Dream of a moor

 We went to a house on the edge of a moor

It was a hill top dale

And the gales that swore

It was an empty shell

Where the wind whistled and tore

And I thought from what hell

Had come the last war

The belongings pell-mell

Helter skeltered and scattered

Up the stairway along landing

And into the hall

We made our farewells thinking how this

House core

Once was a dwelling to a family of four

A scare crow stood watching as we were driving away

He was the last soft thing that I had seen that day

But his eyes they were dead and his heart made of hay

Never beat for the lost things that he had witnessed that day

Oh how can we see them? Our enemies of clay

When each shifting season

Covers their tracks runaway

I wish to have left them at least for the pay

Mutineed the bounty, but I found paradise in my way

Government of Love

 Oh you could be the next prime minister of my heart

You're the elected officials of the consciousness of love

And love is a policy which must tow the party line

Oh that thin thread between your heart and mine

Come muster your support, get the backings in the commons

Let the MPs of your Aorta call out in the chambers of belongings

And if you lost your heart in this election well why not try again

There will be another one coming and you'll be in the running my friend

I wrote down my constitution on the tissue paper of a lung

And blew it up like a balloon, so all the letters sung

And so enlarged was my chest, so courageous was my heart

But devious dealings and cowardice brought down my only art

For love is the exhibition, the portrait or the bust

Ex-rulers of love's country in a museum of lust

And sickness in love's hospitals where I spent my rest

Convalescing in love's company, or perhaps only its ghostliness

I sorted out my passport so I could cross love's borders

I had to escape my impasse, with my knights hauled up in corners

And their horses kicking around in one horse towns, 

where none could find a drink, 

well this town ain't big enough for the both of us

What the hell else did you think?

Love was what it ought to be, oh so long ago,

Just a wisp in the willows, just a twang of the bow

And yet it turned into a mist

That seeped amongst the shadows

And our boats they broke through the whiteness

On the way to marshy gallows 

Things and stuff

 I'm not saying it was easy

I'm not saying it was hard

But the time for being cheesy

It is get out of jail barred

It is drawn down in apocalypse

And a calypso of lies

All lining up to do the Rumba

With the troops on the other side

Come on pull the moon in closer

With your piece of string

I need your roller coaster

I need your tide of Spring

I need the tiny ghost of

What you wished to bring

To the table at the supper

Of the last supreme King

The God's of yester year have broken out

Of jail

And Imbolc and of Hester

They've bloomed like a power pale

They've been fracked into existence

And shaken out of earth

And it's to our resistence

To not knowing what our money's worth

You can't count gold in pennies

You can't count deaths by births

You know there are so many

And sometimes love it hurts

But breakdown all your spaceships

And bring it all back home

For I'm tired of all these races

Like a dog chases after a bone

Too many a question faces about

And looks the answer in the eyes

I shouts come on I'm in a boat

And it floats on a sea of lies

You must know me by now

I say, I'm walking in paradise

But we never could see

The forest for the trees

Nor the true colours for the dyes

Time is money

Is time money?
Well what if it is?
Did the big bang make a billion
Spend it all, in one whizz
Is there a lot of it left us?
Well the universe yes
Maybe we'd all be millionaires
If we could live that long
But really that's fizz
Our episode is over
By the time the bubble
Has risen to the top
Of the champagne
And burst
Our age of fame
Must be likewise brief, filled with
Hope, life and acclaim
In order for it to feel
Any worth
So time is money only because
We value our lives
In this moment
But what if we never did own it
If the time was just on loan
From the bank
And one day we have to cash in
And return what was borrowed
Tomorrow will be just interest on today
We cannot take out more than
We can repay
And it all goes back to the bank anyway
Living on borrowed time

