The lines

The lines were drawn but crossed
And I paid to my great cost
For in the face of a ghost
I wanted to hang on to her who I lost

I made it personal when it should have
Been business
Made it a rehearsal when life is always
An essence
I made it a sugar coated pill to swallow
But I wasn't prepared for the sickness
To follow

I should have been sure that I could pass over
But I painted my door with a four leafed clover
And left it all up to chance
Oh but that I blame on the summer's
Aroma of romance

Heady with flowers' scent and honey
I fly busy as a bee spending my money
Not thinking on what has just been
But only on all the attractive things I've seen

But that was a day of the past
How come all these good things
Don't last?

Ironing boards

What's in an ironing board mama
Is it the heat of sun
When the clothes are rubbing?
Is it the run of textile on fabric
Or the clink clunk of iron
When you stand it?

What's in an ironing board mama?
Is it the love that you have for your son?
Is it the life that once went wrong
Or awry
Is it the steam that is needed
Because the cotton is dry
And the crease just won't come out
Is it trying to make perfect
Every last doubt
Until all the problems are ironed out
Smoothed over
No one screams and shouts
About jumpers and pullovers
And the shirts are ready to wear
And the trousers are pressed
And folded down the seams
And we all are impressed
With the size of our dreams
When we still had them

That's what seems
To be in an ironing board mama
That and a pea under a hundred
Mattresses of a princess
Who can't get to sleep

Suddenly the sunrise

Suddenly the sun rose
From behind the trees
Thistles and wild roses grow
In the whistling breeze
Finally in the evening
The nightingale sings her song
Of all the mornings of tomorrow
That are yet to come
And hope it springs eternal
In the valley of the sun
Where the empire rises
When the emperor wears his new clothes

I leave it all up to you

I shall leave it up to you
The river was deep, but we pushed on through
The valley did rise,
But like a setting sun
I know that you'll be getting it done
I'm gonna trust you to do
What you say you will do
I'll leave it all up to you

I leave it in your hands now
There's nothing left for me to do
You can take the reins from here
You can steer the ship clear
I'm gonna let you paddle your own canoe
From here on out
I leave it up to you

I could've told you how to live
I could've pointed a gun
But you see I wanted to give
You every chance that's under the sun
And if you really knew
Just everything
I've thought or done
Then you'd know its true
I'll leave it all up to you

All the woodland deer

Through the alleyways of despair
The troubled town of crimson wares
The blood curtains speak of passionate crimes
All the dead beings are out walking tonight

Following on from the thread of the past
Humans in the looking glass
Take on a different hue
Turning from their Rusty Rouge
To an indigo shade of blue

Mauve is the shadowy sky
Ladles of burgundy
As God's wine cellar spilled
Cross bow heart
Takes aim
At the creature in the forest
Going down, down, down
In flames

The size the weight
The body blow
The bolt from the blue
Which touches its brow
Like a charismatic healer
Bring her low
Falling in flame
Falling down in flames

Chasing off the chasms of scheme
Laying low in the undergrowth
The final aching biting scream
And fighting for her last breath
Turning in the psychedelic dream
Of a graveyard of birth and death

Poem for Marguerite

All the places I travel to
Time is free at no cost
Ashton - from ashes to ashes
To the poet's wood (Audenshaw)
Where Auden talked with Bernard Shaw
Even the weavers wove their web
In Droylsden where waters ebb
Then flow into the miller's dough
of Milnrow
Thrashing at the fresh hay of Newhey
A deer stalker passed by the way of Derker
And a freeman took his land in Freehold
Who knows why you'd risk your success in Failsworth?
Newton Heath and Moston are the best towns to get lost in
In Monsall, they sell moon rock on a Sunday morning
In Crumpsall they can buy it back again out of season

Of course you can get your arrows fletched
And your bowstring stretched
in Bowker vale
And some pom-pom girls will make you bouquets
In Pomona
If you feel the need to rest a while
Drop anchor in Anchorage
Its a strong foothold for a gentleman suitor
On his way to Ladywell
Where the finest dames are known by name
To wash their hair
And chambermaids collect their buckets of water

Be careful of the Vikings who invaded long ago
We paid their levees like their toll
When we travelled on the Dane Road
And the wives of Stretford are hoiking up their britches
As they cross the waters
Tip-toeing to Timperley

The summer birds are nesting in the eves of Martinscroft
Because the green leaves grow in the withies of Wythenshaw

And everybody knows a rolling stone
Gathers no moss
It only feels its loss
When it stops
In the shade of shadow moss

Fires

Fires in the heart
Fires burning by the road of despair
Fires on the hill
Blowing through the bracken of care
Fires on the holy ground
Where sacred rivers flow
Fires in Heaven's sound
As straight as the crow

I've got a burning to do tonight
I've got a burning work
Burning through the pages
Of a script I wrote
About the love of two people
In the towns of the red night

Fires where the dead are riding
On a flickering flame
Fires where farmers are crying
Out her name
Fires like a circus of animals gathered round
Wild and uncertain of each new soul sound

See the dancing animation upon the church wall
Candles of a salvation wax works of a fall
Every icon melting in the powerful sun
Liquid mass of a Helium gas
When I miss someone

All the balloons are blowing
Their jets are rising high
Into a sky that's a glowing
With Chinese lanterns flying by

Even the dragon is growing redder
With each puff of air
Breathing the fire of a holy desire
As flowing lock of golden hair

Some business men are burning
Down the street of a city tonight
Writing on the wall
The worth of all by torch light
And in the darkness the horses call
Across the chasm of their oblivion
Where their riders fall
Down to the fiery pit of derision