Marsh Harrier:
My name is the Marsh Harrier
I'm breaking the sound barrier
The sky's the limit
Of my Endorsement Yo
They say he's the Marsh Harrier
He's the pound farrier
He'll be on you in a minute
You'll be his horseshoe Hoe
Yo, yo, yo, listen up you
Horses Ho!
You know I'm the Marsh Harrier
My forces will carry ya
Over the limit, my rhymes be so doe
There ain't nothing is gonna tarry ya
I'm gonna hit and parry ya
What's going on in the basement
of this dimwit?
The lights are on
But there's nobody at home
Buzzard:
Oh yeah, I am hearing ya
horsemeat scandal in the media
You spreading like bacteria
On a horses Ho
Now I'm gonna call my clarion
Cos I only eat the carrion
And I've got my sights to carry on
So try your best to hit me Yo!
I'm the real Buzz saw
It should be against the law
How serious my rhymes are or
They are like Buzz Aldrin's roar
Yes it's one small step for man
But a giant wing span for a bird
I've flown a million miles
From Vancouver to the Grand Cooley Dam
From Ibiza to the Norfolk broads
Yo haven't you heard?
There's a real buzz around me
I'm electric, like an eel from the sea
You better watch out or I'll
Electricute yer
So plug me in to your batteries
Before I execute yer
I'm gonna power up
My power pack and parachute yer
Drop my bomb rhymes
On the mic hear?
Like on Harrier hunt
Their gonna shoot yer
Down
Monday, 29 June 2020
Raptor Rap 2: Marsh Harrier versus Buzzard
Labels:
birds
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Hawkman
I was running one day,
Just after lunch down a closed road
But it packed a punch
I turned a left and was running for my life
But the road was a blood track
It was a bleeding Bleadney knife
The sun was kinda yellow
But I didn't know where it did go
The wind was blowing one hell of a
Lot of air around the world
And my heart was beating mellow
As the tractors fanned their fare
I was not an attractor of a single hair
Nothing seemed to notice me
I was like a ghost in this place
All the sides of a mirror reflected in my face
The muscles strung, like a bow
But I ran on, I ought a know
Just after lunch down a closed road
But it packed a punch
I turned a left and was running for my life
But the road was a blood track
It was a bleeding Bleadney knife
The sun was kinda yellow
But I didn't know where it did go
The wind was blowing one hell of a
Lot of air around the world
And my heart was beating mellow
As the tractors fanned their fare
I was not an attractor of a single hair
Nothing seemed to notice me
I was like a ghost in this place
All the sides of a mirror reflected in my face
The muscles strung, like a bow
But I ran on, I ought a know
Until I reached a clump of trees
When I began to slow
My breath in my breast was running kinda low
I felt my legs weaken a bit
And saw in the trees a shadow
Like fluttering, the shape of a wing
Dark and foreboding in truth, but to me it was nothing
I kept moving forward when out of the blue came a blow
Some talons had struck me on the skull
The culprit something bigger than a crow
I immediately turned around, struck dumb
In shock and horror
The offending bird was swooping off into the high boughs
Of the poplar
I turned back and felt relieved
At the retreat of this winged foe
And kept on running when to my surprise
Came a second blow
This one seemed more determined
Like how a killer would go
And whatever claw or talon
Sunk into my scalp in tow
I felt atop my cranium
And brought down blood wetted finger
Just like the tips of uranium
The bullets radioactivity did linger
The bird wandered off again above
Into the heights of shadow
And I ran on not believing my luck
To be caught on the wrong side of the rainbow
No pot of gold awaited me
And I wandered down a side track
But as I scratched my head
A bloody feather there instead
Began to grow from the site of attack
Soon I was rushing faster, through
thistle and thorn trying to master
This crazy feeling inside
My arms start to itch
And I rub them and rip, little bits of skin from my scalp
Beneath my skin it shows, the sign a hawk knows
Feathers like a Jackdaw's, wings, and tail sores
And my heart in a palpitating palp
I'm rushing now like a crooner, like a spooner
Through nettles and elder
My frame is bending, like a bird offending
The human form is unwrapped
I fell, stumbled, I collided with bare earth
And that marked the start of my rebirth
What used to be my arms, began to break
And muster, themselves into the wings of a raptor
My legs they retreated inside my body, and my feet, grew talons
And a great imposing ferocity
My nose began to itch as well,
And soon grew hard to my bird-like touch
I felt my eyebrows and skull, changing as well
More streamlined like a visor or such
My mouth lost its teeth and morphed into my nose
To form what was to be my beak
And I let out the most gut-wrenching yell
Now only in bird language did I speak
I screeched a hawk's high cry
A human tear still rolled from my eye
But now I knew my transformation was complete
I studied myself, and my form
The Hawkman had just been born
And what shall he do now I thought
But try to fly as I ought
I turned back down the old track
Where the remains of my shredded clothes
Lay down on their back
And I ran, or clawed or half-hopped
along the ground, until
I beat my wings faster, and faster in report
Like drums of air they beat
And the ground soon fell away from my feet
And the freedom of air, the exhilaration there
Was more than I could ever speak
And I headed back down to that darkened clump
Where that foul loathsome beast did dwell
Fully intending to vanquish my enemy
And send him straight to hell
But as I did swoon in the pale afternoon
As the wind did ruffle my feathers
No feeling had I ever experienced of being higher
Than humans could go alone or together
I realized that I was free
Free from what it meant to be human
Free from my bonds, from purgatory
Free from society's expectations
Nothing that I could hope for in life
Would have earnt me what this subtle knife
Had cut away from my sinewy brain
The pain of all desire and strife
I met my once foe in the air
We circled around with great care
Keeping our distance
Trying to figure each other out
Then I saw in her eyes
That glint, that spoke of human intelligence
Could it be that this hawk now free
Was once a human the same as me?
We flew back to her nest
Two young chicks, newly hatched
Not yet fledged
So that was what she was warning me from
Surely the measure was second to none
I felt no malice or scorn
As I looked upon these lives freshly born
How could I judge from above
This new kingdom of Human-Hawk love
My breath in my breast was running kinda low
I felt my legs weaken a bit
And saw in the trees a shadow
Like fluttering, the shape of a wing
Dark and foreboding in truth, but to me it was nothing
I kept moving forward when out of the blue came a blow
Some talons had struck me on the skull
The culprit something bigger than a crow
I immediately turned around, struck dumb
In shock and horror
The offending bird was swooping off into the high boughs
Of the poplar
I turned back and felt relieved
At the retreat of this winged foe
And kept on running when to my surprise
Came a second blow
This one seemed more determined
Like how a killer would go
And whatever claw or talon
Sunk into my scalp in tow
I felt atop my cranium
And brought down blood wetted finger
Just like the tips of uranium
The bullets radioactivity did linger
The bird wandered off again above
Into the heights of shadow
And I ran on not believing my luck
To be caught on the wrong side of the rainbow
No pot of gold awaited me
And I wandered down a side track
But as I scratched my head
A bloody feather there instead
Began to grow from the site of attack
Soon I was rushing faster, through
thistle and thorn trying to master
This crazy feeling inside
My arms start to itch
And I rub them and rip, little bits of skin from my scalp
Beneath my skin it shows, the sign a hawk knows
Feathers like a Jackdaw's, wings, and tail sores
And my heart in a palpitating palp
I'm rushing now like a crooner, like a spooner
Through nettles and elder
My frame is bending, like a bird offending
The human form is unwrapped
I fell, stumbled, I collided with bare earth
And that marked the start of my rebirth
What used to be my arms, began to break
And muster, themselves into the wings of a raptor
My legs they retreated inside my body, and my feet, grew talons
And a great imposing ferocity
My nose began to itch as well,
And soon grew hard to my bird-like touch
I felt my eyebrows and skull, changing as well
More streamlined like a visor or such
My mouth lost its teeth and morphed into my nose
To form what was to be my beak
And I let out the most gut-wrenching yell
Now only in bird language did I speak
I screeched a hawk's high cry
A human tear still rolled from my eye
But now I knew my transformation was complete
I studied myself, and my form
The Hawkman had just been born
And what shall he do now I thought
But try to fly as I ought
I turned back down the old track
Where the remains of my shredded clothes
Lay down on their back
And I ran, or clawed or half-hopped
along the ground, until
I beat my wings faster, and faster in report
Like drums of air they beat
And the ground soon fell away from my feet
And the freedom of air, the exhilaration there
Was more than I could ever speak
And I headed back down to that darkened clump
Where that foul loathsome beast did dwell
Fully intending to vanquish my enemy
And send him straight to hell
But as I did swoon in the pale afternoon
As the wind did ruffle my feathers
No feeling had I ever experienced of being higher
Than humans could go alone or together
I realized that I was free
Free from what it meant to be human
Free from my bonds, from purgatory
Free from society's expectations
Nothing that I could hope for in life
Would have earnt me what this subtle knife
Had cut away from my sinewy brain
The pain of all desire and strife
I met my once foe in the air
We circled around with great care
Keeping our distance
Trying to figure each other out
Then I saw in her eyes
That glint, that spoke of human intelligence
Could it be that this hawk now free
Was once a human the same as me?
