heart ,
for the wounds that we met .

For our love was like that flower deeply  embedded ,
then entwined ,
in my soul a ***** love not pure and kind ,
but the kind that lasted through so such turbulent times .

It was a kind of love that cut so deep ,
as that Thorne that made you’re bitter  hands weep .

But we watched it grow so tall and free ,
It’s scent as radiant as you’re love for me .

So I pulled it up and now I give it back to you ,
for you to be reminded  now you are dead ,
that thorns grow even now ,
all blooded and red .

There’s a church in Marytown ,
It’s ruins lay forgotten in this cold old Cumbria town .
Just bird song now fills its rotting pews ,
and. You tell me “  the bird ****  dos’nt bother you ? ‘

And there’s a hole in the roof where the rain still pours  in ,
In this Cumbrian town which closed its doors ,
the first days of spring.
Where it’s vermin crawl about yet are never heard ,
except by the owls the cats and the birds .

So As a darkness falls
on to this canvas of grey ,
a famous artist once picked up his brushes to paint ,
Studied it’s red brick sandstone spire ,
Where ships coming home ,
once lost at sea


found  Bibles like the holy grail ,
a bowl of soup for the sick and the frail .

There is a Church in Marytown ,
It’s led roofs have
been torn down,
When once it was a bustling town .

When people used to sing and dance.,found                             forgiveness for their repentant hearts
But now the thief’s have all moved in ,
their plates of silver ,
their crosses of puter and tin .
they  left in sacks like Viking foe ,
who pillaged this  land a long time ago ,
thee pieces of silver for their tormented souls .

And so it is when we all fall apart when the grace we felt was a piece of art ,
to look and admire upon a wall ,
then  a chilling wind blow s in  to heed Gods call,
and your canvas is as Grey as the skies ,
as the rains pitter patter falls .
For only Then will our grey skies find a lighter blue ,
In a permenant reminder Christ died for you .

When the fishing boats arrive after days lost at sea ,
when the eagle is left stranded on a rock ,
with torn wings so it cannot fly ,
then prunes itself untill it is left to die .

When days of my comfort are no use to me ,
when loves great highways comes to an end .

Then how needless a friend ,
that finds me in rocks but makes not a sound ,
then better for him I can’t be found .

Better for me the rook finds its nest ,
than seeks out myself untill I find no rest .
then pecks away to feast on my flesh .

Better for it to find fish in the seas than to  beak  at  my brawn than    to bother me .
For its hollow bones gave it wings to fly ,
not flap around my head ,
untill exhausted falls to the ground to die .

Yet all these days I sit here alone ,
without what man might call a home .
A hermit watching the waves roll into one ,
then gently set to the west when my day is done .

I helped you up the stairs,
to show you what I had done .
To show you what I thought of you ,
how beautiful you had become .

And though we have such a short time together ,
I thought I should let it be known ,
how much you mean to me in what I might call ,
you’re new home .  

You see I took every living part  from you for us to admire in a jar !
to write in verse in poetry for the world to see ,
exactly who you are ?

You’re eyes are like sapphires they light up the stars ,

You’re lungs help you run into my arms ,
beating blood to you’re heart ,
where ever you are .

And if Flavorus ever thought of you ,
In sonnets he would write .

For you’re spine is tall and strong and true ,
tells me the truth even when I don’t listen to.
You .

And for all you’re faults I have left them in a jar ,
Just to remind me. of who you are .

As for you’re heart my beloved friend ,
It somehow beats faster when I touch your face ,
and beats faster still when your arms I embrace .

And slowly we walk down the stairs ,
the doors slammed shut ,
we are the last ones to leave .
The roof tops are red ,
there is love in you’re eyes ,
for tomorrow awaits,
with a tear in you’re eye
for now you are dying ,
what have I done ?
For now you lay befor3 me
to what have I become ?
And O the blood of millions is now set before the sun ,
to atone for many,
the monster I have become.

How dark the crumbling ruins lie ,
that once grew tall against the skies ,
that told of loves great battle cries against a snarling foe .

For leaves and rusting metals that beat against the bark ,
is all that can be heard .
Driven by a wind that won’t stop a howling ,
and hasn’t for many years .

What was once a bustling town ,
her
inhabitants left a long time ago .

Yet there is a man who still lives here
who refuses. to ever go .
An elderly gent who won’t back down ,
and never gives in to sin .
His bible sits next to his bed ,
he boils a kettle ,
and drinks his coffee neat ,
and prays every single night
for love to enter in “ .

