‘The time’s become fleeting and flying,
And rushing me off to the grave,’
Or so would say Roderick Styling,
‘It’s sweeping me on like a wave.’
I found his remarks so depressing
I’d walk on the side of the street
Where I knew he wouldn’t be walking,
On hearing the sound of his feet.

He’d corner me back in the office,
Unburden his pure misery,
Or catch me in field or in coppice,
To tell me his bleak history.
For often I’d find he was waiting
Wherever he shouldn’t have been,
I found that I couldn’t avoid him,
His whispers and chatter obscene.

‘We’ve only one life, so enjoy it,’
I’d counter, when he would begin,
But then he would start to destroy it,
By saying that life became grim.
‘The older you get, so the faster,
It races along like a train,
Is headed for certain disaster,
The end of the journey is pain.’

Then he seemed to age by the minute,
His skin became wrinkled and worn,
Despair, he would seem to dive in it,
And had since the day he was born.
‘You’ll not do yourself any favours,’
I’d say, ‘when it hangs on each breath,
For life will not gift what it savours,
If you’re so determined on death.’

But one day I looked in the mirror,
And saw what I never had seen,
The markings of age, like a river,
Were flowing, where once youth had been.
I tried to ignore it by sighing
That ageing was lending me grace,
But I could see Roderick Styling
Was staring right back in my face.

And that’s when I knew life was fleeting
I had to seize what there was left,
I sent him a note for a meeting
While I was still feeling bereft.
He lies in a grave in a coppice
A jagged hole under his jaw,
While I work alone, in the office,
He’d got what he’d been looking for.

David Lewis Paget

I stare at you and you stare at me,
That picture of me before,
You looked so young in your pedigree
Before we both went to war,
But life has left its mark on the face
That was captured, back in time,
And now there’s little left of your grace,
There’s nothing that’s left of mine.

For you’re a constant reminder of
The man that I thought was fine,
I look in awe at your forehead where
There isn’t a single line,
Not one of the cracks and crevices
That now will litter my brow,
I wonder how you would feel, if you
Were able to see me now?

If only I had been painted like
The Picture of Dorian Gray,
Then you would possibly look like me
And I’d be like you today,
My faults and pleasures you’d never know
Except on your painted face,
And you would never be put on show,
While I would retain your grace.

But time and life are a cruel pair,
For age to them is a joke,
They both conspire to grey your hair
From the time you enter their yoke,
They run their tractors over your face
Emasculate skin and bone,
And when you look, there isn’t a trace
Whatever you were, has flown.

No sweet young thing will look at you now,
If so, she’s telling you lies,
The only sign of the love you’ve known
Will still reside in your eyes,
And so you look at your lady now
Who stuck by you, thick and thin,
And praise the Lord that she’s aged like you,
As you’re falling in love again.

David Lewis Paget

‘To bed! To bed!’
Said Sleepy-head;
‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow;
‘Put on the pan,’
Said Greedy Nan;
‘We'll sup before we go.’
        (from Mother Goose)

They sat at the kitchen table as
The candle flickered low,
And Greedy Nan put on the pan
To indulge her sister, Slow,
While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle
Blotted her book with tears,
And thought of her Beau from long ago
Who she hadn’t seen for years.

‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me,
Why doesn’t Alan Dell?
I’m wearing the dress cut low for me
And I’ve hitched my skirt as well.
I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so
You’d think it would drive them wild.’
‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow,
‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’

While over the pan stood Greedy Nan,
Was cracking a turkey’s egg,
A lump of yeast and a slice of beast
And a single spider’s leg.
With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat
And a toe of frog for the spell,
She needed to turn her sister off
From her crush on Alan Dell.

For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl
And would have to marry first,
The other two would wait in the queue
Or their fortunes be reversed,
The omelette sizzled, and in the pan
She added before they saw,
A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant
For the mating game meant war.

She sliced the omelette into half
And she served them up a piece,
‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle
But Slow enjoyed the feast.
‘I’m not that terribly hungry now
I’ve cooked it up in the pan,
I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’
Said the scheming Greedy Nan.

They finished up and they sat awhile,
And they mused about their fate,
‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon,
For us it will be too late.’
‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’
Said Nan, without a blink,
Lured them away from her secret fire
To confuse what they might think.

‘The room is woozy, spinning around,
I’d better get me to bed,’
Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown
Saw Dwarves dancing in her head.
But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan
To clear all signs of the spell,
Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned
For the sake of Alan Dell.

And when he came in the morning
Greedy Nan was sat by the door,
While Annabelle and her sister Slow
Were lying dead on the floor,
‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al,
It was only a simple spell,’
But as he cuffed and led her away
He frowned, did Alan Dell.

David Lewis Paget

The hearse set off through the mansion gates
Pulled by a pair of greys,
Stepping high, so they’d not be late
For the church’s hymns of praise,
Lord Gordon Knox on the catafalque
Awaiting his final ride,
Just down the hill where the graveyard spilled
And spread on the eastern side.

But staring out from behind the grass,
From between each tree and bush,
There gleamed the beam of a hundred eyes
In a sacred kind of hush,
The word was out it was Gordon Knox
Set to take his pride of place,
And from the woods had come every fox
To afford his lordship grace.

For Gordon had been the Master of
The Aldermaston Hunt,
Had chased them across the countryside
More than a man can count,
But somehow managed to lose the fox
As it turned, became covert,
And often seemed to confuse the hounds
As the fox returned to earth.

Three generations had come and gone
Since the young Amelia Knox,
Had left to walk in the countryside
And found a secluded copse,
The peasants say that she fell asleep
By a well protected earth,
And Reynard Fox had uncovered her
Before she had given birth.

So Raymond was the first of the breed
In a mix of fox and man,
A Knox by name but a fox by shame
When his mother’s guilt began,
And when he had a son of his own
He could see that the eyes were sly,
And every fox in the countryside
Could tell him the reason why.

Gordon carried the bloodline on
Though he rode to fox and hounds,
He ruled the hunt with an iron fist
They were hunting in his grounds,
And every time that the quarry went
He would make a lame excuse,
The scent was wrong, or the wind was strong
Or the hounds were far too loose.

And every time that the Master died
And the hearse had trundled by,
The foxes all came out to see,
In a way, they said goodbye,
But Gordon had left no son behind
Just a daughter, Elspeth Knox,
And I heard they’d given up on her
Till they found her in some copse.

David Lewis Paget

I need a woman to ride with me,
To prove that she loves me too,
A woman to sit astride of me,
When one together makes two,
It’s ever been the way of the world
To come together as one,
For one together may not forever
Be taken apart, undone.

Whenever I find myself alone
And missing her vital spark,
I look for somebody, complementary
All alone in the dark.
For she may be there looking for me
As I am looking for her,
We’ll always know by the eyes that glow
If love is the only spur.

I’ll know by the velvet touch of her hand
The rosy blush on her cheek,
I’ll know when we come across each other
Far more than once in a week,
For fate has the strangest tricks to play
It leads us all on a dance,
By throwing the me and you together
It’s never coincidence.

So woman, come from the shadows now
To meet, wherever you are,
A pad of feet on a lonely street
Or locked in a passing car.
We need each other to be together
If only to say we live,
Come be a part of this lonely heart,
I only have love to give.

David Lewis Paget

He watched as she passed each morning,
Same time, each day of the week,
But his lips were dry and his tongue was tied
And he found he couldn’t speak.
She had such a heavenly beauty,
That he’d raised her up on high,
So how could he, a poor mortal seek
Such a goddess, up in the sky?

Her hair the colour of ripened corn
Her lips the pink of the rose,
The dimple sitting in either cheek
And the tilt at the end of her nose.
Her eyes would flash as she passed him
In that wonderful glide and sway,
He almost spoke, but he always choked,
And cursed as she walked away.

While she kept steadily walking,
She never would look around,
Though the sight of the young Adonis made
Her heart pit-patter and pound.
He looked like a Grecian statue,
From the Pantheon of the Gods,
Why would he spare a glance at her
With her features all at odds?

For the blonde was out of a bottle,
And her eyes, they must have looked scared,
She tried to appear so nonchalant
And not that she really cared.
But she walked that way each morning
Just to get a glimpse of him,
Hoping he’d say one word to her
That would be encouraging.