We flew back to her nest
Two young chicks, newly hatched
Not yet fledged
So that was what she was warning me from
Surely the measure was second to none
I felt no malice or scorn
As I looked upon these lives freshly born
How could I judge from above
This new kingdom of Human-Hawk love
Labels:
birds
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Blue Tit vs Green Finch
This is Tit for Tat
This is the Blue Tit Rap
Yo,yo you think you like coal
You cajole
Go get on Parole you finch
I don't need none of your
Sympathy carol
You sing I and I'll be on you
In a cinch
Yo,yo yo now I'm in the Green finch patrol
We've been killing it down in the ditch
Those parrots up there make me laugh
You oughta hear their sonograph
When they sing I mistake an Angel for a witch
Oh you finchy finchy,
What a you lookin' at?
Pinchy, You think you might be punchy
But I see you more as Judy
You're the clown in this town
You better step down
Before I come and knock you off your perch
Oh you're so territorial
That's what they all say
Just a big mouth on a little bird
Well haven't you heard
They've given the word
You're cancelled, over flat
You better leave the tree yourself
You Blue Tit Twat
I can't stand this green imposer
He's just a poser with his pals
They're all just shooting the breeze
Blowing hot air at the seagulls
I bet if you got him on his own
He'd bale, probably turn his green tail
and fail, fly away to live a life of ease
You know the grass is always greener
In the green Finch eyes
Talk about a yellow belly
This Blue Tit is all mouth and no trouser
He's got his head up the schnauzer's arse
He's such a dim wit twit, that his head's turned blue
He's been holding his breath thinking
If one and one make two
Now you got me riled I'm gonna send an angry tweet
Well you better believe we ain't living on Pigeon street
There are no happy families, its all gone cuckoo
Some us we eat our young, some of you do too
This is the Blue Tit Rap
Yo,yo you think you like coal
You cajole
Go get on Parole you finch
I don't need none of your
Sympathy carol
You sing I and I'll be on you
In a cinch
Yo,yo yo now I'm in the Green finch patrol
We've been killing it down in the ditch
Those parrots up there make me laugh
You oughta hear their sonograph
When they sing I mistake an Angel for a witch
Oh you finchy finchy,
What a you lookin' at?
Pinchy, You think you might be punchy
But I see you more as Judy
You're the clown in this town
You better step down
Before I come and knock you off your perch
Oh you're so territorial
That's what they all say
Just a big mouth on a little bird
Well haven't you heard
They've given the word
You're cancelled, over flat
You better leave the tree yourself
You Blue Tit Twat
I can't stand this green imposer
He's just a poser with his pals
They're all just shooting the breeze
Blowing hot air at the seagulls
I bet if you got him on his own
He'd bale, probably turn his green tail
and fail, fly away to live a life of ease
You know the grass is always greener
In the green Finch eyes
Talk about a yellow belly
This Blue Tit is all mouth and no trouser
He's got his head up the schnauzer's arse
He's such a dim wit twit, that his head's turned blue
He's been holding his breath thinking
If one and one make two
Now you got me riled I'm gonna send an angry tweet
Well you better believe we ain't living on Pigeon street
There are no happy families, its all gone cuckoo
Some us we eat our young, some of you do too
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Raptor Rap
I'm the Marsh harrier
Yeah I'm talking to you
You think that you're a predator
Wel you haven't seen me
I will swoop down onto ya
From out of a tree
You forgot your blind spot
Behind your head
Well you won't forget me
Yeah this is the Raptor Rap
The most incredible tap
That you've ever heard
Its better than the animals
Its better than the Birds
There ain't nothing like
A bird of prey
And now I got you in my sights
You ain't getting away
Yeah I'm the cool buzzard just
Circling in the sun
You Might think a Buzz saw
Has just cut your fun
Well I'm up in the stratosphere
But I can still see you clear
Yeah I break the glass barrier
Of this Marsh Harrier
Yeah I got talons
That you will see
But you've got no talent
So don't you mess with me
Well I know I saw you soar
Because I felt that shadow
Loom cold over my shoulder
Well I'm your shadow of doom
Mister air raider
You only prey on the dead things
Like you follow the culture of vulture
I'm the Marsh Harrier
I'm the crucifix in the sun
You look up and think bless me father
But I bring my air raid gun
I'm gonna put my cross hairs
Firmly on your head
By the time I've finished with you
You'll look the walking dead
Yeah You don't think your the only one
Who can peck out an eye
I will take a young lamb or rabbit
If their in the habit to die
I will lift them like the
Angel of death
And carry them to tomorrow's land
Where they never draw breath
Now I have respect for ya
You just keep out of my way
I'm gonna fish the Marsh lands
From Bleadney to the Weston Bay
And if you should wander farther
Into my territory,
Well I'm gonna call your bluff and
You don't wanna mess with me
Yes I'm tired of being the devil
I'm tired of being a saint
I'm tired of being whatever image of me
That you want to paint
I'm the Marsh harrier
I'm brown with a fishy taint
And I've been all around these parts now
I've got no longer to wait
I'm an enemy of God
I'm an enemy of state
As I hover above the love
And the river of hate
There is only one road out
And that's the one your gonna take
And if you mess with me brown bird
Its a one way journey you'll make
Yeah I'm talking to you
You think that you're a predator
Wel you haven't seen me
I will swoop down onto ya
From out of a tree
You forgot your blind spot
Behind your head
Well you won't forget me
Yeah this is the Raptor Rap
The most incredible tap
That you've ever heard
Its better than the animals
Its better than the Birds
There ain't nothing like
A bird of prey
And now I got you in my sights
You ain't getting away
Yeah I'm the cool buzzard just
Circling in the sun
You Might think a Buzz saw
Has just cut your fun
Well I'm up in the stratosphere
But I can still see you clear
Yeah I break the glass barrier
Of this Marsh Harrier
Yeah I got talons
That you will see
But you've got no talent
So don't you mess with me
Well I know I saw you soar
Because I felt that shadow
Loom cold over my shoulder
Well I'm your shadow of doom
Mister air raider
You only prey on the dead things
Like you follow the culture of vulture
I'm the Marsh Harrier
I'm the crucifix in the sun
You look up and think bless me father
But I bring my air raid gun
I'm gonna put my cross hairs
Firmly on your head
By the time I've finished with you
You'll look the walking dead
Yeah You don't think your the only one
Who can peck out an eye
I will take a young lamb or rabbit
If their in the habit to die
I will lift them like the
Angel of death
And carry them to tomorrow's land
Where they never draw breath
Now I have respect for ya
You just keep out of my way
I'm gonna fish the Marsh lands
From Bleadney to the Weston Bay
And if you should wander farther
Into my territory,
Well I'm gonna call your bluff and
You don't wanna mess with me
Yes I'm tired of being the devil
I'm tired of being a saint
I'm tired of being whatever image of me
That you want to paint
I'm the Marsh harrier
I'm brown with a fishy taint
And I've been all around these parts now
I've got no longer to wait
I'm an enemy of God
I'm an enemy of state
As I hover above the love
And the river of hate
There is only one road out
And that's the one your gonna take
And if you mess with me brown bird
Its a one way journey you'll make
Labels:
birds
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Sunday, 28 June 2020
The Green King
Near Yeo farm, the water
gets much darker
There is something deathlike
About these steel knives
Nothing can feel alive
In the land of the pike
This is just a death trap
Then I see a white swan
With her head sunk low
Swift and swallow like a cythe
wet underfoot
Fields of wheat,
Cows that scatter
At trifling matters
The long track past Fresians
And all the world's reasons
Herons like the limestone
Crows like Egyptians
Go gleaning the fields
heads to the ground
Willows like sisters
Who knows where the wind blows
Somethings we lost
While others we found
I saw a heron the colour of stone
I stole her wings made them my own
I saw a heron the colour of stone
Standing by the rhyne all alone
I saw an old heron the colour of ivory
He was standing still as a statue made of memory
I saw an old heron like a tusk or a bone
Standing by the rhyne, standing all alone
The pigeons burst out
As I was walking home
I saw a heron the colour of ivory
Like a memory of a land I call home
I saw a heron like the tooth of a child
like the call of the wild
I saw a heron and it reminds me of home
The cows stampede
And they swish their tails