Yet the wind still howls in his house that time forgot .
But not his God he won’t ever give up on him .

Now every day he cycles past what was once a bustling town ,
to the grocer at the railway store ,
who dos’nt know when to quit .
Who  tells him “ there’s a train a waiting on platform 1 ,
I’ve reserved a seat for you ,
fast train to easy town ,
it’s a waiting just for you ‘
But he won’t leave just cycles home with a smile that says not today..

Past where all his friends once stopped to pat him on his back ,
for they all left for the bigger stones ,
at easy town ,
where the people who wear Jackel masks  just want to crack their bones,
and spit them out for tea ,
for their lust and debauchery .
But he won’t be leaving to catch that train ,
not today ,
at least not today .

“ Darling lets take a trip to the moon ,
you and I in a paddle boat with stars tied together with string ,
cords of love .”  

“ But what if we don’t make it back ,
and the earth is just a faraway sphere ,
suspended in the atmosphere?

And what if there are no carriages back ,
or the coach man gets hijacked ?
Should we try again ?
what if our balloon should burst ,
or lose its way in the clouds ,
past the earth ?

For only then will we know what it is to love ,
who to throw over board when times get tough ?
When our two paper boats float together side by side ,
not twisted or turned by the tide .
Just floating together hand in hand.

But earth was never meant for us ,
for our ballon fell out of the skies ,
for our carriage never made it to Rome .

But my love for you never wavered or died ,
I just called it suicide .”

Soon my light will end a candle now my only friend ,
but this letter I now must write ,
must come to an end ,
and so
will be sent into this night .

On horse drawn carriages with a lanterns aglow , ,
at last  one last chance as my coach with ghost riders at its  helm ,
ride forth far away ,
far far away from here .

Abandon not of love or hope ,
for what I have written will find my love .
My dying words to my long lost soul ,
“Let death come quickly or in haste quicken the blow .”

And if I should die in this most wretched estate ,
pray my soul will forgive me it’s fate ,
for where it has gone ,
I think it too late ,
no mortal should ever go .
Pray my spector  will find my withered friend .for I have been most unkind ,
for it to think i would leave it behind.

For this letter I write is wet with my tears ,
of how I have hurt it for many a year .


So it departed without a sound ,
before they lay me in the ground .
Goodbye then my love ,
for  men have come ,
to break down my door ,
Oh tidderly thumb ,
be it no more .

They lay me down ,
they check my pulse ,
and close my eyes ,
and so leave my bones to rest .
with the worms and vermin that might feed on its flesh .

So goodnight my soul my pen runs dry ,
I guess this is my final goodbye .
For my body now without a friend ,
Will rot in soil no one will tend .
Their weeds will grow and brambles take ,
forgotten forever ,to the ground.

The sparrow flys to save her nest ,
her young need food their open mouths expect !

The flies in humid skies are all around ,
hot sticky  nights are where they are to be found .


But nothing disturbs me more than these is the rolling thunder
above the trees .
Then slowly out of something dear ,
there is a change in the atmosphere.

A pitter patter on the ground ,
the sparrows have flown to more safer ground ,
my bones start to shiver as ever they know ,
the pouring rains ,
the winds that blow ,
then after all the rains have eased ,
a sparrows song can be heard above the trees .

Two Angels. rode with arms outstretched ,
with a Lilly in their hands ,
an iron horse which nostels flare .
Above that white horse of Nobel land .
A iron maiden with a banner in her hand ,
dressed in white and steel ,
and grace ,
Marched to Orléans .

Yet fall she did outside the gates that would not let her in ,
taken by the Burgundian guard for. her inquisitioning .


Oh Let me take that Lilly from you though it be not yet spring ,
and dip it in balm ,
so as it wipe thy brow Though it might not sting .
Yet angels surround you on all sides ,
as they tied you to a tree .
though pillars of smoke and flame scorch thy breast ,
remember you are not alone ,
for Christ is now you’re Victory !


The cross of wood you see the last thing before your spirit leaves ,
to Adams breast  on silver clouds in hand the flure  de lis ,
and Lilly’s spread from angels hands  next to fountains pure as spring .

Oh you’re  heart still lies abeating  amugst  the ashes lay ,
as pure as snow though they tried to stump it with their cloven hoofs , they couldn’t stop it beating try as they may .

So Frances lands true and fair are saved for evermore ,
the banner of the fleur de lis lifted high against the shore ,
the white of her armour ,
the red of her soldiers true and brave ,
and the blue skies that without love could never ever be saved .

