Logic pools your eyes

August 17, 2009 at 9:55 am (flora, folk music, literature, music, nature, poetry, romance)
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Peony House

Peony House

 Logic pools your eyes

I catched you with my video

 I can make you be my film star

and you won’t even know 

 *

Come along sweet apple breath

smack me with your wine kisses

I never will be satisfied

until my heart beat misses

*

Walking in the meadow

with your hand holding mine

I’ve got a room at the village inn

thatched roof and blue skyline

*

Clover ring for your hair

a chain of daisies for mine

we’ll picnic on a pilchard sarnie

washed down with a bottle of wine

*

 Logic pools your eyes

by the doubtful bryony

the news you told me yesterday

got tinged with irony

*

Come visit me at Peony

walk the path to my door

peony will punish if you move her

by flowering never more.

*

logic pools your eyes

logic pools your eyes 

 

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Lily child

July 10, 2009 at 9:18 pm (bible, christianity, flora, literature, poetry)
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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

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Do the jiggaloo

June 27, 2009 at 7:34 pm (flora, folk music, music, nature, poetry, recreation)
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Do the jiggaloo

Do the jiggaloo

 Larkspur July is coming around,

gladiola will sharpen her sword,

Mrs Simkins will need to be layered

to spread her fragrance abroad.

I was riding the escalator

on the tube at Notting Hill Gate

hoping the train to Marble Arch

would be on time, not late.

I was stopped by the sad sweet sax player

why did he play that way?

he told me with tears running down his cheeks

“Mr. Jackson died today.”

You ask about my style

well I don’t know about that

I want to speak my mind out

let people know just where I’m at

still you are not quite satisfied

with our little rhyme

“let’s find a desert to traverse [say you]

there must be a mountain to climb.”

We can do that,

who knows but we may have to

but just for now relax my friend,

more gentle play pursue.

Wipe the spit out of your clarinet

I’ll fetch my old guitar

let’s go down to the market place

don’t forget to bring the jar.

We’ll jolly up some shoppers

lighten someone’s load

and if we make a couple of quid 

we’ll have a quick one for the road.

Sing a song of summer

one sad ballad will do

you can render your soulful nuance

I can do the jiggaloo.

Knowledge comes with experience

he only asked compensation,

other people expect a bribe

but hey life is free,  no obligation. 

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The charcoal garden

June 13, 2009 at 3:11 pm (flora, literature, nature, poetry, recreation)
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Charcoal garden
Charcoal garden

 
I stood in the middle
 
of my charcoal garden
 
then I spoke aloud,
 
“you have not been mine
 
someone else planted you here,

to catch the morning sun

upon your western incline.

But now that I have decked you

made you what I want you to be,

I am pleased to call you my own,

come, let’s throw open the gates

for all passing by to see.

You are the sister I never cared for,

plain, you were

no-one would court you.

I set out to make you pretty

alluring and attractive

to the more uncasual view

I clothed you with wild flowers,

poppies, jillies and foxglove

adorned you with trestles,

sweet pea, clematis, thrown upon

honeysuckle all hung from above.”

Oh! charcoal garden, my belovéd sister

though the late afternoon sun

has cast upon her a shadow,

in a little while the enfragranced dew

will have come and will have kissed her.

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Catkin carpet

February 8, 2009 at 4:03 pm (flora, literature, music, nature, poetry, recreation, romance)
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Author of Don Camillo

Author of Don Camillo

 The Italian lived where he was born

Parma, near the River Po.

He played mandolin and studied law

because his parents would not have it so.

But he did admire his father’s panache

and in this was pleased to emulate

by growing [under his own nose] a heavy black moustache .

There was the night he was arrested

for howling in the street,

an Italian denied his point of view

will protest with his feet.

Nino’s wife, beloved,

 proudly bore two beautiful children.

He also owned a motor-cycle

which proudly bore four cylinderen.

In his homeland he came to fame

As editor in chief of “Candido”

but to the world he will always be loved

as the creator of Don Camillo.

*

Catkin carpet.

*

Come, let’s make ourselves a hiding place,

the willow tree next door

has been kind enough to throw his branch

over our fence, we’ll have a catkin carpet floor

Bring hazelnuts and a bottle of red wine

we’ll lie down together  the world passing by

Take care our laughter doesn’t give us away

in our little den, you and I.

These apricot days, 

bring me no boring daffodils

splash me rather with red carnations,

ravish my ears with wedding bells.

I will swoon with love in May sunshine

exceeding to the applause of the sycamore tree

and the surprised delight of sparrows.

Happy? you bet I am! (why wouldn’t I be?)  

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Winter pith and spectres

January 10, 2009 at 7:10 pm (climate, flora, literature, nature, poetry)
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Is there a thing

that will cause the bells to ring?

and in the bush on branches

the feathery birds to sing?

*

What will make the river merry again?

or the trees to swoon

in their glorious greens?

Wild iris unfurl, put out her tongue,

catkin peep out of his pod.

*

What shall be this thing

transforming all to joying

and decking out of meadows?

Yes of course, the early Spring.

*

Ah! but now the mists and frosts

of winter cover our Island home,

white, as pith of orange

shrubbery stands rigid, spectres

nor any thawing see.

 

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The Totton Linnet

January 4, 2009 at 12:17 am (children, flora, literature, music, nature, poetry, politics, recreation, religion)

 Check out Yack and Rhyming Yack for music, poetry and yarns, you know how you hate to miss anything good.
Above the transom

Above the transom

  http://gentledove2.wordpress.com

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Benediction

January 3, 2009 at 11:41 pm (bible, christianity, flora, literature, poetry, religion)

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.

 

 

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