Down near Pilgram farm
On the low lands of Bagely and Theale
They don't make it easy,
But they don't make it hard
The sky is like limestone
and blue lias
Cut in by rain clouds
From a stone mason's compass
They don't make it easy
But nor do they stop it being so hard
Down in the marsh lands
Where the wind cuts the cards
And shuffles the cattle
and the buzzard shards
They don't make it easy,
But they sure don't stop it
Being so hard
I saw a deer stand in a field
The colour of orange peel
When the weather comes over
Across the mendips
Rain like a light mist descends
The wind that's blown
The green sea beneath us
Where the river Axe cutlass
cuts in its turn
The green heart stone
Like an emerald city
The hills shine so pretty
As thrones
As a labyrinth the fields and hedge
Criss cross below
And the weather comes across
In squalls
And throws the toss
Of which cloud will fall on us
And which will forego
Crooks peak in the distance
Trees walk down the beach heads
Dew drops fall on us
And we walk back home
With cold nose
As the Green king
On his hay stacks
Commands the sea gulls
And the rain
And the Green knight holding his Axe
Brings it down on the neck of Gawain
gets much darker
There is something deathlike
About these steel knives
Nothing can feel alive
In the land of the pike
This is just a death trap
Then I see a white swan
With her head sunk low
Swift and swallow like a cythe
wet underfoot
Fields of wheat,
Cows that scatter
At trifling matters
The long track past Fresians
And all the world's reasons
Herons like the limestone
Crows like Egyptians
Go gleaning the fields
heads to the ground
Willows like sisters
Who knows where the wind blows
Somethings we lost
While others we found
I saw a heron the colour of stone
I stole her wings made them my own
I saw a heron the colour of stone
Standing by the rhyne all alone
I saw an old heron the colour of ivory
He was standing still as a statue made of memory
I saw an old heron like a tusk or a bone
Standing by the rhyne, standing all alone
The pigeons burst out
As I was walking home
I saw a heron the colour of ivory
Like a memory of a land I call home
I saw a heron like the tooth of a child
like the call of the wild
I saw a heron and it reminds me of home
The cows stampede
And they swish their tails
Down near Pilgram farm
On the low lands of Bagely and Theale
They don't make it easy,
But they don't make it hard
The sky is like limestone
and blue lias
Cut in by rain clouds
From a stone mason's compass
They don't make it easy
But nor do they stop it being so hard
Down in the marsh lands
Where the wind cuts the cards
And shuffles the cattle
and the buzzard shards
They don't make it easy,
But they sure don't stop it
Being so hard
I saw a deer stand in a field
The colour of orange peel
When the weather comes over
Across the mendips
Rain like a light mist descends
The wind that's blown
The green sea beneath us
Where the river Axe cutlass
cuts in its turn
The green heart stone
Like an emerald city
The hills shine so pretty
As thrones
As a labyrinth the fields and hedge
Criss cross below
And the weather comes across
In squalls
And throws the toss
Of which cloud will fall on us
And which will forego
Crooks peak in the distance
Trees walk down the beach heads
Dew drops fall on us
And we walk back home
With cold nose
As the Green king
On his hay stacks
Commands the sea gulls
And the rain
And the Green knight holding his Axe
Brings it down on the neck of Gawain
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Saturday, 27 June 2020
On the river Axe
Along to Marchy farm
Ignore the public footpath and
Follow the lower Axe to the left or West
You face down cows
Who frolick
And get excited
When they see you
You hear the farmers talking from behind the
Shed wall
Keep walking
It is trespassing
But only a minor offense afterall
Next slink down a little out of sight
The lower Axe meets the Axe proper
After crossing a maintenance bridge
Enter the next field and head north
Until you join the proper foot path then you are set
On the river axe
The crows are jacks
Scattered in the fields
Like pepper corns
On the river axe,
Nothing attacks,
Nothing lacks
And Everything is born
Westbury straight rhyne
Into it inclines
And the rustle of reeds
Where Veronica bleeds
Sheep under the solar panels
Sheltering from the sun
Laying down like lambs
To the slaughter
Technology's daughter and son
Thin, starved cows of Yeo farm
Resting under the Poplars
Who looks after the cattle?
I became depressed at the thought
And too much steel
The day wore on
I began to feel weary, and so turned back
As this was leading me further
From home
With a long circle to return by
Unoccupied water rat holes
In the bank
Like the caves
Of prehistoric man
Who might have washed
Their flint axes in this river
Hunting Mammoth near Cheddar Gorge
Old wooden bridge tumble down
See to your left Chalcroft hill crown
Then along Taylor paddock drove
Where I came unstuck
In the multitude of thistles
and rape seed and buck
I turned back and retraced my steps
Back to the river Axe instead
And headed East again
The going is easier
But watch out for the stingers
Hidden in the long grass
You reach another old bridge and the road
Head towards the farm of Knowle
Then pass it and cross onto the hill
Shire horse upon the hill
Flies buzz around muddy puddles
And cows stand on the prow
Baking in the sun
I chased one to pull some bailer twine
Out of its mouth - no thanks there
From there you run on down a wooded glen
Shaded and cool
With ferns and high banks
An old tractor wheel full of water
And the dry mud path scattered with dry twigs
And sticks
Then the tunnel opens out into sunlight
And the dirt race track is on your left
Follow another track until you hit the road
Take a right
Then dog leg-second stile on the left
Cut through a wild flower meadow
Farmers lifting high the bales
Hauling up upon the trailer
rolling on green pasture sailors
On their hay ships
like barges pulling through
drawn by grassy charges
Down moor drove to Bleadney
The smell of Chamomile
and borage
Bind weed flower white in the hedges
Bramble tight in the sedges
Bulrush tower like Massai sages
Swaying power of windrush ages
Twisted oak whose limbs are dancing
Old buzzard swoops above barren yellow
Entrancing, the limits of childhood ages
Time has moved on turning its pages
See the bridge at Webb's Rhyne
Tyres on the rhyne bed recline
Where little minnow take turns to dine
As part of the aquatic furniture
River snail hang suspended there
Like bats above a darkened lair
Foot prints stick to the sky
Walking on glass ceilings
Grasshoppers leap and jump in clover
They are the ones who think its all over
But then they land and can't understand
What all the fuss was over
With each step the field comes alive
With crickets singing
Bees buzz in the skies
Hopping from warm blades
Where they sun bathe
Their joints warmed up
In the summer haze
Shooting, teeming, darting
In the bow wave of my shoe
And scatter in my wake
Dandilion clocks tick on
Their seeds are sewn
The dock's rustic red
Waves at Babylon
Buttercups turn their heads to the sun
While butterflies like petals
Dance and flutter on
And low down the bed of pink-white bind
Brings to mind, nature is kind
As the promise of sweetness
From underneath
The light hearts rising
From the mud beneath
Down by Marchy farm
The sheep quietly eat
From fields replete with fodder
From the hearth and home
Always living shoulder to shoulder
Though each will die alone
A little pheasant or grouse
Slinks behind the house
And youngsters are chatting down by the stream
The Lower River Axe again
Dry baked in ground
Cow pats,
The crows fly up like bats
They are chatting in parliament
And the voices of civilization surround
The signs of government
Return me to my senses
Pigeons coo, awakening
All is replete with fields of wheat and rye
An adder slithers inside
The stone crevice of an ancient bridge
After it senses my footfall
Or the scent of rain
As from one ash tree to another
The crows flock back again
Ignore the public footpath and
Follow the lower Axe to the left or West
You face down cows
Who frolick
And get excited
When they see you
You hear the farmers talking from behind the
Shed wall
Keep walking
It is trespassing
But only a minor offense afterall
Next slink down a little out of sight
The lower Axe meets the Axe proper
After crossing a maintenance bridge
Enter the next field and head north
Until you join the proper foot path then you are set
On the river axe
The crows are jacks
Scattered in the fields
Like pepper corns
On the river axe,
Nothing attacks,
Nothing lacks
And Everything is born
Westbury straight rhyne
Into it inclines
And the rustle of reeds
Where Veronica bleeds
Sheep under the solar panels
Sheltering from the sun
Laying down like lambs
To the slaughter
Technology's daughter and son
Thin, starved cows of Yeo farm
Resting under the Poplars
Who looks after the cattle?