The days passed on through the Summer
Then Autumn had come to stay,
And he still stood each morning
And she still walked that way,
But he paced in desperation,
Chewed his fingers down to the bone,
‘When would he pluck the courage up,’
She thought, as she passed his home.

They seemed to be making progress,
For they’d nod as she walked by,
But he didn’t see as she raised her eyes
Frustrated, up at the sky,
She’d put on a brighter lipstick,
Mascara, as black as coal,
While he despaired as she disappeared
At the emptiness in his soul.

He practised before the mirror,
And tried out a ‘How are you?’
But shook his head at the words he said,
It simply wouldn’t do!
What if he came straight out and cried
The thoughts he felt in his heart,
‘I’ve fallen so much in love with you
That it’s tearing me apart!’

While she broke down in the ladies room
The moment she got to work,
Her friends came gathering round to say,
‘He must be a total ****!’
But she flared back to defend him,
‘I think that he fancies me,
He stands and nods like a Grecian God
But his face is misery!’

The morning came that he steeled himself
And walked right into her path,
While she stood still as she broke a heel
And sat with him on the grass.
‘You can’t go to work like that,’ he said,
‘My name, by the way, is Bill.’
‘I often wondered,’ she smiled at him,
‘And mine, by the way, is Jill.’

David Lewis Paget

I should not have said I loved you
When at first you pressed me to,
For I carried too much baggage
From the past, and overdue,
It was bedded deep within me when
I woke each day at dawn,
And I found it crying in me for
A love, both dead and gone.

But your bright eyes had waylaid me,
And the heart upon your sleeve,
They would tempt me and would stay me
Every time I tried to leave,
You were sweet and loved me only
Which was what I couldn’t do,
Though you soothed me and you played me
I’d not give myself to you.

Though I know I was a fool to care
For what had gone before,
I was anxious to reclaim it
So I pushed you out the door,
Though you persevered and held me
In the love that you had found,
I betrayed your finer feelings
When I covered that old ground.

Then the years piled up upon me
With the ‘we’ becoming ‘us’,
It was like a fateful journey
On an old and wayward bus,
And I came around to love you then
But not enough it seems,
For you saw me as unfaithful
And it shattered all your dreams.

The stronger that my love grew, yours
Would fade and disappear,
And the end of our love story was
To drown in bitter tears,
For in truth, I don’t deserve you
As I now succumb to fate,
Though I love you more than ever
It’s too little, and too late!

David Lewis Paget

The parents of Valentine Ogilby should
Be stood by a wall, and be shot,
They gave him a label that he was unable
To change, were he willing or not.
The girls always clustered around him at school,
The boys shooed him off with contempt,
He’d act as if flustered, but always could muster
A kiss for a girl in a tent.

His kisses were infamous, hugs were immense,
We thought his behaviour was odd,
He grew to believe that each woman conceived
That he was a gift from God.
He wouldn’t stay faithful for even a day,
Was caught kissing everyone’s girl,
But nothing would stay them, they’d cry and would pray them,
He’d set every heart in a whirl.

We threatened to cool him off once in a stream,
We threatened to chop off his hair,
His giant libido had fashioned his credo
He taunted us then, ‘Wouldn’t dare!’
The girls in our town became suddenly plump,
Were waddling up street and down,
There was almost a riot, they said it was diet,
We thought, ‘It’s that Valentine clown.’

I heard that he’d died of a heart attack
When just coming up twenty nine,
It’s lucky he did, for the child support kid
Would be bankrupt by now, doing time.
I’d watched as he’d hurried from Angel to Zara,
His creed was a creed that’s sublime,
For once in his passing he gasped at the asking:
‘Too many women,
Not enough time!’

David Lewis Paget

Samantha worked in the Take-away
Right next to the Coalpit Mine,
With a cheery smile for everyone
Til the day that her eyes went blind.
One minute she served up fish and fries
Then her world went eerie and dark,
‘Has the sun gone suddenly down,’ she said,
‘Behind the trees in the park?’

They called me back from my p.m. shift
For they knew that we two were close,
She’d dated some other miners too
But she’d gone with me the most.
‘You’d better get her on home,’ they said,
‘There’s something wrong with her eyes,’
She stared in a peculiar way
With a vacant look of surprise.

The doctor said there was nothing wrong,
Or nothing that he could see,
‘It must be something psychological,’
That’s what he said to me.
He flashed a light in each of her eyes
But she didn’t even wince,
I must admit, it troubled me less
Than events that happened since.

I said perhaps we should get engaged
Rather than take it slow,
I’d be her eyes and a steady guide
Wherever she’d need to go,
She smiled that wonderful smile at me
And said, ‘You need to be sure,
You’re tying yourself to an invalid
Who can’t venture out the door.’

We bought the ring at a jeweller’s shop
Where she chose the ring by feel,
A tiny diamond, glittered and shone,
She asked if the stone was real.
We laughed as I guided her back home
And she clung on tight to my arm,
I swore that I would protect her then,
And stop her coming to harm.

A week went by, and I took my leave
From the dirt and dust of the mine,
We laughed and loved and said together
That things would work out fine,
But then I noticed a subtle change
In the way that the house was laid,
The rooms seemed somewhat bigger than ever
The architects had made.

The chairs and tables would move about
From one day to the next,
I asked Samantha what she had done
And she answered, ‘Nothing yet!’
She didn’t trip and she didn’t fall
As I did, the fault was mine,
I had two eyes but I couldn’t gauge
The depths of Samantha’s mind.

She said she had to rebuild her world,
Recall from her memory,
And if it wasn’t exactly right
It wouldn’t matter to me.
‘You have two eyes, you can navigate,
While I’m still trapped in the dark,
I still remember that day of fate
When the sun blinked out in the park.’

We opened the door to venture out
And I blinked, and gave a grunt,
The supermarket was on the right
With everything back to front.
‘The mine was off in the east,’ I said,
‘But now it’s off to the west.’
Samantha shrugged, ‘Does it matter now?
You’ll see, it’s all for the best.’

She walked as if she had perfect sight,
While I just followed behind,
My head was spinning in horror at
Each different thing that we’d find.
And people stood, and stared in the street
As if in a total daze,
They turned and twisted and took it in
This mirror glimpse of their ways.

‘You have to set it to rights,’ I said,
‘You have to turn it around.
The people here will be going mad
At what you’ve done to their town!’
‘They’ll have to adjust,’ Samantha shrugged
As she went to step off the kerb,
Just as a double-decker bus
Came round the corner and swerved.

‘The road was suddenly back to front,’
The driver said, as he cried,
‘I had to get back over the line,’
He said, as Samantha died.
We live in a topsy-turvy world
In thrall to the power of mind,
When anything can that happen will…
(I hope I never go blind!)

David Lewis Paget

When I was a child, at Halloween
I’d go out to trick or treat,
With Pam, and Sam, and Wriggly Ann
Just us in the dark, cold street,
We’d knock on the doors of folk we knew
And they’d give us a sweet, or cake,
But those who wouldn’t come to the door,
We thought they were cruel, or fake.

We’d look for a gnome, or garden tool,
We’d sneak right into their shed,
Stand up a rake, and play the fool
Stick a pumpkin there for its head,
And then we’d giggle and run away,
Go to the house next door,
And sometimes,  eating the proffered cake
We’d laugh at the neighbour’s roar.

We’d finished the street one night, and turned
To a place called Shady Lane,
It wasn’t a place we’d often go
For the folk there were insane.
They hated children, they hated pets,
We thought that they’d ate our dog,
Had lured it off on a misty night
When the town was covered in smog.

‘Let’s trick or treat the Lavorsky’s,’ said
The pipsqueak, Wriggly Ann,
‘Only if you will knock on the door
While we stand back,’ said Sam.
The house was dark, there wasn’t a light
And the Moon was hid in a cloud,
It loomed up there in the darkness like
A monster, wrapped in a shroud.

She knocked three times and we all stood back
Were getting ready to run,
With only Ann on the welcome mat
We thought he might have a gun.
The door had creaked and a hand shot out,
Grabbed Wriggly Ann by the scruff,
Then hauled her in and the door slammed shut
And Pamela screamed, took off.

I looked at Sam and he looked at me
As we both stood still, in shock,
‘Maybe they’re going to have her for tea
Like they did with our poodle, ****!’
We skirted round on the garden path
Til we came to their rustic shed,
Opened the door, and there on the floor
Was Mrs. Lavorsky, dead!

