TehMill

TehMill

TehMill girl from the mountain

gives her message in languages

you should wait for interpretation

or read in mystic passages.

Telling all about music

a simple girl with a song

it’s plain to see that she loves the lyrics

she knows where all the notes belong

Just hearken to her story

from her box in the square

all about a banquet that she’s going to

tables laid with portions rare.

She’s longing for her rapture

 see her in ecstacy

although she’s sorry about the ire

of folk who don’t want to see.

TehMill in the firelight

strumming on her guitar

no-one hears the voice that she listens to

nor she the noisy jar.

Young girls dance in their glee

old folk join in the fun

all their sorrows are left behind them

and peace on everyone. 

*

Canto [TehMill's song]

 

TehMill’s song

 

I have gotten too much tan

a long time working in the sun

but in my lover’s eyes I’m beautiful

he calls me his lovely one.

*

If only he were my brother

I could kiss him freely in the street

and show the world how much I love him

uninhibited by any we meet

*

I remember the first time

he came knocking on my door

dampen locks from the night air

which made me hesitate more.

*

When he spoke with honey tongue

I made haste to turn the latch

oh! how hard my heart was beating

my breath was all at a catch.

*

By the time I shot back the bolt

he had turned away into the night

I begged the city girls to help me

find him who had captured my delight

 *

I see him gazing at my window

looking lonely, leant against the wall

he knows that I won’t leave him standing there

I will run with him when I hear him call.

*

Based somewhat on Song of songs 

The Camaraderie

The Camaraderie
The Camaraderie

Canary fly over the chimney pot

dowdy sparrows give chase

so pretty a hen with jersey bright

will never suit their case.

Blaze fire blaze, a fire made not with logs,

but ointment thoughts and wisdom

gathered into books

compelling words will burn, though winsome.

Had they not first their utterance,

catched in willing ears to listen?

with hearts that hope to love?

why else would they have been written?

Bow down young man in your courtyard

lower your face in the moonlight,

far in the distance, ever nearing

a weight of iron is coming with might.

*

“Oh! show me your face,

show me your face

then strengthen my legs

that I might stand in this awesome place

Oh! show me your face,

show me your face

let your love shine upon me

before I must leave this place.”

*

Black charcoal black

you will ever be black

though water run upon you

still any brightness lack

black charcoal black

I do not desire you so

luminous red my companion be,

my candle will make you glow. 

Tell me where the wind goes

you hear him singing in the trees

show me where his journey ends

refreshing he comes as he please.

You cannot say what you feel

nor colour the fragrances

the breeze has gathered in his arms

to throw against you, sweet rememberances.

*

“Oh! show me your face

show me your face,

then strengthen my legs 

that I might stand in this awsome place

Ah! show me your face

show me your face

let your love shine upon me

before I must leave this place.”  

The beautiful Sadhu Sundar Singh the famous Indian mystic who is the inspiration for this work.

http://www.eaglevision.com.my/ssvisions.htm 

Sadhu Sundar Singh
Sadhu Sundar Singh

Dance the daddy longlegs

Dance the daddy longlegs
Dance the daddy longlegs

Dance the daddy longlegs

pussyfoot around

let’s beat all around the bushes

in case the truth is found,

ah! house, built upon fables

having legend for a foundation

your walls constructed of folk-lore

nowt more concrete than imagination,

a more durable truth might have lasted.

My ears work best in the valley

in copses where trees gentle the wind

the earth I tread is soft but firm

there my life is determined.

Morning prayer and the song of a robin

chuckling praise like river mirth

answers come down like autumn leaves

yeah, and teach me what I am worth

I am your meadow maid,

meadow maid, meadow maid

you have forgotten all about me,

the songs we sang, the games we played

in the morning sunshine.

How our laughter rang out

we used to skip together and dance

never afraid to shout.

You have seen the field crocuses

gathered round the sycamore tree

I am one of them,

that pretty red one among them, that is me.

Lily child

Lily child
Lily child

If I could show you a squirrel

in the eyes of a child

or damp your hand with a frog

brush your cheek with a dog rose, wild.

I would so like to walk with you

on a petalled carpet, barefoot

the sun and wind in our faces

where the grass is freshly cut.

Iron in the soul will not soon be got out

a hardened heart not easily soften

healing for hurt comes slowly

to one who has been bruiséd often.

Let me hold your hand

sit and talk a while

I will put my arms around you.

Lay your head on my shoulder, smile

and if tears should come my darling,

then cry your heart out love,  just cry

Calico Contralto

Calico Contralto

Calico Contralto

 

Calico Contralto

we sat on her veranda

she sang the language of angels

more blissful than Nirvana

The song flowed from her belly

tripped her tongue with ecstacy

an inner shekinah enwrapt her

and time turned to eternity

*

Her voice lay o’er the valley

Calico Contralto.

Camped by a spring of water

the song she sang I did not know,

 though I played on her piano,

 protected by her archers

stood around our dargle

looking out for searchers

*

Oh! that vale is green in shades

 oh! the view is fair

oh! the trees delightful

delicious the fruit they bear.

*

Her song was mellowed velvet

Calico Contralto

we sat on her veranda.

 The song she sang, I did not know

 though I played on her piano

[the tongue being one I had not learned]

she sang with such beauty of love

our melted hearts just turned.

 

Thankless

There are seventy millions of souls

in the United Kingdom today,

when Glorianna reigned less than five.

And when William crossed from France, they say,

were just a million for him to conquer.

People migrating outward

from India [perhaps.]

In view of this it becomes hard

when put alongside the evidence

of man’s history beneath our feet,

[which really doesn't go down far]

not to conclude it was pure deceit

to swap facts for a theory

as the evolutionists have done.  

Benediction

Pink a puff of powder

your legs will soon be dry,

twirl around a towel swami

shampoo can make you cry.

Dreams from a pipe, a puff, and a turban

to help sustain the myth.

The truth is in the grease and dirt,

however you distain with,

they will come again to check your pride

and make you think again.

A velvet red rose in the hand of a fool

is fragrant and lovely still.

In loving hands, yet her petals will fall (how softly they fall)

gather them onto the window sill.

Late, looking out  of my window I see

the creeping shadows of night

falling everywhere across our land,

my hands open, palms up to give flight

to my prayer of thanksgiving.

Longing with longing I stretch out

my right hand,  palm towards my homeland

a benediction only God can bring about.