The Many That Bind

See every body; all delusion
Held in a hook; bait for the mind
That sees itself; superior but knowing
And judging itself; inadequate

Recoiling from itself; its own fledgling fear
For it comes upon us; as sudden as a storm
Out we go assured; of safety of arriving
To our desired destination; but many is the potential

Of danger; loss of limb
Money, loved ones, way; or ultimately life
But many are the traps; deferred death that leads to servitude
Imprisonment, indebted indentured slavery
Parsimonious life; in a darkened room
Bitterness; spiritual infirmity

It is not the obvious perils; of the road that bind us
But the unseen perils; a marriage gone cold
A child's wayward behaviour; long term deformity
The fear of not bringing home enough; to feed one's own kin
The obligations that bind; are many

Love

Powerful, sleighting the rainbow-red
Of your cheeks;
How can I resist your love.

The thought before you came
Has gone as all thoughts have,
Like icicles, disappeared,
When snow by spring winds melt

In infinity, there are no clear words
To label or pin down this emotion
In infinity I am

Love's mantel strips the material away
To slowly reveal stars that a track creates
To help us find our way

The lovers stare moves
The lovers to tears that
See souls bared and,
Thus mirrored, I am asking you
To trust what I share with you

Chasing The Stag

Already coming up
That what is hidden
Rise out of the snowy ground
Patience, anticipation of summer
Too soon, 'll only get you scorched

Seven tines of the antlers
Are the seven months
That'll bring you round to June
Either way you go

But winter's keening is letting go
If not, it knows within it's bone
'This will not last'.

Harrying, the hounds of winter
Chase the stag to summer dales
Wait, be patient.
Rise out of the ground, too soon
'll only get you scorched

Hymn

Exaltation of singing
Hearts swelled with joy
Belief is bells ringing 
His song

Exaltation is prayer
Knelt down before God
His grace shining down
On the head that is bowed

Exaltation to the Lord
Exaltation he is here
Exaltation say out loud
And rejoice

He comes to heal the earth
His Mercy is all about
Where there is trouble
Where there is strife
Praise his grace

Singing, Hossana on high
In the deepest ravines
You will find him
And the heart that is broken
You will find the light
To mend and heal the pain
You will find the light
Within the darkest of night

Exaltation the flame
Eternal flame of God
Benefactor, father, mother, child
Be with me in everlasting light
Be with me in everlasting light

Oh Hossana on high
In the deepest ravines
You will find the light
To mend and heal the pain
You will find the light
Within the darkest night

Be with me
Hossana on high
Be with me
Hossana on high

Grief Song

I cannot help you baby
Here in my arms I dream you lie
But when I open my arms,
Though the smell of you lingers,
You're not there.

Missing you every day
Hurt is my constant companion
The pain of this grief
Does not go away
Keeping you darling here
Keeping you darling here

Rocks may erode to sand
Rivers, once flowing wildly
May cease their course
But darling your soul
Will forever remain
By my side

Mountains may turn to sand
And rivers, once flowing wildly
May, one day, change their course
But darling your soul
Will always be
By my side

The Blacksmith

Glazing bright light before you
Stunning starfall surround
The blacksmith, hammer, forge and anvil
The stella-castle round.

'Where has he gone?''
You indicate, whirling your finger
In an ever-increasing circle
White beard pointed to the sky.

At the entrance, heaven-portal
We laid him to rest.
"It is our intention to erect a stone
In his honor; his contribution,
In this field, is unmatched.
Pick the strongest men!"

And all the love
And all the sadness
And all the fondest memories
We poured upon the stone.

And in its setting
As symmetrically planned
As a spiral sea-shell
We placed him in the circle
Beside the cook, facing the king
And his Queen Quinevere
and his friend and guardian Bedivere
Across from the cloth-maker
Of tents and tunics.

In his workshop,
A volcano of fire and heat,
Tirelessly, he forges weapons
Swords for great battles
Lying in great piles. "Can you see them?"

Place your hand upon the stone
Evoke intention and buried bone
In the mind's eye to reappear
For all ages.

"And each one, from the first to the last
Erected in ascending time
Towards the stars
Shall step out of his stone
Sword in hand
To tell a local hero's tale!"