Her eyes were wide, and shone in the dark
Her jaw sagged open and slack,
Her hands in a rigor mortis claw
Were raised, as if to attack.
And Sam had screamed like a little girl
(He never could live that down),
He fainted, fell right there on his back
On Mrs. Lavorsky’s gown.

Her husband didn’t know she was dead
Til the police came round that night,
But then he left her, there in the shed
For the hearse to collect, first light.
While Wriggly Ann was safe inside
Was stuffing her face with cake,
That Mr. Lavorsky’d laid on out,
The last that his wife would bake.

David Lewis Paget

They said that he lived in the tunnel
That burrowed right into the hill,
That once saw a belching funnel
Of sulphur and black clouds spill,
The train on the iron railway
That chuffed its way into the past,
To just leave the eerie tunnel,
Smoke blackened and silent at last.

In closing the barbed wire entrance
To keep all the children at bay,
They’d come to the end, in repentance,
The end of the steam railway,
It lived in the lost generations
In memories lost to the young,
In dreams and in steam in the stations
The old locomotives lived on.

But something lived deep in the tunnel
That hadn’t been there long before,
A product of sulphur and brimstone,
A thing with a terrible roar,
It wandered at night in the meadows,
It tore the throats out of the sheep,
And left pools of blood by the hedgerows,
Returned to the tunnel, to sleep.

The town held a council of elders
The ones who remembered the train,
‘We have to get rid of the monster,
It comes out again and again,’
‘I think that the monster is lonely,’
Said one of them, in a remark,
‘He needs to be soothed to be healthy,
We’ll lure him out into the Park.’

They thought of the spinster called Mary,
A woman not gifted with looks,
In truth she was ugly and hairy,
She buried her head in her books,
‘She’d do very well for a monster,’
They all of them seemed to agree,
And rolled her in lashings of sulphur
And brimstone for her pedigree.

They tied her just outside the entrance
Attached to barbed wire in the fence,
The tunnel grew dark as an ulcer,
Both she and the townsfolk were tense,
The monster came out and he saw her
And made sniffing sounds in the dark,
And Mary had gone in the morning,
Back into the tunnel, not Park.

And now, when the roar of the monster
Is heard, there’s no gutting of sheep,
But merely a purr like a hamster,
That says he is going to sleep,
As a man needs the love of his woman
So a monster has needs to be quelled,
And it seems ugly Mary is happy
To be with the monster from Hell.

David Lewis Paget

The sun sat up on the mountain top
And started to sink from view,
A shadow, spread on the valley floor
Was creeping over you,
You’d just told me that you’d had enough
In the shade of a chestnut tree,
And then I saw in your shrouded smile
That you meant you were through with me.

I didn’t know what I’d done to you,
I thought it was only love,
But then the shadow had covered you
From the mountain top above,
You pulled your hood up over your hair
And wrapped yourself in your cloak,
Said you were going to leave me there
Go off with some other folk.

Your words were cruel, and pierced my heart
I wasn’t aware I’d erred,
You acted as if we’d strayed apart,
There was someone you preferred,
We’d been together so long I thought
That no-one could take my place,
But since you’ve shown that I’m on my own
I’m afraid of losing face.

And so I lie in the Mulberry bush
And I wait to see him here,
His first embrace with the one I love
Will become his last, I fear,
I took the knife from the kitchen drawer
With a view to bring his end,
But now I see as he ventures near
That the cheating one’s my friend.

How could you take my friend from me
As you take yourself away,
It isn’t enough that I’m losing you
But my friend as well, today,
I’ll not be spilling his blood tonight
As I thought I’d surely do,
But all the anger and hurt I feel
Has turned the knife on you.

David Lewis Paget

I look for you in the twilight glow
When the sun dips over the rim,
When it’s night time here and it’s daytime there
And I think of you there with him.
Though you said, ‘It’s just for a holiday,
And I promise that I’ll be good,’
Well I’m sure you were, as he stroked your hair
In the shade of the underwood.

Whenever the twilight’s coming on
And the Moon moves up in the sky,
I sit and dream in a cold moonbeam
And mull over the question, ‘Why?’
You said that you had two itchy feet
In a sense, they wanted to roam,
And though you were trying to be discreet
I knew you were leaving home.

So now I sit, and cry in the dark
Of the twilight’s utter gloom,
And think of you in a pleasure park
Where you flew on your witches broom.
I know you couldn’t be on your own
I can see the dark shape of him,
He’s there when you ought to be alone
As you taste of the fruits of sin.

The sun peers over the morning rim
As I bid goodbye to the night,
And see where I shattered the mirror in
That I look like a sleepless fright.
The silence shrieks with a telephone ring,
As I answer it, you say:
‘I’m looking forward to coming home,’
And, ‘Thanks for the holiday!’

David Lewis Paget

The day had been rather stormy when
I walked in the garden gate,
With lighting flashing around me,
It was dark, and getting late.
I tried the key in the old front door
But found that it didn’t fit,
And had to pound on the knocker so
That Kate would answer it.

It took a minute or so before
I heard her steps on the floor,
She probably wondered who it was
Before she opened the door,
She stared at me with the strangest look
On her face that I’d ever seen,
But stood there blocking the door, I said,
‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’

She stood aside in a moment then
And I walked in through the door,
She said, ‘And what’s the occasion then?
You’ve not called here before.’
I thought she must have been joking then
And gave her a sickly smile,
She said, ‘you’d better believe it, you
Have not been here for a while.’

I tried to give her a kiss, but she
Pulled back, and turned away,
‘The time for that was an age ago,
That was another day.’
I asked her what she had meant, for she
Had been my wife for years,
‘Not since you married my sister, and
You turned my world to tears.’

I said that I didn’t follow her,
And must have looked confused,
She said that I’d turned my back on her
And left her feeling used,
‘You broke off from our engagement, when
The date had just been set,
And went and married my sister then,
You’re married to Jeanette.’

I thought I was going crazy, though
Perhaps, I thought, it’s Kate,
Having a mid-life crisis, but she
Looked at me with hate.
She said to go to her sister’s place
Just further down the street,
So thinking that I would humour her
I went, through hail and sleet.

I tried my key in Jeanette’s front door
And that gave me a shock,
The key had fitted it perfectly
As then the door unlocked,
I wandered into the kitchen where
Jeanette was making tea
For a man at the kitchen table,
But I swear the man was me!

David Lewis Paget

They’d built too close to the cliffside edge
And the winters grew so cold,
The ocean seemed to be rising with
The waves, as in they rolled,
They tore away the base of the cliff
And swept it out to sea,
The house was poised on the cliffside edge
And would soon be history.

Two brothers lived in the fated house
That had once comprised of three,
For one of the brothers had a wife
Who was called Penelope,
But something funny was going on
The folks around there said,
For Penny was always seen with John
But had been the wife of Fred.

They both had courted the girl before
And each had bought a ring,
Then asked Penelope could she choose
Between them, there’s the thing,
She told the brothers she loved them both,
The choice was hard, she said,
‘A half of me would marry with John,
But I have to go with Fred.’

The rumours started around the town
That she had the best of two,
She’d sleep for half a week with Fred
And the rest, with you know who.
They’d say that voices were raised in there
It wasn’t going well,
What should have been a heaven on earth
Would seem some kind of hell.

For just on a year she went to town
And shopped just like the rest,
She smiled that bright Penelope smile
Was always nicely dressed,
But then she stopped, and she wasn’t seen
As the brothers did the shop,
Then they would glower at everything
And they wouldn’t talk, or stop.

But still the sound of their voices raised
Would echo from that house,
Til Fred stopped going around with John,
There was no sign of his spouse,
The storm that came at the midnight hour
Then washed away the cliff,
The house plunged into the water and
The rumours said, ‘What if?’

The house was shattered as in it plunged
Each piece was washed away,
And morning had seen the strangest sight,
A coffin, out in the bay,
The rescue boat had dragged it in
And dumped it up on the shore,
Along with a drenched Penelope
So they wondered, more and more.

They found a body, washed on the beach,
It was hard to recognise,
They asked Penelope could she view them
Once she’d dried her eyes,
They opened the coffin for her first
And in there lay her Fred,
His throat was ****** and torn apart
And Penelope bowed her head.