I became depressed at the thought
And too much steel
The day wore on
I began to feel weary, and so turned back
As this was leading me further
From home
With a long circle to return by
Unoccupied water rat holes
In the bank
Like the caves
Of prehistoric man
Who might have washed
Their flint axes in this river
Hunting Mammoth near Cheddar Gorge
Old wooden bridge tumble down
See to your left Chalcroft hill crown
Then along Taylor paddock drove
Where I came unstuck
In the multitude of thistles
and rape seed and buck
I turned back and retraced my steps
Back to the river Axe instead
And headed East again
The going is easier
But watch out for the stingers
Hidden in the long grass
You reach another old bridge and the road
Head towards the farm of Knowle
Then pass it and cross onto the hill
Shire horse upon the hill
Flies buzz around muddy puddles
And cows stand on the prow
Baking in the sun
I chased one to pull some bailer twine
Out of its mouth - no thanks there
From there you run on down a wooded glen
Shaded and cool
With ferns and high banks
An old tractor wheel full of water
And the dry mud path scattered with dry twigs
And sticks
Then the tunnel opens out into sunlight
And the dirt race track is on your left
Follow another track until you hit the road
Take a right
Then dog leg-second stile on the left
Cut through a wild flower meadow
Farmers lifting high the bales
Hauling up upon the trailer
rolling on green pasture sailors
On their hay ships
like barges pulling through
drawn by grassy charges
Down moor drove to Bleadney
The smell of Chamomile
and borage
Bind weed flower white in the hedges
Bramble tight in the sedges
Bulrush tower like Massai sages
Swaying power of windrush ages
Twisted oak whose limbs are dancing
Old buzzard swoops above barren yellow
Entrancing, the limits of childhood ages
Time has moved on turning its pages
See the bridge at Webb's Rhyne
Tyres on the rhyne bed recline
Where little minnow take turns to dine
As part of the aquatic furniture
River snail hang suspended there
Like bats above a darkened lair
Foot prints stick to the sky
Walking on glass ceilings
Grasshoppers leap and jump in clover
They are the ones who think its all over
But then they land and can't understand
What all the fuss was over
With each step the field comes alive
With crickets singing
Bees buzz in the skies
Hopping from warm blades
Where they sun bathe
Their joints warmed up
In the summer haze
Shooting, teeming, darting
In the bow wave of my shoe
And scatter in my wake
Dandilion clocks tick on
Their seeds are sewn
The dock's rustic red
Waves at Babylon
Buttercups turn their heads to the sun
While butterflies like petals
Dance and flutter on
And low down the bed of pink-white bind
Brings to mind, nature is kind
As the promise of sweetness
From underneath
The light hearts rising
From the mud beneath
Down by Marchy farm
The sheep quietly eat
From fields replete with fodder
From the hearth and home
Always living shoulder to shoulder
Though each will die alone
A little pheasant or grouse
Slinks behind the house
And youngsters are chatting down by the stream
The Lower River Axe again
Dry baked in ground
Cow pats,
The crows fly up like bats
They are chatting in parliament
And the voices of civilization surround
The signs of government
Return me to my senses
Pigeons coo, awakening
All is replete with fields of wheat and rye
An adder slithers inside
The stone crevice of an ancient bridge
After it senses my footfall
Or the scent of rain
As from one ash tree to another
The crows flock back again
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Thursday, 25 June 2020
Deer leap
Deer in the bottom field
Like a room with a view
When Helena Bonham Carta
Is kissed by Hugh
And she is ravished
In the poppy sea
One step in the centre
Another out to sea
And she darts to the farside
Her fauns in tow
Bounding and a leaping
Through the tall grass they go
Well its one foot in the past
And another letting go
Tearing up the photograph
The one that you stole
I kept it in my wallet
I kept it whole
For all these years
I could have laughed
You oughta know
I had one foot in the past
The other letting go
The deer kept leaping
And then she froze
She looked my way a minute
While she paused I chose
I kept my distance
And she then rose
Like a snake in the grass
Kept biting at her toes
I started to advance
Down the hill
She turned on her heels
Then became so still
Like a glass of water
On a morning sill
That you lift and tip
To your lips
To swallow a pill
Suddenly like a reflection
In a troubled pool
She shatters in to nerves
Loses her cool
But not her chill
She darts back across the grass
Like a trickster
And her babies they are following her
A real fixture
Disappearing finally
Through a thicket of bramble
No idea
Where they went
I continued my amble
Like a room with a view
When Helena Bonham Carta
Is kissed by Hugh
And she is ravished
In the poppy sea
One step in the centre
Another out to sea
And she darts to the farside
Her fauns in tow
Bounding and a leaping
Through the tall grass they go
Well its one foot in the past
And another letting go
Tearing up the photograph
The one that you stole
I kept it in my wallet
I kept it whole
For all these years
I could have laughed
You oughta know
I had one foot in the past
The other letting go
The deer kept leaping
And then she froze
She looked my way a minute
While she paused I chose
I kept my distance
And she then rose
Like a snake in the grass
Kept biting at her toes
I started to advance
Down the hill
She turned on her heels
Then became so still
Like a glass of water
On a morning sill
That you lift and tip
To your lips
To swallow a pill
Suddenly like a reflection
In a troubled pool
She shatters in to nerves
Loses her cool
But not her chill
She darts back across the grass
Like a trickster
And her babies they are following her
A real fixture
Disappearing finally
Through a thicket of bramble
No idea
Where they went
I continued my amble
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Blood down my drain
Rain on my window
Thinking of you
All of the green fields
Turning blue
The key is in the lock
But it doesn't ring true
Blood down my drain
For you
I wash blood off my hands
I hide the pain
Blood in my clothes
Its gonna stain
Blood in the carpet
Down the window vane
I wash blood down
My drain for you
There are six feet under
And a thousand above
The sound of thunder
From the wings of a dove
I have blood cast asunder
And blood in the tree
Its dripping from the branches
Dripping for me
But I do wonder
What can it all mean?
Blood in the vein
Blood down my drain
For you
Stand in the rain
Let it fall on you
Falling in pain
Of somebody new
Calling up your number
Calling it true
Blood down my drain for you
Thinking of you
All of the green fields
Turning blue
The key is in the lock
But it doesn't ring true
Blood down my drain
For you
I wash blood off my hands
I hide the pain
Blood in my clothes
Its gonna stain
Blood in the carpet
Down the window vane
I wash blood down
My drain for you
There are six feet under
And a thousand above
The sound of thunder
From the wings of a dove
I have blood cast asunder
And blood in the tree
Its dripping from the branches
Dripping for me
But I do wonder
What can it all mean?
