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. 

My heart stays the same

Arthur Rubinstein plays Rachmaninov Rhapsody on a theme of paganini. variation 18 to which I have written song lyrics “My heart stays the same.”

*

Just watching the waves

crashing ashore

as they tumble o’er

each ebbing flow.

*

The receding waves gathering into

a swell to hurl themselves forward once more

casting up a spray

fulness dissipating

lest they push too far.

*

And so life with me

is just the same,

now, I’m forging ahead,

now, falling back.

*

With each ebbing flow, comes time to collect,

to be ready for whatever comes next,

will it change my life?

or is it only feelings?

my heart stays the same.

*

Just watching the waves

crashing ashore

as they tumble o’er

each ebbing flow

*

My life is

more than

feelings. 

*

lyrics by The Totton Linnet

 

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.

 

Bocelli and Westenra sing

Vivo per Lei

Catkin carpet

 

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?)  

The Totton Linnet

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

 

Over the transom

http://gentledove2.wordpress.com

Guitar strum

Drowning in music

luxurious soul stroking

cleaning out heartache