‘I got so sick of the arguments,
It was like being wed to two,
They raved and ranted most every day
I didn’t know what to do.’
‘You say John murdered his brother then?’
But the police were being kind,
Penelope shook her head, and said,
‘I suddenly changed my mind.’

David Lewis Paget

The path that I like to wander on
Is a rural lane in the trees,
It’s a pleasant walk, and I tend to talk
To myself, just shooting the breeze.
Then it comes to a wood, and it parts in two
The main path tends to the right,
And heads up ‘til, just over the hill
It’s bathed in a pure sunlight.

And there stands a mansion in plain stucco
With columns that hold up a porch,
And each of the windows send out a beam
As of someone, holding a torch,
A woman dressed plainly in white comes out,
Invites me to come in for tea,
Then sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t,
But we spend our time pleasantly.

We sit in a kitchen that’s tiled in white
And the sunlight beams through the door,
She sometimes reads to me from a book,
And asks what I’m looking for.
I tell her I’m totally lost, and then
Confusion’s writ over my face,
So she makes the sign of the saviour’s cross,
And blesses me with her grace.

The other path veers off to the left,
Is narrow and mean through the trees,
It slopes on down to a valley with grass
Though a turn in the path deceives.
For hidden there in the undergrowth
Is a cottage in shadow, and grim,
Where a gypsy girl with an evil smile
Beckons for me to come in.

And sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t,
She isn’t offering tea,
She dances and whirls in the kitchen there,
And sometimes, sits on my knee.
She places my hand on her silken thigh,
And asks what I’m looking for,
I tell her I’m totally lost, and then
I struggle on out of her door.

A poet once said that he took the path,
The one less travelled by,
I’ve tried them both, and I still go back
To the ones both low, and high.
For my soul is soothed by the woman in white,
She lifts me up to the heights,
But the gypsy girl puts my mind in a whirl
And she sates my darker nights.

David Lewis Paget

The farm at Little Rottingdeane
Lay fallow for a year,
Since Cromwell’s Ironsides had spent
The winter, quartered there,
They’d emptied out the pantry, killed
The cattle, stripped the barn,
And ***** the little milking maid
Before they left the farm.

The farmer, Rodger Micklewaite
Lay in his bed all day,
Too sick to raise his farmer’s head,
Too ill to bale the hay,
His wife took on the milking of
The milker they had left,
And comforted the milking maid
Who cried, as one bereft.

‘The master should be well again,
By early May or June,’
The wife had muttered tearfully
While gazing at the Moon,
But soon a pair of pigeons took
Their places in the loft,
‘Lord help us, it’s a sign of doom
To curse our little croft.’

The pigeons had been there before
When folk had fallen ill,
And when they came, it fell the same
For death would spread its chill,
And Rodger died, when they appeared
There was no time for grief,
A man called Palm soon bought the farm
To give them some relief.

The milking maid, her belly swelled
Betook her to her bed,
A tiny room that lay in gloom
Beside the milking shed,
She cried and cursed the Ironside
That set her on this course,
‘May Satan put a thorn beneath
The saddle of his horse.’

The babe was born by All Saints morn
She’d screamed to see its face,
The head shaped like a helmet or
Some bony carapace,
She only could discern its mouth
With teeth sharp, and ill-formed,
‘I cannot nurse this ugly waif,
I’ve bred the Devil’s spawn!’

Then Palm screeched at the sight of it,
Was sick unto his soul,
‘I never should have bought this croft
Or housed this Satan’s troll!’
The widow made his sickness bed
And counted him as lost,
For pigeons two came into view
And settled in the loft.

Then Palm began to waste away,
She fed him beer and broth,
He died upon the seventh day,
Was buried in the croft,
But then a troop of Ironsides
Rode through there from the moors,
And one of them remained behind
To tend his fevered horse.

‘What ails your horse,’ the widow said,
The trooper growled with scorn,
‘Some fool that saddled up my horse
Slid under it, a thorn.’
The milking maid, recovered then
And ****** into his face,
The baby, wrapped in lace and shawl
To hide its carapace.

‘You left a trace of you behind
When last you passed through here,’
The trooper blanched to see its face
Then shook in mortal fear,
The hungry babe went for his throat
And bit with all its might,
As blood streamed from the Ironside
To drown the Devil’s mite.

Two pigeons flew into the loft
Just as the trooper fell,
It only took a minute for
His soul to wake in hell,
The widow and the milking maid
Packed up and left that night,
‘This time, we’re like two pigeons,’
Said the widow, ‘taking flight!’

David Lewis Paget

Have you crept off into the darkness,
Have you hidden yourself in your spell,
Is your world the world of starkness,
Are you two steps closer to hell?
I felt you throw off the purple quilt
As the night came down as mist,
And take the stairs in a rush, full tilt
As you called out, ‘Please desist!’

Your legs had flashed on the stairwell,
Your thighs stark white in the hall,
When only minutes before I’d had
You pressed tight up by the wall.
I sipped and bit at your lower lip
As I raised your face for a kiss,
But pressed up tight by the hallway light
I could see your eyes resist.

Your spell is the essence of madness,
I find myself at your feet,
Is love this impossible sadness
Like a gourmet meal, replete,
I watch you dance when the Moon is yolk
And your mantle twirls and flares,
At night, in front of the gentle folk
You delight in their naked stares.

You never like to be seen by day
The light of the sun is harsh,
You’re more content to be naked by
The dwindling light of the stars,
I don’t know whether you’ll come to me
It’s much too early to tell,
I asked you once, and you said you’d be
Just two steps closer to hell.

David Lewis Paget

The sisters Newell were a shining jewel
That would pass my understanding,
We met at night when the moon was white
Out on the communal landing,
One was blonde, was a demi monde
The other brunette to the shoulder,
The legs of the blonde were lean and long
The brunette a little bit older.

I fell in love with them both at once
I think it was what they wanted,
For both, well versed in extravagance
Their ego’s, each were undaunted,
The blonde would stalk in her Baby Doll
Next to her window, extended,
The other, naked, would read a book
Sprawling in view and bed-ended.

The blonde was the first to invite me in,
The other said she felt stranded,
We sat together like kith and kin
It’s lucky that I am left handed,
They asked which one did I like the best,
I said, ‘Now that would be telling.’
And kissed them both on the lips, to test
As the tears in their eyes were welling.

I had the choice, there were two to choose
The blonde had said she was willing,
The brunette said she was mine to lose,
I tossed for them with a shilling.
The blonde, I knew her as Flirty Anne
Picked heads, and lost in the tossing,
The other, I knew as ***** Pam
Was out in the bathroom, flossing.

David Lewis Paget

My Uncle John was a woebegone
In the all out way of things,
Wherever he went, no sun had shone
And we all were ding-a-lings.

He had no time for the hoi poloi
Or women who rant and tweet,
He’d pick on their saddest attributes
When he said they had ugly feet.

But those that he hated most were men
With money, and stick-out ears,
He said they could overhear him when
He whispered to privateers.

When I was a boy, I looked for joy
But he only gave me grief,
He’d say a bloke with a silly joke
Was simply a petty thief.

He’d never praise original thought
He’d say that it sounded dumb,
His wife Elaine said he’d still complain
As long as he sat on his ***.

She once cooked him a glorious meal
He muttered, and spat it out,
So Aunt Elaine said, ‘it’s such a shame,
I thought it might give him gout.’

I have to tell it was just as well,
He came to a terrible end,
He fell right back with a heart attack
When somebody called him ‘friend.’

We planted a bed of chrysanthemums
On his plot in the cemetery,
It gives him something to ***** about
When the cats go there to ***.

David Lewis Paget

She wasn’t a striking beauty, but
I loved her with all my heart,
I know that I always meant to tell,
I should have done from the start,
But her presence had overwhelmed me
Every time that I saw her face,
I was far too shy as she passed me by
For she moved with a gliding grace.

She wasn’t a social butterfly
But was always circumspect,
Was rather solemn and thoughtful but
Was all that I liked, direct.
I doubt if she even noticed me
Beyond becoming her friend,
I’d hoped for more, but I wasn’t sure
It would turn out in the end.

And then a man had moved in next door,
With the moniker Richard Pace,
He had all the bling, was covered in rings
With assets all over the place.
He drove a mauve Lamborghini that
Spoke volumes about the man,
And it wasn’t too long, he seemed to belong
For Esther was holding his hand.