Blood in the vein
Blood down my drain
For you
Stand in the rain
Let it fall on you
Falling in pain
Of somebody new
Calling up your number
Calling it true
Blood down my drain for you
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The sea within
There is a sea of eyes
That look up to the skies
And blink when you look that them
But they never blink at the sun
There is a sea of green,
Skirted by the dark unseen
Shadows and shades of hedges
The black balein bales swim
In the shallow yellow sedges
There is a hill of souls
Filled with little holes
Of shells from ages past
From a sea that did not last
The last sea that was forever
Changed geography
Topography and graph
Of this land
So that no more sea could stand the tide
And to the poles it went to hide
In ice
And it was as some end
When the forces of nature tore
And rend stone, from stone
Crust from crust
Dust to dust
And Ash well to ashes
But in an underwater threshing
It fizzled
And fettered, and threatened
And cajoled
The fish and crustaceans
Into mountains of white gold bone
Which it layered and striated
Fold after fold
And under pressure of time and sand
It turned them all to chalk
Into these limestone caves
And bank vaults locked with calcium
Carbonate
The Mendip hills foot at the gate
More ground down than
And oyster has shined her pearl
The rolls and curls
And ribbons of rock
Stand with words written through them
History
And they stretch on out
Into the estuary
That look up to the skies
And blink when you look that them
But they never blink at the sun
There is a sea of green,
Skirted by the dark unseen
Shadows and shades of hedges
The black balein bales swim
In the shallow yellow sedges
There is a hill of souls
Filled with little holes
Of shells from ages past
From a sea that did not last
The last sea that was forever
Changed geography
Topography and graph
Of this land
So that no more sea could stand the tide
And to the poles it went to hide
In ice
And it was as some end
When the forces of nature tore
And rend stone, from stone
Crust from crust
Dust to dust
And Ash well to ashes
But in an underwater threshing
It fizzled
And fettered, and threatened
And cajoled
The fish and crustaceans
Into mountains of white gold bone
Which it layered and striated
Fold after fold
And under pressure of time and sand
It turned them all to chalk
Into these limestone caves
And bank vaults locked with calcium
Carbonate
The Mendip hills foot at the gate
More ground down than
And oyster has shined her pearl
The rolls and curls
And ribbons of rock
Stand with words written through them
History
And they stretch on out
Into the estuary
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Monday, 22 June 2020
Icebergs Ahoy
Well I guess I must have hurt her
Yes I got away with murder
But hey somedays that's just
The way things go
Well I ran on to the border
And said now I know you heard her
But you said you thought
That I oughta know
Well it happened on my watch
I fell asleep and I did botch
The one job that a sailor
Oughta know
Well I thought I heard it coming
That low and distant drumming
But the night was full of fog
And my eyes were full of snow
Well I guess I must have hurt her
Yes I got away with murder
And the criminal they brought her
Down below
Well the engines they were humming
And the sailors they were bumming
Cigarettes to bet with down below
A black jack game was running
And the thief he had great cunning
And he won his fortune
In the stow
Yes he guessed he might have hurt her
He got away with murder
But somedays, you know
Thats just the way things go
And he was just a passenger
Holding up the messenger
Who was running to tell
The Captain of the ice floe
But they never saw the danger
No they were safe asleep in manger
And it happened on my watch
So I ought know
Yes I got away with murder
I thought my medicine had cured her
And I rang the bells full stop
On the decks below
And they say that natures red
In tooth and claw
And all is fair in love and war
But it happened that her ship never
Reached the shore
And the ship it lurched sideways
And the Orchestra played
My Way
And I thought I saw Sinatra
Sing for sure
As the Ice berg cut the violins
They bounced and jumped upon the strings
And tore great holes in the hull
Of her score
And I guess I must of hurt her
Yes I got away with murder
But now I'm in the water
And nothing's like before
Well I hear the silverware clatter
Collapse, and shake the chandellier
The Piano is swallowing sea water
Like the shore
And it happened on my watch
I was dreaming of my scotch
And before I knew it a mountain
Had come in the door
Well the ship went down near Labrador
The cargo was jettisoned
The luggage was soaking wet on and soon
The passengers in life boats
In the flotsam
And I keep dreaming of America
America, my saviour
Who could save a wretch like me?
I keep swimming for that dream
For the land of the brave and free
Because I got away with murder
At the door
Yes I got away with murder
But hey somedays that's just
The way things go
Well I ran on to the border
And said now I know you heard her
But you said you thought
That I oughta know
Well it happened on my watch
I fell asleep and I did botch
The one job that a sailor
Oughta know
Well I thought I heard it coming
That low and distant drumming
But the night was full of fog
And my eyes were full of snow
Well I guess I must have hurt her
Yes I got away with murder
And the criminal they brought her
Down below
Well the engines they were humming
And the sailors they were bumming
Cigarettes to bet with down below
A black jack game was running
And the thief he had great cunning
And he won his fortune
In the stow
Yes he guessed he might have hurt her
He got away with murder
But somedays, you know
Thats just the way things go
And he was just a passenger
Holding up the messenger
Who was running to tell
The Captain of the ice floe
But they never saw the danger
No they were safe asleep in manger
And it happened on my watch
So I ought know
Yes I got away with murder
I thought my medicine had cured her
And I rang the bells full stop
On the decks below
And they say that natures red
In tooth and claw
And all is fair in love and war
But it happened that her ship never
Reached the shore
And the ship it lurched sideways
And the Orchestra played
My Way
And I thought I saw Sinatra
Sing for sure
As the Ice berg cut the violins
They bounced and jumped upon the strings
And tore great holes in the hull
Of her score
And I guess I must of hurt her
Yes I got away with murder
But now I'm in the water
And nothing's like before
Well I hear the silverware clatter
Collapse, and shake the chandellier
The Piano is swallowing sea water
Like the shore
And it happened on my watch
I was dreaming of my scotch
And before I knew it a mountain
Had come in the door
Well the ship went down near Labrador
The cargo was jettisoned
The luggage was soaking wet on and soon
The passengers in life boats
In the flotsam
And I keep dreaming of America
America, my saviour
Who could save a wretch like me?
I keep swimming for that dream
For the land of the brave and free
Because I got away with murder
At the door
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Sunday, 21 June 2020
Goblin Coombe
The wind blows through the glen
voices carried on the wind
Of good/bad choice we can't mend
Where the fairy folk are ken
Gnarled and knotted in the sleepy glen
Quick sharp tongues of ice
Slicing through squeaks of mice
Chattering squirrels, patridge, hen
Hear the voices of the little men
Goblin, goblin, Goblin Coombe
Eating the turkey oak
By the light of the moon
Smoking bark
And evergreen den
Far in the milky dark
Of Goblin Coombe again
voices carried on the wind
Of good/bad choice we can't mend
Where the fairy folk are ken
Gnarled and knotted in the sleepy glen
Quick sharp tongues of ice
Slicing through squeaks of mice
Chattering squirrels, patridge, hen
Hear the voices of the little men
Goblin, goblin, Goblin Coombe
Eating the turkey oak
By the light of the moon
Smoking bark
And evergreen den
Far in the milky dark
Of Goblin Coombe again
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
A Father's Day walk
Flocking crows down near Northload farm
Look and see a house on a hump
Tractors unload in yard or road
Like a yarn on a story spool
Hammers thump, thump
Starlings stall in midair
And fall, turn and bump
As flies buzz, buzz
Earwigs lug their prey
back to the rotten stump
Otter's little travel bristles
Through divided clump
The grass festooned
In the month of June
With seeds ready to jump
The old bridge tumbles into ruins
As days now pass us by
But the rhyne is green
With days unseen
No this is no day to die
Little green finch play on
limbs of skeletal Elm
And songs are sung by
Birds so long as sailors
Hang on to the helm
Clover fields are purple meals
For bees that suck at their flowers
And tea leaf docks
That spoil in cream shocks
Of clover patch powers
And the house rises up
On the high ground
The Doomsday Book once wrote
As safe on the island from
Avaricious eyes and only
Reached by boat
Now the house in ruins
Where periwinkles blossom
Brambles curl the Elder's bosom
Kingfishers cast their regal eyes
Down the stream
Of the sleeper bridge's dream
And the voices gurgle and gargle
Beneath, while
Above the butterflies float
The wool of sheep is cast about
Is strewn about the pen
Rusted troughs lie
Like a milk maids cry
Of the lambs many
begotten
Begotten, begotten
But not forgotten
This ruin on sacred Doomsday land
Saved by King William's hand
This ancient house still stands
Like a relic of old England
Elders have reclaimed most of it
Its roof collapsed long ago
The limestone bricks and mortar
Make up its end walls
Just a shell on this sea wrecked land
Just a cockle on the shore
Whispering to the wind
A home for nettles and starfish
And a collection of tumbleweed wool
Some how it is fitting
Somehow the fish just bite,
The green grass grows
Where cuckoos call, and the crows
black as night stare
As the clouds roll in so tight
Now the sea gulls cut fast
Like a scythe, the wind around
This summer island
And we say goodbye
