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 

Logic pools your eyes

 
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 

 

Do the jiggaloo

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. 

The Whacked Weasel

The Whacked Weasel Putney

The Whacked Weasel Putney

Remember July, our bicycle ride

through Chiswick down to Putney

the Whacked Weasel for lunch, supping their punch

we had bangers with mango chutney (coo hoo)

*

On the occe, you got cocky

I beat you by doubling out

*

And on the way back we made our tongues black

chewing chicory liquorice sticks

weaving red buses in spite of their cusses

we showed them our country tricks.

*

http://gentledove2.wordpress.com/the-merry-endeavour

An extract from The Merry Endeavour.