I withered, retreated inside myself,
Retracted back in my shell,
My hopes and dreams, and my forward schemes
Were lost, and my heart as well,
I watched them drive in that magic car
While knowing that all was lost,
For all I had was a beat up Ford
At a fraction of the cost.

They say that money’s not everything
But it’s sure much better than none,
There wasn’t much I was offering
But a heart, quite overcome.
I went for a while then I wandered out
While Esther was there on her own,
‘Where have you been, I haven’t seen you,
Have you been there on your own?’

I managed to mutter, my eyes cast down,
‘I’ve watched you all over the place,
You seem to be settled, and riding round
With your new friend, Richard Pace.’
‘Oh, him,’ she chuckled, ‘Old Diamond Rick,
He’s full of himself for sure,
He thinks he’s a gift to the ladies, but,
Me, I’m looking for more.’

My heart beat once, and it came to life,
I saw the spark in her eye,
‘Now here’s your chance,’ said a tiny voice,
‘All you can do is try.’
But my tongue was tied in its usual way
I never could blurt it out,
Then Esther said, ‘I wish it were you,
You love me I know, no doubt!’

David Lewis Paget

She shouldn’t have been on the platform
On that fateful day in June,
The train she needed to catch would leave
Later that afternoon,
But I would never have met her then
If I hadn’t heard her cough,
And was offering her a cold flu pill
Just as the bomb went off.

I don’t think we actually heard it,
It came as a sort of ‘whoosh’,
The air was suddenly filled with nails
And bits of flesh, in a hush,
I felt her calf as it hit my leg,
Was blown clean off at the knee,
As she collapsed with a sort of gasp
And lay there, looking at me.

I think I must have been stupefied
For hours after the blast,
I only came to my senses, down
At the hospital, at last,
The girl lay flat on a trolley there
In the hospital corridor,
While I just sat and I held her hand,
My feet on the bloodstained floor.

I had some cuts and contusions but
She’d sheltered me from the blast,
And bodies lay in confusion as
They prayed, while breathing their last,
The surgeons tried to attach her leg
But too much damage was done,
The leg was dropped in a basket where
It never would walk, or run.

I found her name was Andromeda
After some distant star,
I told her that mine was Tim, she said,
‘I was wondering who you are.’
It was then I knew I’d look after her,
Would be at her beck and call,
For fate had pushed us together when
Disaster had come to call.

She didn’t take much persuading when
It came to me moving in,
For everyone else had backed right off
To see the state she was in,
‘They’ll never be tied to a *******,’
She said with a bitter smile,
I stroked her hair as I pushed her chair,
‘I’ll be around for a while.’

I don’t know whether she loved me back,
But I had fallen for her,
And thanked the lord for her missing leg
When I carried her up the stair,
She acquiesced with my every need
She knew I had to be fed,
And paid me back for each caring deed
By leading me to her bed.

She tried to cover her bitterness
To those who planted the bomb,
But still she seemed to be curious
Like who, and where were they from?
‘What would you do?’ I’d say to her,
‘If I stood them here in a line?’
Her brow grew black, as the words she spat,
‘Vengeance would be mine.’

And then the police had arrested them,
Two men from an evil cell,
Andromeda said she’d see them when
I’d take her to court, as well,
We took our place in the gallery
And could see them, looking down,
An evil pair, a defiant stare,
She pulled the gun from her gown.

I didn’t know that she’d got a gun,
She must have hidden it well,
With just one thought, and a loud retort,
She blew them away to hell.
She didn’t care what they did to her,
She said, ‘I’m not going to beg!’
Then pulling her dress up round her waist
She showed the judge her leg.

David Lewis Paget

I wasn’t impressed with the spiked black railings
Keeping the residents in,
They swept around to the padlocked gates
Like a prison for mortal sin,
But the signs said ‘Happiness Reigns Within –
The end of their lives secure,’
‘The Five Star Capital Home for Nursing,
Bring your old to our door.’

I’d only gone to be shown around,
I’d said my aunt wasn’t safe,
She wouldn’t stay in her cottage grounds
But wandered all over the place.
She needed care, ‘which is why I’m here,’
I said, but really I lied,
Some friends had asked I embrace the task
To get a good look inside.

I got to wander around the grounds,
I even shook off the guide,
I settled down in their dim-lit lounge
And watched for the ones that cried.
A woman, clad in a shawl was there,
Who wept, so no-one could see,
Who dabbed her eyes, then in some surprise
She sat there, staring at me.

I didn’t think she’d remember me
We were friends some years before,
But she’d succumbed to dementia then
While scrubbing the kitchen floor,
She’d wandered out in a busy street
Was almost hit by a bus,
The ambulance driver said, ‘Who’s she?’
And I said, ‘She’s one of us.’

I noticed then, she never came home
And her husband said, ‘She’s gone!’
He wasn’t too stable then himself
And he went, before too long.
I sat with her in the Nursing Home
And I held her trembling hand,
She said she didn’t remember me
But she asked me, where was Sam?

The question came as a shock to me
For her husband, Sam, was there,
From where she sat she could surely see
Him straight across, in a chair,
They’d seen each other each day, it seems
He’d not remembered a trace,
Their marriage lost in swirl of dreams
And she’d forgotten his face.

I tried to trigger their memories
Remind them that they had loved,
Had lived together for fifty years
Whenever he’d pushed, she shoved.
But Jennifer took one look at Sam
And twisted her gaze away,
‘I’m certain he couldn’t be my man,
He has so little to say.’

When next I heard, she had gone back home,
Her mind as clear as a bell,
My friends said I must have shaken her up,
They’d never seen her so well.
But still she wept for her Sam at night,
Said where on earth could he be,
So I went back to that house of hell,
Brought Sam back out on a ‘Free’.

Some places hold their own loving spell,
The very air is bewitched,
And Jennifer’s house was enchanted with
A spell from the house to the ditch.
When she saw Sam on the bluebell path
Uncertain of what to do,
She rushed straight into his arms and cried,
‘My love, I’ve been waiting for you!’

David Lewis Paget

She kept him out in the garden shed
Where her sisters wouldn’t see,
He’d not been once in her upstairs bed
If they saw, she’d say, ‘Who me?’
He hadn’t come from her neighbourhood
So he wasn’t quite her class,
Whenever they met, he’d be upset
Like walking on broken glass.

He wasn’t known to her wealthy friends
Her folks or her peers at all,
If they came by she would go all shy
And gaze at a cold brick wall,
While he made out that he wasn’t there
Would hum and look at the sky,
She made him stare like he didn’t care
Or was merely passing by.

But deep down things were beginning to hurt
As he felt each little slight,
Like when she came to the garden shed
For her love feast every night,
She’d bring her cushions and lay her down
As she offered up her breast,
Then pick the cushions up off the ground
To take, once she had dressed.

She didn’t want to be seen with him
She’d say, ‘It can’t be done,
My friends would freak and would think me weak
If they knew what’s going on,’
She said he’d have to be patient, that
It all would be all right,
‘The time will come when I’ll have to tell
But it just won’t be tonight.’

Her sister came to her room one day
With a new bow in her hair,
Her hands had shook with excitement
And that made her sister stare,
‘You’ll not believe what I found today
And I took into my bed,
The greatest love of my life, and he
Was sat in the garden shed.’

David Lewis Paget

The brothers Carmody, Jim and John
Were hooked on the keyboard wars,
While growing up, they’d never got on
It was always, ‘Mine, not yours!’
Jim would destroy his brother’s bed
John was more subtle than that,
He’d battery acid his brother’s clothes,
Burn holes in his favourite hat.

They lived just barely a mile apart
When they both left home for good,
If one ran into the other, then
They’d part in a surly mood,
So each had opened a Facebook page
To put the other one down,
Where Jim said, ‘You can’t control your rage!’
And John said Jim was a clown.

They both got married, their wives joined in
To this internecine war,
‘I hear your Betty’s seen round the town
On a bicycle built for four!’
‘Your Jillian picked up the second prize
When she won a date with you,
The ugliest guy in the neighbourhood
And that was the third prize, too.’

Jim sprayed bleach on his brother’s lawn,
John was as sly as a fox,
One night he crept to his brother’s place
Set fire to his letterbox.
The knives were out, there were no holds barred
‘Til the night of the power blackout,
They each paused over the enter key
With a message to chill them out.

