Apples

Word got around
You had stolen my crown
And you began with laughter
And the bees on the thorn
Or the rose on the horn
They sting or they bleed me
After

And the falling apple spins
It does not bear the wind
It does not count the seconds in time
It has left the tree
It has broken free
And it lands on the grassy slope
Near to the father

Shepton Show

 A is for apple

Just a pure comedy song

Just the way we can grapple for where we go wrong

Live and be merry

Die and get long

Like the shadows in the orchards

When I was young

Cow play of the herd

Instinct, moo movement

Turd ringlet, who ever heard

Of a bull

With a ring in the end of his nose?

Shire horses suffolks

Built like tree trunks and their buttocks

Not even the endless toning in a gym

Could come up to the mark on him

His great grand daddy was an American Stallion

Brought over by the owners

Mustang, no mustang Sally

Drive your rodeo out of town

Clip, clop, tightly prigged

Pony tails of the braids

Like their riders so tight lipped with bit in mouth

And dressage horses,

slim of ankle

Not these tanks,

They have no fur for the clay earth

To clog in

Shoed

the be-all and end-all

 the be-all and end-all

 

the most important thing:

We all agreed that winning was not the be-all and end-all.

Moo cows

Moomins

Moomax

Moopin

Primax

Mirrormoo

Shoe wax

Shimmershoe

The largest event in Northern Europe

The Dinosaurs never saw it

The flammingoes

Parrot style

Filming

Carrots while

Waiting for oranges to turn red

And Robins where do they go

In the summer hey

Ball on ball, on ball

Like Newton and his apples

Je m' apple

Give me an apple

How do you like dem apples

Appellation trails

What mint tea could bring

Starving

Of oxygen

Hot street

The Strawberry line

 Strawberry line

Two tracks infront

Always one step behind

Like a camel threads

Through the eye of a needle

So too must I thread on a treadle

Of yarn,

And spin my web,

In the ebb and flow of

The Bristol estuary

That awaits all wrecks

Of land and sea

The end of the tracks

Run down to the beach

And launch the great Iron hulk

On her maiden voyage

Steam ship of the channel

Fruit picked, picking its way through

orchards of apples

And row upon row of strawberries

Two tracks in front

Still one step behind

Out of sink in the blink of an eye

Replaced by the steel horses

That race or fly

As the horse was replaced by the bicycle

And I will be replaced by someone younger

More fitting to an age of enlightenment

Or else as it ran over

fields

It now is run over

By men and women on two wheels

Not forgotten, but marvelled at

Like walking through the rib cage cavity 

Of a dinosaur or Blue Whale

A leviathon of the past

That men and women some how constructed

On will wit and ingenuity

And the endurance of living

on a island, and wanting to get to the sea

Or wanting to sell their strawberries

Two tracks infront

But always one step behind

And the destination doesn't matter

As much as the journey

The climb is a trial,

But it is earning a living

It is living your earning

And it is working your body

Like the steam trains steel limbs

Shunting and shoving and hissing and spurting

forth steam, sliding on their greasy poles and rails

Pistons bobbing up and down, back and forth, driving iron wheels

Around and around

Much like the bicycles

We have trained out selves to be machine like

To be repetitive and determined

And strong

And tuned our limbs, muscles and tendons

For what though? May I ask?

To be able to sleep at night?

Or to be able to compete with what we see on adverts

Or perhaps simply to occupy our leisure time

Two tracks in front

Always one step behind

The Gallery of modern love

 You kind of took away my love

Yes you kind of took away my heart

And sold it to the lover of art

Who said is this death or is it just blown apart?