Well so you say time is money
And money it is time
It is interesting
What the perspective is of a rich man
Compared to a poor man on that line
Eachs' days are numbered, one may live in quality
While the other may be blessed
But live in the poverty of the oppressed or depressed
But each man's time is his money,
Each is rich in himself,
But the poor man is richer in quality time
Whereas the rich man must borrow beg, barter and steal
To truly feel his time is his own, that his time is real
Each man is a slave to some system of laws
Of government, that cement his feet in quicksand
Each wants to be free, yet it is easier to rise
From the slime when you have no belongings or baggage
But to fly when weighed down with gold
Now that is a difficult task

And what about the perspective of the young man and the old
The old maybe filled with fear of the world, though closer to repaying his
Debt to the bank he owes
Is his life worth any less than the young man full of vigour
And life force, though little in the way of wisdom's gold
The younger man will risk more, though perhaps he has more to lose, more natural long
Life promised him from the vaults to abuse
But what is this life worth in money if it is wasted, what in value if it is meaningless?
What more worthy measure is his time on earth than compared to what
The best man could earn?
No not earn, and let's not forget to mention women
Because they are on time and a half at least

The Whimsical Wood

In the whimsical wood

Is where the dove cot stood

Away from light and power and Magic

It grew too cold and soon was tragic

Then the whimsical woodsman came along

In his way with an axe

He sang his song

And levelled the trees which had stood there long

And let the light shine in

And the dovecot stood

In the whimsical wood

Just waiting for a dove

To fly down from above

And give it a sign it was true and good

Finally one day when the woodsman was asleep

Down flew a pair of doves

The dovecot to keep

And they made their nests

With a ‘coo’ and ‘cheap’, ‘cheap’

Gently rolling their soft vowel sounds

To the woodsman asleep

Inside his dream he was wide awake

Aboard a great Ark, like Noah did make

And along from the skies came a wandering dove

Who dropped an olive twig in his palm,

And spoke of love

All around him was a flood

Like around the dovecot stood the wood

And he knew not just about what business he should

Unless it was to speak of love

And as he did the waters receded

Just as the trees that once he had seeded

And his Ark it reached the land

Well then he awoke from his own dream

To find who had spoke, was a dove on a beam

Coo-cooing here and there

They flew in a pair

But startled when he moved

And flew into air

Come back, come back he pleaded and pleaded

But his cries they went unheeded

So he sat back down in a torpor

And stewed like a tea bag left too long in the water

Finally he grew black and bitter

What need have I of trees?

Without love nor Birds nor bees

I may live in my wood of high walls

And if another high tree falls

It will not be by my hand at all

I will live here in the dovecot

Penthouse Quarter

So he laid down his axe

And began to relax

Inside the walls of his new dovecot home

That evening on the breeze

He thought he smelt the smell of the seas

He saw the rustle of the leaves

Then in the dovecot’s eves

Spied his first love

The dovecot owner’s daughter

‘Hey there come down’

He coaxed her

She gave a coo, fluttered and flew

And he saw it was a dove

Returned not the daughter

Though sad, yet relieved

To find hope in the eves

He fed the little bird some grain

And it was bad he believed

To build high walls of pride made of leaves

Just to hide and cover up his pain

So he resolved the next morning

Without further warning

To break the spell of longing

On the whimsical wood

He took his axe and his belongings

And set out through the thronging

To carve out a new pathway made for good

The going it was hard

Often times dangerous

At night he stood guard

For wolves or bears, quite treacherous

Underfoot sometimes rock or stone

From the sky sometimes thunder

Rain or blistering Sun

Down valley and up hill

He used his woodland skill

To make a path to freedom

From the whimsical wood kingdom

Past the hives of honeyed bee-dom

To the land of shrilling shrill

Once his path was made

He then became afraid

That, others might tread down his road

But determined not to be a toad

He would carry the load

And deal with the consequences

Be they light or shade

One day while he was chopping

Near a time he thought of stopping

A lovely maiden upon him strode

She looked like sunshine popping

Through the leaves as they are dropping

And his heart it gave a coo like in a dove’s abode

She smiled and sat down near him

He stopped when she began to sing

A song of love I have been told

And from that day his heartache mended

No more high walls of Pride to be offended

What’s more the doves came back

To their woodland hold