‘I’m ready to bomb your citadel,
And nobody will survive!’
‘My crew is coming to do for you,
You’ll never get out alive!’
They hit the keys as the power went out
The messages couldn’t be traced,
They’d flown unguided from each P.C.
And travelled in cyberspace.

Three hundred years they would float adrift
The Carmody boys, long dead,
With thirteen generations of theirs
Not knowing what each one said.
Their words, unscrambled in outer space
Would alight on an alien shore,
Where the native Rogons got what they wished,
An excuse for planetary war!

‘They’re coming to bomb our Citadel,’
Said the Chief of the Rogons, Vork,
‘We’d better send out our nuclear fleet,
This Earth is sparring for war!’
The fleet set out on their ten year hike
On their mission through hyperspace,
The Orkon Fleet was heading on back,
They’d been to the very same place!

‘They sent a message to us as well,
Were sending a crew to attack,
They said we wouldn’t get out alive,
We couldn’t put up with that!
We blasted Earth to a thousand bits
That are floating out by the stars,
They’ll never be threatening us again…
Come on, we’ll race you to Mars!’

David Lewis Paget

We came into this life alone
A long, long time ago,
With each of us to each unknown
It gave us time to grow,
Then season after season passed
Our lives would open yet,
When my eyes lit on you at last
Upon the day we met.

And since that day, just like a dream
We’ve never been apart,
You’re everything that love would seem
To this, my bursting heart.
And so today we tie the knot
That binds us both for life,
When I call you my husband, dear,
And you call me your wife.

David Lewis Paget

The door was ajar to a pokey room
All gloomy and morbid inside,
It gave off an air of despair and gloom
Not joyful, befitting a bride,
The couple arrived as I wandered by,
But she with her eyes on the ground,
While he simply glared as we passed on the stair
As if to say, ‘See what I found!’

I wasn’t that curious back in the day
For couples, they came and they went,
Those pokey apartments so full of decay,
They’d be better off in a tent.
But these two had stayed there much longer than most,
She rarely came out in the light,
And he placed a padlock from door to the doorpost,
Whenever he left in the night.

Whenever he left, and he certainly did,
He’d leave her in there on her own,
Though where he would go, I now think that he hid
For sometimes I heard the girl moan.
I’d feel the floor shudder, and hear the walls creak
While out in the hall it would whine,
And I would go searching, like hide and go seek
To be sure it was nothing of mine.

One night with a rumble behind their front door
I heard someone dragging a case,
That terrible screech on the lino, at least
In that something was dragged out of place,
Could that be a trunk, was he doing a bunk
With her body to sink off the coast?
I called in the cops as I thought she was lost
And they blocked the door off, he was toast.

They opened the trunk, took the padlock away
And that’s where she was, true enough,
When they questioned him why she was locked up inside
‘She’s a penchant for travelling rough.’
They said did she mind and to this she replied
The woman, whose first name was Joyce,
‘He showed me the padlock and said it was wedlock,
I thought that I had little choice.’

David Lewis Paget

There once was time to sit and spin
The dream without, the light within
When young ideals like creed and rote
Would wreathe their blue tobacco smoke!

When wine was certain at each sip
When answers leapt at every lip,
Such were the days, when we all knew
If we were asked, what we would do.

But life began to call us in
And time, as such, has grown so thin,
We rush to do the things we must
While dreams, ideals, are things of dust.

And soon we turn our backs on them
Those shadows that were once young men
Who never dreamt hypocrisy
Would spill their dreams, philosophy;

And rule them with a rod of steel
And teach them well how not to feel,
And lead them blindly through their days –
They spare no thought for younger ways.

And where that dream, ideal, that once
Was held to spell deliverance?
Well we might ask, and well we might;
It’s life, not death, puts out the light!

David Lewis Paget

What happens to love that’s neglected,
What happens with absence of care,
When only the shrug of indifference
Is left for you both to share.
What happens when neither will reach on out
To touch, or caress or to hold,
Or eyes never meet when you pass in the street
There’s a shrivelling up of the soul.

And the taste of the past is like ashes,
While the memories gone are like dust,
Growing deeper with time as it passes
To bury attraction and lust.
And you wonder about the excitement
That you felt at the moment you met,
Was that a mirage, is the desert so large
That your heart remains lost in it yet?

When the days stretch ahead, and are endless
That you fear there will be no respite,
Are you under a curse, could it be any worse
With your tears on the pillow at night?
When you put a brave face on each morning,
And you nod to each other, then go,
But pray life will not be extended,
What happens? I think that you know!

David Lewis Paget

The hoofbeats come through the mist at night
And the sound of clattering wheels,
While Ursula sits at the Inn in fright,
And we all know how that feels,
There’s not been a coach for a hundred years
On these cobblestones, lining the lanes,
Not since the smugglers used a hearse
To carry their ill-gotten gains.

And though she may peer through the pebble glass
When the mist lies thick in the night,
She hopes that she’ll see the phantom pass
But it’s always out of sight,
A little beyond the light that beams
From the lamp that filters in,
To the darkened room in its haze of gloom
That they call the Smugglers Inn.

There’s a story told from the days of old
When the customs lay in wait,
Their pistols drawn just before the dawn
When the hearse would meet its fate,
And Captain Sly with his one good eye
Was shot as he hit the ground,
While Ursula hears his cry of fear
As the customs gather round.

She only hears the scuffle of feet
And the neigh of a frightened horse,
That echoes out of the distant past
While the mist obscures its course,
But out, like a smear on the cobblestones,
And just where the Captain stood,
It takes a day just to fade away,
A pool of the Captain’s blood.

It’s only whenever a mist appears
That she hears the clattering wheels,
And thinks of death as she holds her breath
To know what the mist reveals,
For after the Captain has hit the ground
In front of the Smugglers Inn,
The door will open without a sound
For that’s when the ghosts come in.

David Lewis Paget

The place was a crumbling ruin,
It sat on the top of a hill,
If we hadn’t been travelling tired that day
We may have been travelling still,
But you said we ought to seek shelter there
From a sudden deluge of rain,
So I parked outside its terraces
And entered the palace of pain.

You were the first to say ‘It’s strange,
The feeling within these halls,’
While all I could hear were the scraping sounds
That came from the whispering walls.
It must have been long deserted, it
Was just like a pile of bones,
That someone left when its throat was cleft
And lay fading into its moans.

The night came down with a vengeance once
We’d made our camp on the floor,
And rain poured in at the windows that
Were probably there before,
You said we’d leave when the morning came
Once the sun was up, and bright,
We didn’t know that an age of shame
Wrapped that place in an endless night.

I tried to sleep but you’d wake me up
Each time that I dropped my head,
‘Didn’t you hear that dreadful scream?’
I seem to remember you said.
But all I heard were the awful groans
That echoed around the halls,
I couldn’t explain the sense of dread
That came from the whispering walls.

I thought that the rain poured down on us
I thought that we lay in mud,
I lit a match in the early hours
To see you covered in blood.
I said, ‘We’d better go back to sleep
Till the nightmare hour is past,
But then you noticed the blood on me
And you screamed, and lay aghast.

I wish that we’d never gone near the place
I wish we’d stayed in the car,
Then you’d still be who you used to be
And I would know where you are!
But you ran screaming into the night
When they came with their hoods and gowns,
With their bloodied hands and their burning brands
To burn the place to the ground.

David Lewis Paget

Whenever I went with winsome Kate
She’d say, ‘I’m a witch, and that,’
And while in bed, with love in my head,
All she would do was chat.
She’d chatter about the latest spell
She’d found in her old Grimoire,
While I would lie, and dream of her thighs
And hope she’d surprise me there.

And so she did, a number of times
Each time that I’d reach for her,
Like shifting sand, I’d find in my hand
A handful of ***** fur,
The black cat under the counterpane
Would wriggle and spit and scratch,
And I’d withdraw, away from its paw
I’d find it more than a match.

Then she’d go on about frogs and spawn
While up above in her flat,
And hanging down from her ceiling fan
The nastiest looking bat.
‘I hope that’s not going to drop on us,’
I’d say, but she didn’t care,
It often lay on her pillow case
All tangled up in her hair.

‘Wouldn’t you like to make witching love?’
I’d say to her, in despair,
While she would lie, with spells in her eye
And some that would really scare.
She said she needed to concentrate
And would make some terrible moans,
They seemed to come from the mantlepiece
Where she kept a pile of bones.