Go to bed my dear and rest a while ,
in sweet serenity.
Where  lovers dreams on fields of green ,
with sunflowers dancing without a care ,
gently caressing in the air .

Now Take a treacle to soothe your breast,
for I think it best ,
you rest you’re head in fields of hay .
Perhaps a tape  worm to loose some weight ,
around you’re hips and waste ?
What a difference that would make ?

Here’s some Arsenic to bring out that whitening glow ,
Here’s a parasol to hold for you’re complexion dear ,
out of the suns radiant glow ,
so to me you will never grow old .
What about a few drops of belladonna ,
before you sleep  ,
bescathed upon my lap .
Untill  daylight brightens a  new happier dawn ,
and sleep does not awake you’re
beautiful dream ,
then dream on my dear ,
dream on .

A young girl got out of bed ,
It was cold and dark outside .
The rains pattered on her window frame ,
so hard it made her cry another wasted harvest
as the years have gone by .

But she just knelt and quietly prayed to her Father up above for ,
Just for enough food to eat from Gods heavenly store of love .

And so with many others waited for that harvester to call ,
went to sing their hearts out at the church their and local hall .

Filled with stacks of hay on either side and saw dust on the floor ,
for each year the rains came .


And each year wheat and corn grew out in the furthest field of all .
where the sun shone ,
then rained ,
Just enough to harvest every one .

Each year first the aha of golden corn ,
each year a grain of wheat
Each year Gods provisions grew so the town could eat .

Each. year  a  hearty song was sung ,
by each and every one .
The wheat and corn were then brought into that Church ,
Untill the summer came along .
filled with love and happiness each golden corn of grain .

Then sow the winds where devils knock on barn doors ,
where demons prowl ,
Yet every night ,
a little girls prayers they never bark too loud

Once when the Autumn  leaves were falling ,
upon a crisp dry land ,
my Gran and I came across an Avenue of trees ,
which I for one thought it grand .
A tree to hind under ,
so I won’t be seen ,
a tree to hide us from the rains and  pelting stones ,
the shades of reds and oranges hiding in the firn groves ,
and evergreens .





But most of all a leaf my gran picked from where we both had  trod ,
it was a leaf gran placed in a book ,
but now sadly is  has  gone .

Woven into my memories a single leaf that never grew old ,
or crinkle or faded like the book of all its pages now curdled ,
yellow and old .


And one day I will find them both ,
In the Attic,
Or Underneath the stairs ,
to remind me of my dear gran and all the things we shared .

Nobody believed in mr Bobbings any more ,
and pugtail  because of this was feeling rather sore .
Why would they no one ventured anywhere near Puggled farm .

Those  that did were up to no good ,
and usually ended up dead or on a block of wood ,
for Mr Bobbings was sometimes let’s say misunderstood.

And so the years went by ,
and it’s tales were forgot ,
and lovers prayed ,
for the years time could not .

But the trees still spoke when no one was there ,
to each other ,
with a careless abandon that brought a blush to the air .
But even so if all  but one of the animals had gone ,
Puggled. Farm still lived on .

As for mr Bobbings oh he was still there ,
Underneath the carpet ,
behind the stairs .
It’s just that no one really cared ,
except Puglit the only one to see him there .

As for the timepiece that still keeps time ,
and when Mr Bobbings dies maybe it will refuse to chime .
And Pugtail still returns back to his sty ,
to be fed and watered as time goes by .

A  widow sits on her stoney throne ,
a solitary figure she calls her home .

For  the court she keeps are of one ,
and her sorrow weeps in the cold stone walls that she has become .

For cold is the night as the snow slowly falls ,
a sniffle to  wipe as she powders her nose .

Pale her complexion as white as a stone ,
for her lips are as red as the rose that she holds.

For no one stands near for she sits there alone ,
and cold is the palace she now calls home .

So after days with one flower she sat ,
I opened her carriage ,
there alone with her cat .


A crack of the whip ,
and off we sped ,
for her to sleep under trees ,
for what she called a bed .

To watch one flower grow under the sweet springs rain ,

to remind her of the joys he brought,
her lover ,
and beloved king ,
under the pouring rain .

Are you following me ?
Or don’t you have a home?
Or is that home I speak of  is anywhere I go ?

You see I was lying here so peacefully  untill an hour or so ago,
When  you landed on my hand my arm my head , my toe , just
like you had no where else  to go .