To the feather and the sky
That rolls like a blue robin egg
Around them
Look and see a house on a hump
Tractors unload in yard or road
Like a yarn on a story spool
Hammers thump, thump
Starlings stall in midair
And fall, turn and bump
As flies buzz, buzz
Earwigs lug their prey
back to the rotten stump
Otter's little travel bristles
Through divided clump
The grass festooned
In the month of June
With seeds ready to jump
The old bridge tumbles into ruins
As days now pass us by
But the rhyne is green
With days unseen
No this is no day to die
Little green finch play on
limbs of skeletal Elm
And songs are sung by
Birds so long as sailors
Hang on to the helm
Clover fields are purple meals
For bees that suck at their flowers
And tea leaf docks
That spoil in cream shocks
Of clover patch powers
And the house rises up
On the high ground
The Doomsday Book once wrote
As safe on the island from
Avaricious eyes and only
Reached by boat
Now the house in ruins
Where periwinkles blossom
Brambles curl the Elder's bosom
Kingfishers cast their regal eyes
Down the stream
Of the sleeper bridge's dream
And the voices gurgle and gargle
Beneath, while
Above the butterflies float
The wool of sheep is cast about
Is strewn about the pen
Rusted troughs lie
Like a milk maids cry
Of the lambs many
begotten
Begotten, begotten
But not forgotten
This ruin on sacred Doomsday land
Saved by King William's hand
This ancient house still stands
Like a relic of old England
Elders have reclaimed most of it
Its roof collapsed long ago
The limestone bricks and mortar
Make up its end walls
Just a shell on this sea wrecked land
Just a cockle on the shore
Whispering to the wind
A home for nettles and starfish
And a collection of tumbleweed wool
Some how it is fitting
Somehow the fish just bite,
The green grass grows
Where cuckoos call, and the crows
black as night stare
As the clouds roll in so tight
Now the sea gulls cut fast
Like a scythe, the wind around
This summer island
And we say goodbye
To the feather and the sky
That rolls like a blue robin egg
Around them
Labels:
animals,
father,
marsh,
Sense of place,
travel
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Tree of Time
As I walked out on a midday dash
The mighty oak on the hill side stashed
Like a Spanish Galleon full of gold
This relic of a bygone age so old
As I walked out on an afternoon dash
The sun was rising in the fields of Ash
The wind caught its sails and the ship did stand
Like a spider on eight legs upright and grand
As I walked out on an evening stroll
the wind was blowing like a bell that tolls
And the Oak like a harbour for my soul
Kept me safe from the biting maul
As I walked out on a midnight dash
The Old oak was breathing as an octopus splash
Its heart was living but only skin deep
For centuries unforgiving its secrets to keep
As I walked out on a morning's stroll
Its green crown was balanced as a Yorick's skull
Held by a Hamlet from a timely stage
Speaking his lines to the wind and an age
That is lost now unless on the page
The mighty oak on the hill side stashed
Like a Spanish Galleon full of gold
This relic of a bygone age so old
As I walked out on an afternoon dash
The sun was rising in the fields of Ash
The wind caught its sails and the ship did stand
Like a spider on eight legs upright and grand
As I walked out on an evening stroll
the wind was blowing like a bell that tolls
And the Oak like a harbour for my soul
Kept me safe from the biting maul
As I walked out on a midnight dash
The Old oak was breathing as an octopus splash
Its heart was living but only skin deep
For centuries unforgiving its secrets to keep
As I walked out on a morning's stroll
Its green crown was balanced as a Yorick's skull
Held by a Hamlet from a timely stage
Speaking his lines to the wind and an age
That is lost now unless on the page
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Rabble raising
Rabble Rousing in the swamp
Cheers go up
From the Bird hide romp
Ravers, engravers, blatant cravers
Of a drunken night-time's revelling
Now the morning after
They wake up in the wooden hut
To the quiet peace of waders
Curlews, dippers, divers
Nothing more than these skivers
Want than to beat their drum,
Oh come, come
Gravediggers of the swamp
What has your rabble rousing
raised?
What artifacts of civil war
What dead soldiers lay
Disturbed in their eternal sleep
Crawl out from the clay
And peat
What peat men are dragged
Black and dripping from their grave
Look how their death skeletons
Join your rave
Their bones jingle-jangle
And their death masks save
You from their hideous
Features
They do the bog romp
They do the rabble rave
They do the moorland stomp
In the Somerset grave
And you're so drunk
Yeah you're really brave
You dance with the fallen
Round heads and Cavaliers
They are dancing the conga
To Congelton, while between
Their spare ribs
The eels still steal
And their armour is rusted
But its clanking now
To the sound of the busted
Vibrating ground
And their flint-lock pistols
They hold in their hands
Are shot into the air
As the army stands
And the techno beats
Are drilling like tin cans
But you're too drunk now
To remember your plans
You vouched your life to the
Bridgwater league
To levellers these revellers
Swore oaths of blood creeds
The rabble was roused
By the saw and the plough
To fight for the farmer
Against power and greed
And the devils were dancing that night on
The moor
When the ghetto blaster blew
Its tunes
And the pitch-forks were raised
By the rebellious crew
And they danced and they crazed
They rioted and raved
Down the rhein drove
And played
But in the morning
Who knew they were even there
Nothing was saved
Save the black boggy
Foot-prints leading
Back -stomp..stomp...stomp
into the swamp
Cheers go up
From the Bird hide romp
Ravers, engravers, blatant cravers
Of a drunken night-time's revelling
Now the morning after
They wake up in the wooden hut
To the quiet peace of waders
Curlews, dippers, divers
Nothing more than these skivers
Want than to beat their drum,
Oh come, come
Gravediggers of the swamp
What has your rabble rousing
raised?
What artifacts of civil war
What dead soldiers lay
Disturbed in their eternal sleep
Crawl out from the clay
And peat
What peat men are dragged
Black and dripping from their grave
Look how their death skeletons
Join your rave
Their bones jingle-jangle
And their death masks save
You from their hideous
Features
They do the bog romp
They do the rabble rave
They do the moorland stomp
In the Somerset grave
And you're so drunk
Yeah you're really brave
You dance with the fallen
Round heads and Cavaliers
They are dancing the conga
To Congelton, while between
Their spare ribs
The eels still steal
And their armour is rusted
But its clanking now
To the sound of the busted
Vibrating ground
And their flint-lock pistols
They hold in their hands
Are shot into the air
As the army stands
And the techno beats
Are drilling like tin cans
But you're too drunk now
To remember your plans
You vouched your life to the
Bridgwater league
To levellers these revellers
Swore oaths of blood creeds
The rabble was roused
By the saw and the plough
To fight for the farmer
Against power and greed
And the devils were dancing that night on
The moor
When the ghetto blaster blew
Its tunes
And the pitch-forks were raised
By the rebellious crew
And they danced and they crazed
They rioted and raved
Down the rhein drove
And played
But in the morning
Who knew they were even there
Nothing was saved
Save the black boggy
Foot-prints leading
Back -stomp..stomp...stomp
into the swamp
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Dead cow in the ditch
Dead cow in the ditch,
Dead cow in the ditch
Mother nature is a bitch
She had to scratch that itch
And there was no fence to break her fall
Dead cow in the ditch
Mother nature can be a bitch
But don't forget the bastard farmer
He never did repair
The broken fences there
Anyone would think he really didn't care
Now there is a dead cow
Lying in the ditch now
So don't forget the bastard farmer
He hadn't turned the switch
They never heard her pitch
Into the bleak black water
Well mother nature is a bitch
And her daughter is a witch
But don't forget the bastard farmer
They say that all is fair
In love and war don't they?
And Nature it is red in tooth and claw
I'd rather wade up to my waist than
See another cow dying
In a rhein
Such accidents are preventable
There was no need for this death at all
Just a little more maintenance
Was needed by the farmer
Just a little forethought
But instead the brain work was nought
So don't blame the cow
But the lazy bastard farmer
And another, and another
Dead cow, dead mother
Another, and another
cow dying in a ditch
Dead cow in the ditch
Mother nature is a bitch
She had to scratch that itch
And there was no fence to break her fall
Dead cow in the ditch
Mother nature can be a bitch
But don't forget the bastard farmer
He never did repair
The broken fences there
Anyone would think he really didn't care
Now there is a dead cow
Lying in the ditch now
So don't forget the bastard farmer
He hadn't turned the switch
They never heard her pitch
Into the bleak black water
Well mother nature is a bitch
And her daughter is a witch
But don't forget the bastard farmer
They say that all is fair
In love and war don't they?
And Nature it is red in tooth and claw
I'd rather wade up to my waist than
See another cow dying
In a rhein
Such accidents are preventable
There was no need for this death at all
Just a little more maintenance
Was needed by the farmer
Just a little forethought
But instead the brain work was nought
So don't blame the cow
But the lazy bastard farmer
And another, and another
Dead cow, dead mother
Another, and another
cow dying in a ditch
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Monday, 15 June 2020
Bittern boom, Heron Ham - Rap Battle, Poetry Slam
Bittern:
You might think I’m a shy guy
Because I hide in the reeds
In the day or night
But I know what I like
You wanna pick on me,
You wanna a fight
I better warn ya this bittern bites
Yeah I’m Bittern, I’m not a kitten
I’m a Bittern, Bittern... Boom!