She called them Fred, he was certainly dead
And he stared at us from above,
She’d cry, and say that there was a day
When he was her one true love.
But he’d fallen into her pickle jar
One day, when casting a spell,
And she’d pulled him out, too late, no doubt,
He’d pickled his way to hell.

I bid farewell to my witching one
Before I suffered his fate,
I’d prayed for love to heaven above
Knowing it was too late.
She’d filled a cauldron with toads and newts
Then turned and reached for my hand,
But I had fled, the moment she said,
‘Now all I need is a man!’

David Lewis Paget

I’m so heartily sick of writing
As I do most every day,
I’m missing that flash of lightning as
I write my life away.
My friends are dead, or went on ahead
As they left me on the page,
And said, ‘You just fill the details in
While we go off to rage.’

I get no sense of achievement from
A page that’s white and blank,
I have to fill in some alphabet
Of scenes that I once drank,
I search around for a storyline
That no-one wrote before,
It’s like a flea on an elephant,
That’s what I’m looking for.

At least I fashion my characters
The way I’d like them be,
The men so brutally strong, and then
The women willowy,
The latter tend to be acrobats
So supple, every night,
And take up a shape impossible
To fill me with delight.

My ladies all are submissive as
They dribble from my pen,
They ask me what I would like to do
And I reply, ‘but then…’
I flip through the Kama Sutra for
The inspiration lacked,
And have them jumping through hoops to prove
How well each one is stacked.

But still I’m lacking a storyline
To put my people through,
So I look out of my window just
To watch what folk will do,
The world out there is a scary place
When I look down from above,
The only theme that is not obscene
Is the fairytale of love.

So in the end you can party folks
Go out to roar and rage,
I’d rather sit here alone and live
Here on the printed page,
It may not be as exciting as
An extra-marital fling,
But I’m content with the themes I’m lent
Because writing is my thing.

David Lewis Paget

He came on down from the mountain like
An ancient prophet of old,
His hair was long, and fine and white
And his neck was chained with gold,
He carried a staff as he limped on in
To the farm, and asked for a bed,
I said, ‘We live in the farmhouse here,
But there’s hay in the cattle shed.’

He thanked me then and he stayed the night
I thought he’d be gone at dawn,
But the sun was high on the mountainside
When I saw him stand in the corn,
‘Your Lord provides and is bountiful,
You must have kept his commands,
My people wandered for forty years
In the drift of the desert sands.’

I asked him if I could know his name
For the strangers here were few,
He looked askance, but he shook my hand,
‘It’s Moses, here, to you.
I’m on my way to the Canaanites
Who possess my promised lands,
But I need to know where I have to go
I’m a stranger in your hands.’

I thought he must have been wandering,
Some defect of the mind,
I said, ‘You’re not on the continent
That you want so hard to find,
That mountain there isn’t Sinai,
We’re far too south to gauge,
This farm’s in Eastern Australia
By the Great Dividing Range.

He shook his head and his eyes went dead
And he turned towards the creek,
It was riding high with a swollen tide
For the best part of a week,
I thought, he’ll never get over that,
The current is far too strong,
But he beat his staff on the bank, three times,
How could I be so wrong?

The water parted, it ceased to flow,
But it raised in two tall towers,
Then he set off in the midst of it,
I sat in shock for hours,
The last I saw he was marching off
As the creek collapsed to flow,
I thought, ‘and the best of British luck,
You’ve a helluva way to go!’

David Lewis Paget

The gates of the ancient prison creaked
And the chains clanked in the breeze,
When we pulled in with our caravan,
As we camped among the trees,
The kids went off for a quick explore
And were back before nightfall,
They said, ‘There’s all of this nasty stuff
Leaked out from the old stone wall.’

They said it looked like a yellow moss
But it had a putrid smell,
It clung in lumps to the chains, in clumps
That were hung in every cell,
‘Do you think it grew on the prisoners,’
Said Ted, with his eyes a-glare,
‘I’ve got a terrible feeling from
The damp in the cells in there.’

‘It’s only an empty building,’ said
Darnelle, but her eyes were bright,
‘I heard the prisoners whispering
As they must have done, each night,’
She let her imagination reign
Or that’s what we thought she did,
I learnt to listen more carefully
When she said that she had, our kid!

So later, when they were both abed
I took Clare by the hand,
And led her into the ancient Gaol,
To that misery of man,
Our footsteps echoed on cobblestones,
My voice came back like prayer,
Bouncing back from the old stone walls
In tones of a pure despair.

The moon came filtering down that night
And made patterns through the trees,
While beams shone in to the cells where once
Old men prayed on their knees,
And Clare would shiver where candlelight
Was once the only ray,
To keep the spectres away at night
Until the break of day.

I kept on wandering further in
While Clare would turn around,
‘Let’s go,’ she said, ‘it’s a scary thing,
We walk unhallowed ground,’
But no, I walked to the furthest cell
To the meanest cell of all,
And saw the bones, and the yellow moss
In a pile against the wall.

A beam came down from the rising moon
That lit up the pile of bones,
And there for a moment, all we heard
Was the sound of muffled moans,
A shadow rose by the weeping wall
Of a man who cried ‘I’m free!’
Who dropped the chains of his earthly pains
As he strode away, through me.

And all I felt was a deathly chill
As he passed right through my form,
My mind was frozen, my heart was still
And I felt I was unborn,
But then the morning arrived at last
With a terrible sense of loss,
For all one side of my face was gone,
Covered in yellow moss.

David Lewis Paget

‘If only we could go back,’ he said,
‘To dot all the ‘i’s and ‘j’s,
I’d certainly have a Captain Cook
Again, at my wayward ways.
You must admit that it started well,
There was lots of love to begin.’
She said her piece through a crack in the door,
‘There was, but you can’t come in!’

‘But surely there’s time to talk it out,
We’ve been together so long?’
‘You said you’d talk, but you’d only shout,
The things that you did were wrong!’
He slumped against the post of the door
And thought of the things he’d said,
‘If only you’d let me in once more,
Without your love, I’m dead!’

‘There hasn’t been love for many a year,
That flew when you made your choice,
You said, “I’ll be working late, my dear,”
When really, you went with Joyce.
You treated me like a perfect fool
When you came in late in the gloom,
And crawled in bed with your back to me,
I could smell her sweet perfume.’

‘She never meant anything then to me,
She doesn’t mean anything now!’
‘That may be true, but I’m telling you
That marked the end of my vow.
I should have cut you adrift before
But I had nowhere to go,
So now, you’d better go find your *****
Or sleep outside in the snow.’

‘How could you be so cold and hard
With all that long in the past?’
‘I’ve taken a look at that self-same book
And found me some love at last!’
She stepped aside from the open door
And he thought she’d given in,
But a man stood solid, blocking his way
And he said, ‘You can’t come in!’

David Lewis Paget

He lay in bed and he watched the sun
Beam in through the double glaze,
The leafless treetops, withered and bent
In an unforgiving haze,
His wife lay sleeping, innocent
In a dream of former times,
As the clock downstairs in the hallway gave
The last of thirteen chimes.

He slipped on down to the basement, tried
To leave his wife in grace,
Took heart, looked over his shoulder just
To see her peaceful face,
Then carefully donned the gamma suit
That they’d issued with the hood,
And slipped on out through the airlock to
Assess the neighbourhood.

The visibility through the haze
Was down to fifty feet,
The yards were blackened and burned of
Every house along the street,
He checked each one with an open door
Where the occupants had fled,
But every now and again he’d find
They’d not be gone, but dead.

He’d make a note of the time of day
Of the house, its street address,
And note if any had decomposed
So the squad could clean the mess,
His friends peered out from their windows
Watched and mouthed their mute dismay,
While he would hold up a sign to them,
‘You can’t go out today!’

It took him an hour to check each block
That he’d got from Air Defence,
He’d watch the flickering LED
And would note the roentgens,
The cloud had covered the neighbourhood
But would move along, they said,
The dust-storm muted the morning sun
And at night, the sky was red.

The Homeland Squad would deliver food
To the ones without supplies,
Would drop their cases of powdered milk
To stem the babies cries,
While Gordon Hay would complete his day,
Rush back to his lady, Sky,
Wash off the hood and the gamma suit
And hang it on up to dry.

