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.
a minstrel born of poet’s heart
for heart a minstrel needs
as in my songs and ballads pure
my soul marks all its deeds,
so gentle is the writer’s heart
yet cruel and cold at times
the poet lives but for his verse
and breathes but in his rhymes
and though I may write a million words
as write them all I must
it matters not for like my heart
they one day will be dust,
what measured chance,
perchance
my love
that this romance
will dance
my love
upon the graves
and waves
of lovers lost?
for we must not miss
that kiss
my love
that our lips
in promises
my love
have twixt us
a-whispered hushed
without
a thought for cost.
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
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
farewell to song
you did me wrong
though your intent was pure
you spoke in smiles
with words beguiling
I can hear no more
farewell my muse
I did not choose you
when you came to play
bewitching airs
that my heart stirred
but now I must away..
away from verse
that did divert my
heart from other things
but in my leaving
’tis self deceiving
for I’ll return to you…
…and sing
my love dreams
but I cannot dream
my restless thoughts hold sway
that my love’s dreams
are not my dreams
and may spirit her away.
I can but hope
with all my hopes
our dreams aren’t far apart
that hope rings true
and sings her tune
to keep me in her heart.
I read about the miller’s lass
from way on way back when
her fancies ran to lusty beaus
who rode up through the glen
to court her for her countenance
and for flaxen hair
its beauty famed across the burghs
fine as the mountain air
which kissed dew with a gentle breeze
as mornings in the May
and upon those misty morns
her suitors fair and gay
would dare to share a first embrace
beside the singing streams
and once they’d kissed, forevermore
she’d live within their dreams.
the bells have all stopped ringing
there are no choirs singing
no butterflies through sunflowers winging
for love is gone away
the children gave up playing
the breeze kissed trees stopped swaying
what good would it be praying
now love is gone away
no sweethearts softly sighing
the swallows gave up flying
my heart is slowly dying
as love is gone away.
I walked as stranger ‘cross the world
alone from kin or kith or friend
until the day your faith unfurled
to bring this solitude an end,
now as one that knows his place
my heart still wanders, but to you
and looks upon your comely face
in certainty of this love true.
the blighters rock 