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

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

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

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

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!

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

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