A Viking Horn Triskelion

When the working week is done
and offices and factories close
a sudden change o'ertakes my son
At weekends he's a viking

With linen clothes and leather boots
and hand made shield and helmet
he holds true to his nordic roots
At weekends he's a viking

When he was wed to his lovely víf
he gained another father
Then we took on a hieroglyph
because our son's a Viking

a viking horn triskelion
is father Odin's symbol
Inscribed for ever on our arms
because our son's a Viking

A step into the dark

There's many a slip twixt cup and lip

The best laid plans will oft fall down
You'll never know what ill winds blow
in the darkness on the edge of town

The rich live soft, the poor live hard
The poorer-still lose their feet and drown
in the rivers of shadow that ebb and flow
in the darkness on the edge of town

The party girls with their hair in curls
with strings of pearls and silken gowns
Stray from the light and are lost to sight
in the darkness on the edge of town

The bravest men with the stoutest hearts
Set out to build their own renown
They won't retreat but are just fresh meat
in the darkness on the edge of town

By day they search the trackless sand
No marks, no evidence is found
Though many crossed they all were lost
in the darkness on the edge of town

You may know where you've come here from
but don't step out when the lights are down
You won't know where you're going to
in the darkness on the edge of town

Sympathetic'ly renewed

The staircase has been turned about
That archway was a wall, before
the front room and the parlour joined
in one unbroken stretch of floor
The kitchen's twice the size it was
The outside loo and coal shed gone
The pantry's now a cosy nook
with comfy chairs to sit upon

The upstairs has extended too
A bathroom has been fitted. There's
a bath and shower, bidet, loo
and cupboard underneath the stairs
For there's another staircase that
leads up into the attic space
that now serves as a little flat
for son who can't get his own place

Yet from the outside nothing's changed
My childhood home looks just the same
From brown front door to grey backyard
They've even kept the same old name
4, Beehive Cottage it was called
Which sounds so rural, even twee
But, built between two busy roads
it is no haven for a bee

So when I saw it up for sale
I had to take a little look
as sympathetic'ly renewed
was written in the agent's book
But Sympathetic'ly My Arse!
They'd torn its heart and soul apart
and turned it into just the same
as any modern builders 'Art'

So while an outside loo's no pleasure
I'll mourn the passing of this treasure

The good old days

The times they change, as written in that song
and things you once relied on let you down
the strangers that you meet, meet with a frown
good times appear so short and sad times long

The things you did you can no longer do
your youth and beauty gone, there's nothing left
of happiness and joy you are bereft
your life is just a place you're passing through

But don't forget the lights of times gone by
though summer may be past and winter come
you danced the world awake with pipe and drum
you had your blessed years, your times to fly

So though where'er you look your world decays
these days will be tomorrow's good old days

The non-persistence of memory

I still recall the way you dressed
in working boots and corduroys
A white vest 'neath your checquered shirt
the same as all the village boys
Except your boots were just size two
your waist was smaller than your hips
Your hair tied in a pony tail
a hint of red upon your lips
And then the final evidence
your walk that gave the game away
not overdone with artifice
but feminine in every way
And though your face was lined by years
of working in the rain and sun
your beauty shone out from within
for me you were the only one.

And yet although these things I know
I can no longer see your face
I've lost the feeling of your kiss
your smell has gone without a trace
And all that I can recall now
are memories of memories
the years have bleached the details out
and left them drying on the breeze
I know that you and I were wed
I know you left through death's dark door
and though I miss the life we led
I find I miss the memories more

Sanctuary

A place where I can be alone
Where I can quiet be, OR LOUD
Somewhere no deference need be shown
no reverence to any crowd
A place where all the rules are mine
with no regret should they be broke
Where not even the great divine
can override this simple bloke
Where wildest fancy can come true
and darkest rumour can be spread
and never any harm ensue
This Sanctuary inside my head

Miss you daddy

I miss you daddy, said the little girl
Dropping crushed flowers from a hot little hand
into that deep hole dug in the sand
on that dark day she did not understand

