don't give up

Don't give up
For you are loved
Across the plain, the field

Don't give up
Lift on wings of a dove
Its just the way that you feel

These wheels keep on turning
The seasons keep returning
The world resolves
And our problems are solved
By day turning into dark
From the dark you must come out into light


Don't give up
Every breath must be a fight
Every day a struggle against death
Tell death to fuck off
Don't give up
Don't give up

All things pass
The summer wine
In the glass
Soon must be supped
But cast your net
Feel the sea sway
Hold tight the mast
In the storm
The new day will bring
Peace of mind

Love Spade sonnet number 5

 Shall I compare thee to a garden hoe

Thou art more buxom and less straight

And were I to call a spade a spade

A spade by any other name would cut as deep

As the wound your lover's blade has inflicted on mine breast

Shall I compare thee instead to a cold north wind

Which blows down my allotment rows

Freezing all my peas, tearing my cabbage leaves

But no, thine own wind is more poisonous by far

And were it not able to let sleeping dogs lie

I should compare you to a roamin' butterfly

Who wanders aimless through the summer fields

Makes acquaintance with dogrose, or dandilion

But her self has teeth enough when she's a pup

To cut as deep, into my brassica leaf or butter cup

Or as a caterpillar grub to hang high above in Beech

Or as pure as a silken glove as a Chrysilis who speaks

Of stolen love, and innocence though monsterous actions dreams

Well after all, lets call a spade a spade, you do no more harm

lest you keep your forked tongue behind your rake's teeth

For when winter's storm comes to blow dead leaves down my street

I hold you by the trunk and ask those same fastidious protuberances

Be used to clean the mould from between the toes of my frozen feet

Family of seasons

 Father of the winter

Mother of the summer

Call me to your homeward stack

Like a bee I fly to the hive

Like a gull on the wing

I glide

Cold climes, harsh times

The season's flak

Sway in the bristling pines

I look for my father in the winter

But my mother in the summer time

The way the seasons change

The bee on the clover

The white cliffs of dover

Oh, how the seasons change

 

The feathers in the fields

float as I feel,

The heathers on the hills

Hail out their shrill rills,

 

The spiders webbed catch,

The rain drops and thatch,

Their eggs which hatch,

Their plan

And this is the way, though it may seem strange,

Yes, this is the way the seasons do change,

 

The buttercups and the daisies lie round all quite lazy

They flop, and they fillet and fidget Miss Maisy,

Who walks in the fields and feels the chills,

Of Springtime and Summer draw near

The Winter so far off, yet spinning its jar of

Strawberry jam and rhubarb conserve

 

The dance glades are glancing, the grass blades are dancing,

The dragon flies lancing, the ladybirds lay,

The roses are chancing, as France is romancing,

The meadow so sweet in the smell of your clothes

And Summer is trancing, entrancing and glancing,

The snakes so slicing, sliding and gliding away,

The sunbathers are bathing, in new sun they're savouring,

And ages are wavering through the waves of the day,

And oh, it seems strange to you, 

But this is the way the seasons change they do,

 

And the fathers are fathering, and feathering, tarring and tethering,

And lathering and lithering and clowning and clawing

And the silage has been mown, and the mowers have been sewn,

And the beans are sprouting, and the seeds are grown,

The furrows are furrowing, deep in the burrowing,

the rabbits are tunnelling under the crows,

Who are squawking and talking in parliaments walking,

and gawking at all of those they know

 

And we are so baffled by spring's nature raffles

And summers they trifled and truffled in troves

And everything's glancing, the new season's dancing,

The midsummer's tower has toppled in throes,

Down it shall fall again to Autumn's dark wall again,

But too soon to those shadows and shades that they've known,

In every springtime a hint of the winter,

In every winter day a new summer grows

And it may seem strange, but that is the way the seasons change,

 

The grasses are flopping, and the thorn bushes popping,

The grasshoppers hop-hopping in the long summer shows,

And the clover is bursting and the bees they are thirsting,

For a flower supper and nectar cuppa in rainbows

And it may seem strange, but this is the way,

The seasons do change.