She’d dressed and put on her make-up
Added a touch of rouge to her cheeks,
And said, ‘I’m going to pop right out,
I haven’t been out for weeks.
I need to go to the supermart,
And visit the folks on the way,’
Then waited for Gordon to shake his head,
‘You can’t go out today!’

‘I’m sick of hearing you saying that,’
She stamped, and she burst in tears,
‘How long do you think you can keep me in,
This might go on for years!
You go out there in your funny suit
And there’s nothing wrong with you,
While I’m stuck here with our baby girl,
I want to go walking, too.’

She waited until he was fast asleep
And the baby fed and dried,
Then quietly opened the airlock, took
A breath, and she walked outside,
The dust was thick and the air was hot
And her skin began to burn,
She thought she’d better buy sunscreen
At the shop, on her return.

The supermarket was boarded up,
And so were the local shops,
She didn’t see anyone on the street
Not even the local cops,
Her folks refused to answer the door
Her friends had waved her away,
And Gordon’s words had hung in the air,
‘You can’t go out today!’

She turned, went back to her home, and found
The airlock had been barred,
She beat in vain on the window pane
But her husband’s words were hard,
He saw the blisters, over her face
And the pustules on her skin,
His tears were based on her lack of grace
As he said, ‘You can’t come in!’

‘I have to protect our baby girl
And I’ll do whatever it takes,
I love you Sky, but you’re going to die,
We pay for our own mistakes.
You always were too stubborn for me
And you had to have your way.’
She cried in dread at the words he’d said:
‘You can’t go out today!’

David Lewis Paget

He took to the skies most every night
Unfurling his wings of black, not white,
Invisible in the night sky when
He hovered above the world of men.

‘Go out and bring me a ****** girl,’
His master bade from his darkling world,
But scanning this broad humanity
There wasn’t a ****** he could see.

He’d scan and swoop from his greater height
When the clouds got into his way at night,
And beam on in to the female kind,
To enter their thoughts, and read each mind.

Then every day he’d return back home
Reporting back where his master roamed,
‘There isn’t a one,’ he said, ‘You’re sure?
You surely can find me one that’s pure.’

‘I scan three hundred and more each night,
And none of their thoughts are pearly white,
For even the ones not quite undone
Have dreams that tell them it might be fun.’

‘I have to say that they sometimes shock
With dirtier minds than the weathercock,
A ****** body is easy to find,
But not one pure with a ****** mind.’

He still flies out in the midnight world
In a fruitless search for a ****** girl,
Pure in body and pure in mind,
But now extinct in our humankind.

He tells his master his search is cursed,
There’s none to find in the universe,
His darkling master is left confused,
‘Perhaps you would like one barely used?’

But no, his master will still insist,
And waits in vain for his ****** tryst,
So that’s why, under a harvest moon,
You may glimpse wings in the month of June.

David Lewis Paget

She lay so pale, under a veil
On the hard mortician’s tray,
A tube ran down from her artery
And her blood was seeping away,
I’d never seen her so still and white,
So cold, and her eyes so glazed,
I shook my head when they said, ‘She’s dead!’
More than a little dazed.

It had only been just a week ago
That I’d gone to call on Jan,
And there, right under the portico
I’d met her sister, Anne.
I’d heard about her before, of course,
The mysterious older Sis,
Who’d travelled far, was in Zanzibar,
Hong Kong and the Middle East.

I’d wondered how she could pay her way
When I heard the awesome tales,
This woman trekking the Russian Steppes
And ending up in Wales.
Now here she was in a Sydney Street
Not a hair was out of place,
Her eyes were shining to greet and meet,
Deep set in her suntanned face.

I must admit that she stirred me then
So I had to drop my eyes,
I’d been with Jan since I don’t know when
So I thought it more than wise,
A jealous woman is worse than hell
And I’d rather stick with bliss,
So reached for Jan and I held her hand
As she introduced her Sis.

She’d come to stay for a month, she said,
Then had to be on her way,
She had to meet with a Turkish man
In a market in Cathay,
But Jan was not even curious,
Though the questions crossed my mind,
Most of them would be spurious
But I wondered what I’d find?

What was her line of work, I thought,
How did she make it pay?
Was she some rich man’s paid consort
In a Persian alleyway?
Was she smuggling drugs or guns
With secrets tucked in her bra,
Or was she a spy for love, or funds
From a man in Zanzibar?

She settled in to a set routine
In the house, it was absurd,
She always seemed to be normal, not
The hellfire that I’d heard,
We’d sit up late by a blazing grate
Play cards, and drink and rave,
Then Jan went off for her monthly trip,
And she said, ‘You two behave!’

She laughed at us as she left, and said
That she’d be back in a week,
It was always some promotional tour
But of what, she wouldn’t speak.
For both these sisters were secretive
Tight lipped on the things they’d do,
But when she’d gone, Anne came on strong,
And said, ‘I’m looking at you!’

Jan crept back in about midnight, and
She caught us both in bed,
She screamed and ranted about the room,
Went quite right off her head,
She pulled a knife and she went for her,
The startled sister, Anne,
‘You’ve always stolen the one I loved,
And you! You’re never my man.’

The body lay on the silver tray
As they walked me in, then out,
Identifying the corpse, they said
So there wasn’t any doubt.
They placed me cuffed in a Candy Car
On a charge of ****** One,
While Anne was headed for Zanzibar
As I said goodbye to Jan!

David Lewis Paget

It was damp and cold at the office
Where he’d been caught up, working late,
He’d almost finished a gothic
For the collection, ‘Zorga’s Gate’,
The lights had fused and the heat was off
When a chill swept through the air,
Just as he typed that final word
On the screen, that word - ‘Despair!’

He’d written ‘The Pillars of Zorga’s Gate
Rise out of the mist out there,
So only fools and unearthly ghouls
Will gather and stand and stare,
The gates are sticky with blood and gore
From the many who came and tried,
To answer the sign, ‘You’re welcome here!’
‘Til they found that the gates had lied.’

He shivered once at the heartlessness
He’d woven into the plot,
When the evil Baron of Darkness
Turned the key in the dungeon lock,
Then blood flowed down the computer screen
With a font that reeked of  hate:
‘You dare to reveal the mysteries
At the back of Zorga’s Gate?’

Jack sat up straight in his chair in shock,
Peered warily round the room,
He sensed a muttering babble there
From somewhere deep in the gloom,
Then slowly the keyboard typed his name
In white, and the screen was black,
‘Wherever you’re coming from, my friend,
You’ll never be going back!’

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up
And a chill ran down his spine,
‘Somebody’s playing a stupid trick,’
He said, ‘I’ll get the swine!’
He went to type a reply, but by
The time that he hit the key,
The screen switched off, the computer locked
And a voice said, ‘Come with me!’

He fumbled around in the darkness
Staggered once, and he almost fell,
Touched a wall that was damp and cold
And he thought, ‘I can’t be well!’
He found himself on the battlements
Of a castle, cold and grim,
Where the wind howled yet at the parapet
And the thunderclouds rolled in.

A figure was standing behind him
Wearing a hood and a flowing cape,
He turned and backed to the battlements
With his mouth and his jaws agape,
‘I have your Jocelyn bound in chain
Awaiting her sad demise,
I told her I’d only cut her throat
In front of your mortal eyes!’

He prodded Jack in the small of his back
And along a winding stair,
The stone was old, and covered in mould,
And led to a dungeon there,
She lay, fast chained to the dungeon wall
In a bright red party gown,
Jack cried, ‘My God! What’s happening?’
And she said, ‘You let me down!’

‘You let the Baron of Darkness out
When you typed the word ‘Despair!’
And now he’s going to **** us both
For the tale that you tried to share.
He’s kept the secret of Zorga’s Gate
Since Zog and the demons came,
And now that you’ve let the secret out
He says you’re the one to blame!’

The shadow stood in the doorway
With a scimitar raised on high,
While Jack cried, ‘Wait! It’s not too late,
I’ll press the ‘delete’, I’ll try!’
And there was the cursor, blinking fast
At the end of the word ‘Despair!’
It took a second to backspace that
And it suddenly wasn’t there.

Jocelyn walked through the office door
In a bright red party gown,
She said, ‘Don’t tell, you fell asleep!’
He looked at her with a frown.
He’s never written a gothic since
And never will work back late,
But sits with a tome in his padlocked home
Since messing with Zorga’s Gate!

David Lewis Paget