Yes you kind of took away my love

And you kind of took away my heart

Like an empty house where the windows

Keep blowing apart

And the curtains are moving

And the glass is shattered

You kind of tipped the apples

From the apple cart

Yes you kind of took away my heart

I kind of rocked the boat

And I was clinging to your rock

While I tried to float

But I couldn't swim to save my life

And I went out on a limb

Along the edge of a knife

And it was cold out there in space

And so I came back inside

So I could rest my eyes upon your face

Well that lasted one last time

Then you kicked me out

Like a drunken swine

And you kind of took away my love

Yes you kind of broke my heart

Well it was twisted wrapped in cotton gloves

And it rested on a plinth in the museum of modern art

Yes when you, oh you, yes when you took away your love 

Crowding in

Chewing on the match sticks
Of lighted bigotry
Walking in the thatched brick
Houses of England's purgatory
Sailing in the solid towns
Whose markets all are empty
Winging like an emperor's crown
Over the mounted sentry
All along the pallisades
Of a time wrecked crew
Fighting off the attacking gulls
Whose scurvy cries once flew

All the penny whistle arcades
All the penniless parades
Where ruffians and one-time maids
Are taking turns on the chew

I follow an inspector
Who is returning from some space
With a fear detector, smeared all over
His face
Panic is his protector, it keeps
Him in the race
To follow the crowd from morning's
Cloud, through bustle of bodies embrace
And he pushes past the working girls,
Past the drunks, and the ladies in lace
And he brushes his coat tails with
The girl's of some disgrace
And at midday the streets are thronging,
The squares have a heaving grace
And palpitating shopper mingle
In and out of their place

He follows some inside a shop
Of candles, and grease and pastes
And oils smell, and tinctures quell
The crowd in its rabid pace

And the afternoon wears on
Along side market stalls
With meat, hanging cured, and cutting
Tools, and the parambulators ambling trace
The parasols beneath sun scholes that dapples
Over his face, and soon this market
Packs up shop, folds up tables
Closes stops and
He is left like a hairless dog
Yelping on the pavement
And the rain falls down in feathers,
That soon turn into heavier things
That fetter in the wetter arches, that
Nestle in the Spring
That trickle down shirt collars,
And coats that are pulled round close
And his search becomes more desperate
As the shoppers leave their posts
They rush indoors inthis street, so he
Wanders on through corridors
Of darkened ways and alleys
Broken by cats and aunt Sally's
And Salvation armiests appraise him
They accost and pull him in
This old man for whom the life blood
Seems to be drawing thin
But emerging again in another street
Where crowd is swelling still
He heaves his sigh of relief
And swims in for his fill
Is he a thief
I cannot tell
I see no sleight of hand
Unless he robs them of themselves
No wealth worth more to man
Is he a criminal intent on
Stalking blood or murder
When it comes to night will
His blood lust rise will
His victims fall foul of this herder
Yet he is not picking pockets,
Though others around him do
Though he is jostled,
He is bumped, he yet has hustled
From a burgeoning due
Like time and taste have drawn him
As if a deadline right on queue
Ever drawing nearer, never ending
He must pursue

Sway

He used her up

Drank her cup

Now she’s a dried up vessel

One vein too blue

One more cell to chew

He ate her brain, who knew

But now she is free

And he, he

He is the Zombie father

The step in the grain

That makes the plane

Jump when we shave the wood farther

He, he is the bitter root

Of rivalry

That keeps the bitter lemon tree

Growing

That leaves all grandmothers

Sucking lemons

Selling eggs and bacons

That leaves the chickens in the gardens

And the cold wind that hardens

The apples that sway

She sees them like she did

When she was a child

And he is her father who has broken his promises

And let the butterflies out of her enclosure

Like kissing lips

They part and fly away

Apple Orchards

They are held tight to the grit

In the grip of the sky

In the grit in the eye

And woodchip in our spit

Pruning the orchard

In a land of Peace

Where song birds flutter

The home of bees

And a bliss of Quiet

Yet never still

The looming presence of trees

The time you have to kill

Activity drums and hums

Your thumbs never idle

In the aisles, the rows

Almost bridal

You stand and wait for a kiss

Under the mistletoe

But, it never comes

Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth

But she would take a bite from the apple

Of course