So there you lay tired and worn  from all you that you have done ,
for in the grand scheme of things I’m glad our romance has begun.

For if you weren’t resting there  before my very sight ,
at least I wouldn’t of had you to think about ,
as I said goodnight .,

Can’t  you rest your tiny wings a while,
so let me think of you ?
For unlike all the other insects that sworm and bite and sting ,
you’re the prettiest of them all my blue bottled beautiful ,
elegant thing .

Violets and strings are how I think of you, that dance in velvet colours that aren’t always blue .
Hearts that murmur that are all  laced with strings ,
The bugle that sounds in the early hours is a dove ,
Is only captivated by your love .

And so as the birds awoke to  this melody of spring ,
then let summer awake in violets betrothed to their Queen .
Let bluebells fall when ever she is near ,
and castle trumpets a fanfare my dear ,
and minstols play their tamberenes when you are awake oh does
thy heart not leap to the sound .?
And when you raise your hands in all but jest ,
do. not the red wing and field fares migrate at your request ?

So to what accord did  that man lye upon her  breast ?
For he doth trouble my heart ,
that should beat even faster when he is near ,
and now wild horses have carried her  away ,
and all I can see are red kisses whey he lay ,
for  now I have tooth decay ,
for all her  sweet promise s only blackened my teeth
as blood now Stains those lovely silk sheets ,
O O food of my love,
was it so sweet in the mouth ,
but left a bitter taste ,
When all my teeth had fallen out .

Just to say a big thank you to all who loved I picked a rose ,
I’ve never had anything like 24 likes before ,
feeling overwhelmed 😳. ,
Phil .

The skies turned to black ,
as thunder clouds rolled ,
a cross of wood .
To jeering crowd ,
this King of love ,
to scars a kiss that Judas gave ,
a hanging tree was his grave .
And so a purple robe he wore ,
past Gethsemony

Past the cup of Roth to drink ,
his Fathers anger was his cry ,
Mary weeping by his side ,
the nails were driven in .

The crows above his head awaited for his death ,
and Satan card he thought was his ace ,
flapped  his  heavy black wings ,
then took to flight ,
when the spear was driven in .

Yet the temple curtain was torn in two ,
a lamb was slaughtered for me and you ,
and finished was Christ Jesus final cry ,
bread and wine ,
Yeast and grape ,
Untill he comes again ,
my friends ,
Cheers ,!

This morning ,
just before dawn ,
I opened my curtain and guess what I saw ?
It wasn’t a duck ,
although it waddled just the same ,
it wasn’t a rat,
It would have found a drain .
It had no tail ,
or fur for a coat ,
for then there were two ,
just ambling along ,
sharing a joke !
No hats or bags or coats or gloves,
for all the shops were shut .
I really hope they won’t be long .

Beyond the realms of fortuity,
far beneath the realms of death ,
far above what you might call misfortune ,
a woman called serendipity called on me to dance .



Or was it by
fate that I should meet her ,
Or what ever you call love ,
or even Gods will that I should greet her ,
Or forever be outa luck !

But if luck or chance could not save her ,
when she rode outa town ,
her silver spurs a jangling ,
against the evening sundown .

Now lying dead behind her were six ugly. Young  men ,
so I guess serendipity and I were riding  
high again .

So if you ever meet her ,
after we have rode our separate  ways ,
be sure she meets you for a dance ,
If not bring a shovel for you’re grave .

A soldier returned  from the war ,
on a train with many many  more ,
Into Waterloo station ,
rode ,
Pillows of smoke as loved ones awaited ,
as he stepped  out of his carriage to the gate ,
Onto Platform twenty one .
Past many lovers with their soldiers brave ,
walked  down that platform to see his mum .

Past the fallen the wounded souls ,
who braved the war for all its folly
and tin *** gold .

Past the falling of the years ,
Through countless others who matter not .

His arms out wide spread like English meadows of cows and fields ,
right up to his mother he ran ,
as if in those ainchent. foreign lands ,
were never ever seen .

But she just stood there with tears in her eyes ,
showing a photograph of him  to anyone who walked on by .
The soldier screamed look mom I am home ,”
but she didn’t see him how ever hard she tried ,
and she kept on looking even though he was right there at her side .

O woman of the wanton ,
be not at my bed you lay ,
for you are of the Lushus lip ,
a bed of violet hay .
You stalk my every move at night ,
you’re brazen soul employ ,
a whip and mace you keep like little bo peep ,
your smile is undeterred .