So I face the Heron in the ring
He throws his left,
But I clip his wing
He tries his right hook
But I see him swing
I undercut his beak
Look I do my thing
I’m Bittern, I ‘m not a kitten
I’m bad ass, reed lovin’ Bittern Boom
Yeah you better make room
For the Bittern, Boom!
i'm outta here!
Heron: I’m a Heron
I’m no Charlize Theron
I’m the meanest damn bird on
The levels – boast
I walk on stilt legs
I’m gonna step on you
Get out my way unless you’re a mouse or a shrew
Otherwise I’ll put my spear on you
Can you hear me true?
I’m in the Heron crew
I’m the ghost on the post
I’m a loner
But you know I like to boast
I’m a home owner
I’m king of the swamps
And I’ll own you too
I’ve got a nest you can’t guess
Where I’ve hidden it to
Bittern: Now I’m the king of where I walk
Go sleep on the wing or talk to a stork
I’m the sort bird who will be a good sport
But when I get in the ring then you’ll know you’ve been
fought
I’m the Bittern, you be quittin, you be hittin’ the ground
Where I caught ya
Corked ya Heron, forked ya like Spearon
Keep your’re hair on you got your scare on
You ain’t never gonna take this dare on
Heron:Yo, yo, Yo! I’m the meanest wader in this pond
You think you’re a crusader, well I’m James Bond
I’m gonna aim yer, and maim yer like its your Swan Song
So go figure, I pull the trigger or my golden gun
I’m a shakespeare, I’m gonna walk to Meare
Gonna catch all the fishes on my beak here
What you say Bittern you don’t speak clear
You just Boom, Boom,Boom
All day long! Yeah I hear your Swan Song
Yeah I need to mute yer, Like on Bittern shoot
I will reboot yer, shut you down, out of town
I’m on the Hunt, in pursuit of yer
You better run and hide with newts clear?
Bittern:
Yeah you're Shakespeare, well I’m Newton,
I’m in my gravity suit hear
I'm in space near, you're a disgrace hear
Like a matchstick, I'm gonna light you up
You won't have no time, to move place here
Because there's no room
When you hear my Bittern BOOM!
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Romai Part-on the Danube Shore
The skeleton branches rattle and rustle
The old gnarled bark warps and twists
Some piping bird aloft tweets
And pigeons take off from the shore
A more a more the waves they lap
Like armies attacking the beach
The pebbles lie like soldiers in graves sleeping their deep sleep
And the wind cries on and on
The wind blows on and on
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Mob
On the underground people looking round
Checking who is infected who is sound
Reading newspaper reports of panic
The mob will rule fear is the fuel so manic
Nobody really thinks they just react
To this and that caught in the act of accident
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Thursday, 11 June 2020
300 years a statue
What gets to me about pulling down statues, is that it was allowed by the police, presumably as a thought out method, that they did not want to have a riot on their hands that they could not control, or be accused of police brutality in resisting the action of pulling it down. So in a sense it was sacrificed for the greater good. What does it matter, it was just a statue, I mean a racially potent, and provocative piece of public art that representing oppression of black people. Yet it had been doing that for a very long time, and it also represented history. My fear is the message sent is that when ever any particularly angry mob is in enough numbers, then the Police in Bristol will allow whatever destruction of property the mob /crowd leaders/ protesters feel justifies their violent attention and that this will be permitted. So that if a far right group also decides it wants to countermand its own protest and focus its attention on some public building, public artwork it feels insults its beliefs, then this mass action, and mob-rule is the best way to accomplish its aims, and the police would be within their rights to stand back and allow this, because it is the will of the mob, and it fears future repercussions if it does not relent.
Labels:
Art
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Wednesday, 10 June 2020
All glory fades
What is this:
What is this key to no love
To no life
When they are burning the shops
And marching down the street
Of liberty
What is this pied sky
This chessboard we must walk
Or fly
With these chains
That bind us
Or tie us down
We are not machines
Oh statue, statue
Statue of you
That holds
All the flags of the city
All the flowers blooming pretty
Down the street of liberty
Who are these men on plinths
And Pedestals
Whom we look up to
And hold enthrall
What chains have they tied
Or bonds shattered
Whose lives once lived
Now died, what mattered
Was love
But all glory fades
As the bronze
That loses its lustre
Unlike the stars that cluster
In the constellations of space
And at least that look
Will get wiped off your face
In the end
At the end of the line
When they hook
You out the pond
What is this key to no love
To no life
When they are burning the shops
And marching down the street
Of liberty
What is this pied sky
This chessboard we must walk
Or fly
With these chains
That bind us
Or tie us down
We are not machines
Oh statue, statue
Statue of you
That holds
All the flags of the city
All the flowers blooming pretty
Down the street of liberty
Who are these men on plinths
And Pedestals
Whom we look up to
And hold enthrall
What chains have they tied
Or bonds shattered
Whose lives once lived
Now died, what mattered
Was love
But all glory fades
As the bronze
That loses its lustre
Unlike the stars that cluster
In the constellations of space
And at least that look
Will get wiped off your face
In the end
At the end of the line
When they hook
You out the pond
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Sunday, 7 June 2020
Heaven's above
These clouds are like an empire when you look at them
Like heaven has rose up in desire
And let their Angels sing
The tribunes and the Seraphim,
The arcangels too
All of them
Are up high singing
Singing just for you
Oh Heaven is a steel drum
Its a pearly gate
Its a mountain of white chewing gum
Bubbling on a hot plate
Its stuck to earth like virtue
Like a message of love
That gets to you
Oh hear those Angels singing above
Singing just for you
See those rolling mountains
Turning over the hills
Climbing down
Like cats on curtains
Crawling over to you
Purring in their circumstance
Obeyance and their fates
Oh don't you hear them singing for you
Outside St Peter's gates
Like heaven has rose up in desire
And let their Angels sing
The tribunes and the Seraphim,
The arcangels too
All of them
Are up high singing
Singing just for you
Oh Heaven is a steel drum
Its a pearly gate
Its a mountain of white chewing gum
Bubbling on a hot plate
Its stuck to earth like virtue
Like a message of love
That gets to you
Oh hear those Angels singing above
Singing just for you
See those rolling mountains
Turning over the hills
Climbing down
Like cats on curtains
Crawling over to you
Purring in their circumstance
Obeyance and their fates
Oh don't you hear them singing for you
Outside St Peter's gates
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Saturday, 6 June 2020
Still in love with you
The dogs have driven us from the fields
The shakes spears waggle
Their gaggle of geese
The dome is revelaed
By a cloud of grace
And I'm still in love with you
The tunes are coloured by a cornered brow
Which furrows in the fields
As a new born cow
And telephones ring but don't pull ploughs
And i'm still in love with you
The shoes are worn by police dogs shorn
Of all their vows and the holy thorn
Which draw and bow along stately lawns
And I'm still in love with you
Don't give me excuses, I can't bear lies
My shoulders are broad but no Yorkshire ties
I would loosen my tongue with a barrel of Whys
And I'm still in love with you
The fires keep burning down in New Orleans
The shops are looted, the bars are clean
And I drank you down but you were mean
And I'm still in love with you
The shakes spears waggle
Their gaggle of geese
The dome is revelaed
By a cloud of grace
And I'm still in love with you
The tunes are coloured by a cornered brow
Which furrows in the fields
As a new born cow
And telephones ring but don't pull ploughs
And i'm still in love with you
The shoes are worn by police dogs shorn
Of all their vows and the holy thorn
Which draw and bow along stately lawns
And I'm still in love with you
Don't give me excuses, I can't bear lies
My shoulders are broad but no Yorkshire ties
I would loosen my tongue with a barrel of Whys
And I'm still in love with you
The fires keep burning down in New Orleans
The shops are looted, the bars are clean
And I drank you down but you were mean
And I'm still in love with you
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The demon in cider
Here's one
The men walk into the bar
They drink all day
Then one vomits
The south African is a sports fan
He says listen I can drink you under the table
He drinks
The other copies,
Pint for pint of fosters
Or is it cider
Then after ten pints the other vomits
He walks out sick of Sport
And bullish South African rhetoric
Walks home
But he falls off the road
Sideways
Like Benny Hill
Into the ditch
He comes to in a stinging nettle patch
Disorientated
He falls over a barbed wired fence
Into more nettles
Loses his coat
Remembers what he saw in a survival film
About being lost in the jungle (well, it is dark afterall)
So Walks in a semi circle through
A large hemisphere of
You guessed it...
