twelve lines

I walked through purple heathers wild
their heads washed fresh with dew
and in their perfumed boudoir
I wrote this song for you
I sang it as the sun gave way
to fogs upon the glen
and even o’er the mists of time
I’ll sing it now and then
whenever heathers breathe the air
and sigh their last bouquet
my thoughts within these simple words
is all I’ll have left to say.

Faux Folk Song

St. Patrick sailed from Tithebarn Street
or so the story goes
and sailed across the Irish Sea
a thousand years ago
and all the snakes in Ireland
did quiver in their skins
as they’d heard St Paddy
had come to do them in.

St. Patrick sailed from Tithebarn Street
in dark old Liverpool
where woodlands fell as sailors tell
for ships the seas to rule
and on board such a sturdy bough
he sighted Eire’s green
and all the serpents quaked and shook
he’d come to do them in.

The Children of the Flowers (a song for David Crosby)

the children of the flowers
have left the golden canyon sides
and though the sun keeps shining
no more will she awake their eyes
to azure mornings’ gilded haze
of love, we are bereft
for the children of the flowers are gone,
yet echoes of their songs are left

Sing Again

sing again pastoral songs
of endless dusks of gold
as keepsakes for my autumn’s end
before the year grows cold
to memories of summer’s lost
and their ballads’ echoes die
beyond the faint remembered phrase
of an old man’s wistful sigh.

A Ballad Begins

close thine eyes of heather’d bliss
and sleep ’til springtime’s green
let night seduce you with his kiss
and cast the darkness out with dreams

unfinished

WINZERFALLE

I heard Lord Bacchus try to sing
discordant sad and long laments
of eternal thirsts unquenched
that to his blood red eyes did bring
a tear for all those sorry souls
who to his world of vineyard’s old
gave all their dreams so cheaply spent
in trade for those his kisses lent.

yet on the dire and sunken host
such melancholic ayrs are lost
as they pay gladly all that costs
and to Lord Bacchus spend the most.

Older Poems #4 : Maiden of the Elm Tree

fair maiden of the elm tree
love borne upon the bough
each leaf that falls
requited tears
I must return somehow
a thousand fold
in joyous weepings
a river forms thy name
and within its eddies
I shall drown
not to emerge again.

© 2017

HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE

Isaac Asimov stated the obvious
and Vonnegut smiled like a loon
Bradbury laughed to see such fun
and Dick put a man on the moon, the moon,
and Dick put a man on the moon.

a scribbled partial lyric found in box

my favourite shirt lies on the bed
just like that Nicky Heyward said
and no one pulled the blinds last night
I laugh inside at who I became
on Earle Street in the pouring rain
as my shadows drank up the light

of just another Sunday morning
let regrets play no mind
just another tied on head
push the button to rewind

Songwright (unfinished)

write songs with sincerity
to sing them with uncertainty
show that side to you we wish we were
amd in our insecurity
we’ll find out who we want to be
beyond that which to the world we share.