For you search the streets every night for pleasures no man should bear ,
a lamp or lighted candle stick to guide him  everywhere .

For When twilight comes you have fled ,

like a witch who’s spell is broken ,
and leaves man with a troubled heart ,
for which he is unspoken

Clean you’re hands ,
don’t touch you’re face ,
Scrub and clean the serface space ,
self isolate .

For the streets are empty ,
only men in white with hose pipes clean and wash the streets ,
and death awaits us still .

So clean you’re hands don’t leave the house ,
get out you’re scrubbing brush ,
for death is but a runny nose ,
a cough a sneeze or so we are told .

And the airports and railways have all but closed ,
and don’t you touch the railings .
But the Cheltenham races still go on,
for everyone loves the races .

Sanitizer wash and scrub ,
there is no toilet paper ,
don’t shake my hand ile wave good buy ,
I guess ile see you later .

I had a beautiful dream   ,
that was once all about you .
you were standing there with flowers ,
with a daisy in you’re hair ,
chewing hay,
with a smile that said take me there .
For now falling stars they are all I can see,
out there in the distance that’s you and me .

I first saw you at twilight ,
when you first saw me at dawn .
you’re eyes were wild ,
they lit up the night ,
and the goosebumps you gave me when you had me in you’re sight !
You had no shoes or stockings to wear ,
and we danced untill moonlight shone brightest in the tranquil air .


I touched you so gently that somehow brought a tear to you’re eye ,
and it wasn’t for the stranger that just walked on by .

A thousand candlesticks I will light to light up the moon ,
and you will place a thousand more ,
to replace the lost stars in the skies ,
when the ferdiment starts to crumble and die .

That beautiful flower I picked from you’re breast ,
as day light approaches ,
won’t you be my guest ?
As all Gods colours we shall see before our eyes .

Champagne for the morning oh what a surprise,
as we sat here quietly waiting for the sun to arrive .

If love could be caught in a single flame ?
If love could be caught in faith or hope or even in itself ?
Or hide away on a shelf ,
never to be used .
But if this were true ,
then I would never have met you ,
or faith and hope with all their charms might have vanished like a vapor in your arms .

But love did come down even for a while ,
It rested on my shoulder ,
it made me smile .
And in that moment it would have been enough .

To fill my heart ,
to make it sing
to the kind of joys only you can bring .

Just one brief moment ,
just one fleeting kiss ,
was enough for you to remind me of this .
That you love me in so many ways ,
as ile love you till the end of my days .

I once bought a bird in an antique shop ,
without any wings .,
Although it was made of metal ,
and didn’t move an inch ,
the shop keeper said “ for a farthing ,
you can teach it to fly ,
just buy his wings off me “
and I said “ goodbye “ .

So I took the bird home and ,
left it on the fence ,
for days he looked at me ,
not one move did he make .

I returned to that shop with a farthing to buy ,
those majestic wings so it could  fly ,
yet still it didn’t move or make a sound ,
and I was kinda feeling a little let down .

Then i decided it needed life in its wings ,
I read it great poems ,
and taught. It to sing .
Giving life to its being ,
I then quoted Shakespeare and sonnets of old ,
then sat down to think !
“ This bird dos’nt give a jot what I think .?

I closed the curtain and bid it good night ,
then in the morning,
It must have taken off to flight  ,
back to the antique shop ,
of all the places to be ,
pride of place without any wings it sat
Majestically.

I

I came to you my love as the clouds parted ,
and the suns rays ,
as if without a care ,
lit up you’re eyes ,
and brought a cherry blossom to you’re hair .

Though it need not dare ,
it did find nothing but love there .

And if by chance my horse should race without even seeing you’re
beautiful face ,
when every tear you shed was thine ,
then you shall be forever mine .

So then my love I shall take you’re hand ,
and you as mine
ride side by side ,
gallently riding barefoot through the sands of time .

And  as the seas might foam and rise ,
and make wet you’re white silk dress and thighs ,
just then as tenderly you would hold you’re delicate hands around my waste

For I in innocence not turn to see you smile .
to  kiss you’re wet lips as we embrace ,
jump in side by side ,
and caress you’re face ,
untill the waters sweep our bodies back onto the shore ,
side by side ,
soaked to the skin but in love once more ,
our two hearts beating as one as if for evermore .