I miss you daddy, said the little girl
Missing the voice that rumbled in the chest
she leant against while being dressed
by the daddy that loved her best

I miss you daddy, said the little girl
But mummy said that you can't come back
from that big wooden box so shiny and black
with the six metal handles and bright brass plaque

I miss you daddy, said the little girl
from inside the woman that she became
But few are the memories she can reclaim
All time has left her is her father's name

Happy Bunny

A smile is free
 said the man on the ground
then he smiled at me
 and it cost me a pound
There is no such thing
 as a free lunch, I've found
and it's a long wait for what's gone
 to come back around

But I don't mean don't smile
 or be mean with your money
Some days are grey
 but others are sunny
Look on the bright side
 laugh out loud at what's funny
And hop through this life
 like a big happy bunny.

God's Waiting Room

It's Thursday so they go for tea
Their favourite cafe in the town
They choose a table at the back
take off their coats and sit right down
The waitress brings their usual drinks
Two slices of their usual cake
They sit and eat and drink their tea
No word of conversation make
And when the tea and cake is gone
their usual sixty minutes spent.
They rise and put their coats back on
and leave, apparently content

I see them and I think somehow
that I would want a little more
from life than this weekly routine
of going where you've gone before

But going where they've gone before
brings them enjoyment in the gloom
as everything in life slows down
while waiting in God's waiting room
And all they need is what they've got
Their lives a living museum
to all they've had and all they've done
as they stroll to Elysium.

Reach

If there's a lesson I can teach
to those that ask the question why
are they in tears here on the beach
and not in glory in the sky
It's have a target you can reach
for if that first step's set too high
you'll fall down in a heap at each
attempt and soon no longer try.
So if you want that topmost peach
don't spread your arms and try to fly
but climb up branch by branch and each
branch that you reach will make you vie
to stretch for higher branches till
your greatest wish you will fulfil

Pastoral 2 (Happy ending)

The chalk downs stand as they have stood
unchanged for year on year on year
Where grass grows lush as any could
and lays an emerald veneer
Where you may wander where you would
no hedge or gate to interfere
'cept the occasional copse or wood
that punctuates this green frontier

The sky is cerulean blue
The scanty clouds are whispy white
The sun shines with a brazen hue
and bathes the downs with heat and light
The air is noisily shot through
with buzzing from the bees in flight
and skylarks soar beyond our view
to play their flutes for our delight

High on these humpbacked hills of chalk
the aimless sheep may safely graze
No predators among them stalk
and they keep all the lambs they raise
For with the sheep the shepherds walk
to keep them safe and rescue strays
The only price paid by the flock?
The fleece that's shorn on late spring days

O'er all the downs the shepherd's king
and rules the land in any weather
Through burning sun or hailstone's sting
Counting his sheep with Yan Tan Tether
No golden crown or pearly string
just homespun cloth and boots of leather
With magic from a faery ring
the king holds court among the heather

Yan Tan Tether is an old English counting scheme

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yan_tan_tethera

Pastoral

The chalk downs stand as they have stood
unchanged for year on year on year
Where grass grows lush as any could
and lays an emerald veneer
Where you may wander where you would
no hedge or gate to interfere
'cept the occasional copse or wood
that punctuates this green frontier

The sky is cerulean blue
The scanty clouds are whispy white
The sun shines with a brazen hue
and bathes the downs with heat and light
The air is noisily shot through
with buzzing from the bees in flight
and skylarks soar beyond our view
to play their flutes for our delight

High on these humpbacked hills of chalk
the aimless sheep may safely graze
No predators among them stalk
but still they lose the lambs they raise
For with the sheep the shepherds walk
and take their tithe on late spring days
when lambs go to the auction block
The freedom price that each flock plays

I Can't Remember

I can't remember what I did
I can't remember what I said
I've slept since then I always say
and any chance of recall's fled

You get past fifty and you find
that memory no longer floats
So write it down and hope you can
remember where you put your notes