Sunshine and Occasional Showers

In England's green and pleasant land
stands every garden dressed in flowers.
Caressed by summer breezes and
by sunshine and occasional showers.

In greenwood glade or fastness, spanned
by spreading limbs or sylvan bowers.
Flowers thrive in glory, fanned
by sunshine and occasional showers.

At sea's edge where the silver sands
and saline breeze the driftwood scours.
Two lovers walk on, hand in hand
through sunshine and occasional showers.

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At the end of the day

tired head dips
brown hand grips
orange mug tips
black coffee sips
through pursed lips
warm sigh slips

and sunset

drips

On Poetry

I find that I prefer a frame,
a structure, there to hang my words.
And rhyme, or words that sound the same
phonetic'ly like herds and birds.

I like beginnings, endings too,
perhaps a middle in between.
I like a narrative, to view
the places that my verse has been.

And verses too. A way to break
the action up and bring a pause,
and so confirm the common take
that an effect must have a cause.

But don't a fascist name me yet.
As room there is for fractured prose.
For rhyme-less rounds, no rhythm set.
Just don't expect me to write those.

And at the end, with your good grace,
I'd rather, if I had the choice,
present my labours face to face.
Delivered by a human voice

She walks in beauty (snippet)

She walks in beauty through my days
and as she walks the sunlight plays
on satin skin and sets ablaze
a fire within my heart that says...

That I will love her all my life,
Though she is someone else's wife.

An English Summer

In England's green and pleasant land
stands every garden dressed in flowers.
Caressed by summer breezes and
by sunshine and occasional showers.

In other countries, summertime
is roast by scorching weather. Ours
is cooled by climate maritime,
and sunshine and occasional showers.

Bread or Bullets

For every gun that's fired and every bullet that is spent

be sure a bloody human price is paid.

Not in the blood of victims or of those to conflict sent,

but blood of working man and working maid.

For every working hero pays the taxes that are due

to governments and states upon demand,

and a portion of theses taxes is converted into axes

that keep the bloody freedom fighters armed.

So if a child goes hungry or an illness goes uncured

for want of money spent on nations health.

Just remember that your gov'ment keeps your freedom well secured

by adding to the weapons dealer's wealth.

And if that little detail tends to make you stop and think

about the way your income tax is spent.

Nation's budgets are selected by the man that you elected

and you're the one that he should represent.

Lies

I read the poems in her eyes
and something deep inside me dies
when I look deep and realise
that all the poetry is lies.

Bereft

His side of the bed is empty and cold
Our married life only fourteen days old
The man that I worshipped and honoured is gone
The warm nght is over, cold day stretches on.

Bereft, I am lost, don't know what to do
Feel thrown away like a discarded shoe
Entirely alone and hurt by the quirk
of fortune that means that my husband must work.

I know where he's gone and why he must go
but without him I'm empty and waiting, and so
I curse every sunrise and all that it brings
and pray for the evening when my heart sings.

A painting of a lake after a storm

Crows flock and fly across the lakes

clouds swoop and swirl in azure sky

a deep breath mother nature takes

as summer thunderstorms pass by.

The dock, fresh washed by summer rain

steams in the sun and with a sigh

releases puddles that remain

to re-form fluffy clouds on high.

A man stands, sable brush in hand

to witness with a painter's eye

and reproduce views of this land

beyond the skills of you and I.

My Red Lambretta

The coast is clear, the coast is near
the weather couldn't be better.
I'm riding to the coast today
upon my red Lambretta.

A sharp grey suit and my new scoot
will my life-style unfetter.
The very essence of Mod chic
upon my red Lambretta.

With excess charm, girl on my arm
a 1960's trend-setter.
I am the lord of the boulevard

upon my red Lambretta.