It is him ,
The man who writes,
the man who makes my heart beat
every night.every time I am with .
For I have passed out  in fields of green ,
all alone with rolling clouds black some obscene ,
the paper wet from The rain ,
my eyes bleary  with pain ,
I wring them out with his words
all dripping and wet ,
and play them over again and again
in my head .
my clothes may be  wet from the day ,
but these silent memories just wont
go away
prostate on this field that I lay ,
I clutch his words into my breast
the silent words that are as yet unsaid,
though wind and rain assail my mast ,
all wretched and alone when these words have passed
Yet somehow I shall still remember him  in poetic words  and distant dreams ,
in gardens that have not let been covered in snow ,
for there will my  crocuses grow .
And if he dies and we have not met ,
a thousand of his words ,
will still lay in my bed

The sqorking of the sea gulls and the rushing of the waves ,
my body floated for at least a few days .
Weighed down only by the clothes I had worn ,
on my ships  fateful morn .
Now bobbing about like a cork amgst the waves ,
many a sunset and sunrise I had missed in these days ,
and so to the salty sea ,
my grave .
And the sea gulls lunch all swam about as if they were drunk .
And so the clouds parted and out came the sun ,
i wish I  could now feel it’s breath on my tounge .
But my tounge needed water ,
and all I had to drink just made me thirst ,
and so I said goodbye to this life on this earth .

No more sailing for my vessel was sunk ,
as the beach washed me up as drift wood .

A young girl was out walking her dog
along the beach when I was washed up on shore ,
along with the pebbles and ***** of the sea ,
her dog picked me up ,
then she threw me back in ,.

And so the sea came in and then went out .
I was sent back to the waves ,
just bobbing about .
Except driftwood is how they now thought of me,
just a lump of wood sailing out to sea .

Now there was a time when mans germs gathered as one ,
for in fields and stadiums we sat and clapped ,
under ground trains travelled ,
gathered in bars and by the sand .
Travelled far and wide ,
for all we now do is sanitize ,
and we dare not leave our homes .

And so the streets are bare ,
for only cops live there ,
and men in white clothing ,
with hose pipes at night ,
and mega phones ,
so we don’t leave home .

So let us wash our hands whist reciting happy birthday.
For we sneeze then cough and cough and cough ,
and pray that God won’t take us .
And on it goes our runny nose ,
and self isolation

Let me tell you a story of uncle Joe ,
he died one night with his wife in bed ,
she held his hand as his ghost departed.

Before we laid Joe to rest ,
one last photo of the family we thought best ,
all dressed in black ,
we knew Joe won’t be back .
We propped up Uncle Joe on a chair ,
the family all around had gathered there .
My sister even combed her hair ,
all for Uncle Joe .
Our faces grim for it wasn’t the thing ,
to laugh and joke for the camera .
as still we stood ,
like a block of wood,
one last shot of Joe for the camera .

At least the sun did not shine ,
oh blessed be thine ,
to rest Uncle Joe with Jesus ,
for that is best ,
for in heaven he now rests ,
with his beloved saviour .

The world seems strange today ,
and yesterday was so wonderful,
like the first days of spring .
For now the winds are a howling ,
my door a rattle and a bang,  
outside  lies  a dessert waste where golden sands used to be.

And   the Colorado river just flows on ,
and mother nature plays her tuneful song ,
her river flows on .


For where  there was  once fresh water ,
fish in great numbers lie dead upon the shore ,
the stench of dead fish bones ,
fill my nostrils once more .

Where fishing boats set sail on this man made lake ,
like a fruit from the garden so delightfuly sweet ,
yet forbidden by God for us to eat .

And that mighty Colorado river just flows on ,
that Colorado river just keeps singing her song ..

For what man has done now lies a chemical waste ,
and play time is over for all his  rich  and famous guests .
So if a moral be ,
don’t change the land ,
chop down the trees ,
for the rivers will run where ever mother nature please .

And the birds will sing a happier tune ,,
and the old oak will still be there next June .
So for all of mans thoughtless acts
Mother Nature still bites back .

She waited for Dennis ,
what could I say ,
I wanted to love her on this romantic da y .

She would rather be inside with the tele ,
with the wind and the rain battering her window Paine ,
and spend time with Dennis than me.

For she loves the rain when lightning strikes ,
and the moon is full she finds delight .

When thunder rolls and the lightning strikes ,
and O the fires burn with pure delight ,
upon her harth ashes burn ,
as Dennis knocks on her front door ,
she sits before an open fire ,
sees those evil flames lift higher and higher ,

goes to bed turns off the tele ,
and as for Dennis who lost his menace ,
it’s storm clouds and windy gust ,
turned to a patter ,
and I came in ,
out of the rain