More nettles
To reach the same barbed wire fence
10 metres down the road
He falls over it again (in reverse)
And climbs back onto the road coatless
In the dark
He walks back home
Only the home he thinks
He is walking to turns out to be the
Same pub he vomitted in
about an hour ago
The South African has gone home
He meets a bee keeper
Sitting at a picnic table
Who offers him
Another cider
They drink.
Then a lift home
He goes to another pub
Has one more drink
Then arrives home
To find he can't find his door key
(because he hid it in the wheel arch of his car)
Luckily a side door is open
Which leads up
Some stairs and to the airing cupboard where there
Is a boiler
Which he hugs
To keep warm and falls asleep
Then wakes up near dawn
When he remembers where
he
Hid
his
Keys
or his kidneys
The men walk into the bar
They drink all day
Then one vomits
The south African is a sports fan
He says listen I can drink you under the table
He drinks
The other copies,
Pint for pint of fosters
Or is it cider
Then after ten pints the other vomits
He walks out sick of Sport
And bullish South African rhetoric
Walks home
But he falls off the road
Sideways
Like Benny Hill
Into the ditch
He comes to in a stinging nettle patch
Disorientated
He falls over a barbed wired fence
Into more nettles
Loses his coat
Remembers what he saw in a survival film
About being lost in the jungle (well, it is dark afterall)
So Walks in a semi circle through
A large hemisphere of
You guessed it...
More nettles
To reach the same barbed wire fence
10 metres down the road
He falls over it again (in reverse)
And climbs back onto the road coatless
In the dark
He walks back home
Only the home he thinks
He is walking to turns out to be the
Same pub he vomitted in
about an hour ago
The South African has gone home
He meets a bee keeper
Sitting at a picnic table
Who offers him
Another cider
They drink.
Then a lift home
He goes to another pub
Has one more drink
Then arrives home
To find he can't find his door key
(because he hid it in the wheel arch of his car)
Luckily a side door is open
Which leads up
Some stairs and to the airing cupboard where there
Is a boiler
Which he hugs
To keep warm and falls asleep
Then wakes up near dawn
When he remembers where
he
Hid
his
Keys
or his kidneys
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Friday, 5 June 2020
Everyday beauty
Its an equanimity of
beauty and the beast
Its the dividing line
Of Snow white
And her release
Its the pin prick
The seamtresses' needle
Its the sweet surrender
Of the poisoned apple
Its everyday beauty that walks the same line
Everyday beauty has me dying all the time
Its the porridge cooling in the bears' bowls
Its the beanstalk falling out of control
Its a giant falling onto the land
And everybody going about their business
Like before
Like they understand
Its the estate agent who
Sold the witch her cottage
In the forgotten wood
Where feminine beauty was besotted
With the everyday sweetness
Of kindness misunderstood
Like the disguise of the wolf
In red riding hood
Its the everyday that gets swept under the carpet
Where the woodworm crawl
And cinderella finds it
Its her own image
In a crystal chandellier
That gets reflected around the ball room
When the prince appears
Its the everyday that some how fits
In every single soul through the fog
That slips
beauty and the beast
Its the dividing line
Of Snow white
And her release
Its the pin prick
The seamtresses' needle
Its the sweet surrender
Of the poisoned apple
Its everyday beauty that walks the same line
Everyday beauty has me dying all the time
Its the porridge cooling in the bears' bowls
Its the beanstalk falling out of control
Its a giant falling onto the land
And everybody going about their business
Like before
Like they understand
Its the estate agent who
Sold the witch her cottage
In the forgotten wood
Where feminine beauty was besotted
With the everyday sweetness
Of kindness misunderstood
Like the disguise of the wolf
In red riding hood
Its the everyday that gets swept under the carpet
Where the woodworm crawl
And cinderella finds it
Its her own image
In a crystal chandellier
That gets reflected around the ball room
When the prince appears
Its the everyday that some how fits
In every single soul through the fog
That slips
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
And the moon was riding high
Would you please God
I am shaking
Would you
Please turn that racket off
Its noises, dear God
The moon is breaking
Like an egg
The metallic clouds
Are shimmering
Like Alsatians in the wind
And I am bristling
With the thoughts of you
Rattling underneath my skin
And the nerves of this place
To be full of grace
Yet it is so hard to sin
It is you in the mirror
The distant glimmer
Of History stepping in
Oh Would you,
Could you not forgive
Could you not join in
The dance with me
This time
For one last spin
Oh could you, would you
Could you, would you
Not join in the dance with
me
I am shaking
Would you
Please turn that racket off
Its noises, dear God
The moon is breaking
Like an egg
The metallic clouds
Are shimmering
Like Alsatians in the wind
And I am bristling
With the thoughts of you
Rattling underneath my skin
And the nerves of this place
To be full of grace
Yet it is so hard to sin
It is you in the mirror
The distant glimmer
Of History stepping in
Oh Would you,
Could you not forgive
Could you not join in
The dance with me
This time
For one last spin
Oh could you, would you
Could you, would you
Not join in the dance with
me
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Wednesday, 3 June 2020
What do you hold me to?
What is it you hold me to?
The bars on your windows
The colours of your room
What is that you hold me to?
But the shadows of the moon
You leave me here in Winter
In the summer of control
You give me burgundy
And tell me it will fill a hole
But when I look around
There's no one there for to patrol
Oh what is it that you hold me to?
But the shifting quick sands of my soul
I come and go, like an alien wind
Like a hermit on the tide
Like a jellyfish rolling in the wobbling ocean
There are no feelings worth the squabbling over
So what do you hold me to?
The bars on your windows
The colours of your room
What is that you hold me to?
But the shadows of the moon
You leave me here in Winter
In the summer of control
You give me burgundy
And tell me it will fill a hole
But when I look around
There's no one there for to patrol
Oh what is it that you hold me to?
But the shifting quick sands of my soul
I come and go, like an alien wind
Like a hermit on the tide
Like a jellyfish rolling in the wobbling ocean
There are no feelings worth the squabbling over
So what do you hold me to?
Labels:
summer
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Ask me no questions
Ask me no questions
And I'll tell you no lies
About the parts of inflexion
That I see in your eyes
Like shards of broken glass
That shatter the sunrise
When you ask it no questions
It tells you no lies
Oh truth is always at first light
The falsehoods are enemies, but friends of the night
And you ask to remember me
When you close your eyes
Well ask me no questions
And I'll tell you no lies
The devil's in the detail
The fish are in the sea
The control towers are watching us
In circumspect sanity
And there are no curtain poles
Can pull the wool over our eyes
So ask me no questions and I'll tell you
No lies
And I'll tell you no lies
About the parts of inflexion
That I see in your eyes
Like shards of broken glass
That shatter the sunrise
When you ask it no questions
It tells you no lies
Oh truth is always at first light
The falsehoods are enemies, but friends of the night
And you ask to remember me
When you close your eyes
Well ask me no questions
And I'll tell you no lies
The devil's in the detail
The fish are in the sea
The control towers are watching us
In circumspect sanity
And there are no curtain poles
Can pull the wool over our eyes
So ask me no questions and I'll tell you
No lies
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
You play to lose
Until you live my life
And I live yours
You'll never know what it is like
To walk in my shoes
So don't you try to tell me
When to jump or how to choose
Until you live my life
Well you play to lose
Don't you try to fit your world around my conception
Your ideas hold no water they
Are figments of imagination
And if they work for you
Horay! Then you should employ them
As you choose
Because until you live my life
Well you play to lose
I have had the steam rolled out
I had the dirt kicked in my face
I have had to scream and shout
Just to keep my place
And unless you have suffered
Or felt my hurt or abuse
Until you live my life
Well you play to lose
The fanfares and the agents
Of the night persue
The candlemas of a caress
But cinderella shoes
Have been locked in a museum
Full of art's misuse
So until you live my life
Well you play to lose
And I live yours
You'll never know what it is like
To walk in my shoes
So don't you try to tell me
When to jump or how to choose
Until you live my life
Well you play to lose
Don't you try to fit your world around my conception
Your ideas hold no water they
Are figments of imagination
And if they work for you
Horay! Then you should employ them
As you choose
Because until you live my life
Well you play to lose
I have had the steam rolled out
I had the dirt kicked in my face
I have had to scream and shout
Just to keep my place
And unless you have suffered
Or felt my hurt or abuse
Until you live my life
Well you play to lose
The fanfares and the agents
Of the night persue
The candlemas of a caress
But cinderella shoes
Have been locked in a museum
Full of art's misuse
So until you live my life
Well you play to lose
Labels:
frames
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
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