Based on Lowry's The Cripples

They walked on sticks
The crowd of men
The thickness of broom handles
With dirty great boots on the end

With rolled up trousers
Turned up at the ends
Outside the factory
A sea of wooden shins

On the broad flagstone street
Each and everyone had at one time, chose
To sell their legs for meat
When the factory, suddenly closed

Same for every man and boy
Walking to the cricket
Like a scarecrow waist up
Waist down, the wicket

The factory, that's what they worshipped then
Had out-grown itself exponentially...
Employing all; women, girls, boys and men
It swallowed every family

They worshipped it with industry
And sold their legs for meat
Now the men walk by the dismantled beast
With wooden legs and wooden feet.

That Within Itself Standing

Eight-cornered elongated;
Not the square
Five-pointed, base
Not the pentacle
But you have a shape that
Keeps changing
Outward appears undefined

Smooth-rounded orb;
Not the boulder
Circle of gold;
Not the cauldron

It is the journey;
Not the Grail
It's the inspiration;
Not the liquid inside

Who is that man on the hill
Rattling rattles
What makes the noise in the trees
His dismembered limbs sing

Oh let the dismantler
In maddness descend
Into the mountain
'Away from the party'
Drumming and dancing
Railling and thrashing.

There is no stain on his person
When, returning from Hel we receive
And there is no shame in accepting
What he in his madness reveals

There on the high hill of stones
Stones in a circle, but mark!
One that always stands older and ancient and unhewn
One that stands away and apart

Never Been One For Remembering

Never been one for remembering
Never one for dwelling on the past
But siding with the gift of recalling
My mind towards the distance I cast

Sorry for the hurt I caused you
Troubles came in twos and threes
And the pain, once again
As I recall, was coming not from you but from me

Don't worry, I'm sure you have moved on
It is only in the evening hours I sit and dwell
Alone and aged now, on what I could have done; which turns to take to make things turn out well

After the fall of mighty structures
Will it be said, it looked this way or that
Or does time reduce all to ashes
Knocking all regrets, like great columns flat

But still I sit and think how I might have kept you
A harsh word paused or an action stayed
How I would have you in my arms
Had the cards been differently dealt, and better played

Martha

Stick bench pit plat
There where Martha sat
Thick back thin straight
Time stretched long wait

Drawn out dry close
Dry drawn out days
Minutes long, hours, weeks
Mrs Braithwaite waits

Hard-backed old bird
Volumn down nothing heard
Leg aches too small
Too tight not a word

Sun thin, light pale
Days cold light frail
Body waits eyes narrow
Sock rumpled brow furrowed

Plaque cut strip steel
Fit, screwed, on rib-back
Tiny space, pigeon shit
Where Martha straight-backed would straightly sit.

Anticipation of A Life

Upstart, upsetting the status
Quotients delivered level on the portside
Keys lost in the storm
When waiting became too anxious
Lee-ward the wind blows

It is never a clever thing
To suppose what's coming
Next please!
But a little bit of anticipation goes
Like a hammer on a tin roof

Besides what we think
It doesn't matter it's all pig's
Ears of corn swaying in the after-
Noon drinks on the verandah
Tell you what, little Jonny
Rose came out of the river
"Where's his toy gun"

"And Margery just look at the mud in her hair-Raising how they play on the
Edge, they will drive me over the edge".
Their mother says while father drinks
Coolaid in his slippers
"Quite", he mutters

"There's no stopping him now",
Say the parents of the writer not yet fully grown
"Don't anticipate everything
Give yourself time to grow up and
Play".

Putin

So, he has missiles to sear the sky
To reach from pole to pole;
The delicate game of strategy is over.
From mound to fortress, great walls to island defenses
To friendly allies;
All pieces of the chess board redundant
As a petulent defiant child
Throws the board in the air
And declares himself the winner!

So, you have subs to boil the sea
Missiles you call, 'Satan'
Undebatable you surround our coasts
Like pirahnas undetectable.
And what a Grand Master
The world is yours;
Your destructive reach is now global.
Did you really set out,
As your childhood goal,
To forefill the ancient prophecies
Of Muspel and Ragnarok.

The Aleph (Singularity). For Stephen Hawking

Life-long ambition
Tall tower hopes
From room to room
You pace with your plans
The whole world inside you

Contained within a prison
Fanfares are for heroes
You create in your mind
But just like the Lady
Enclosed in the castle
'the mirror cracked from side to side'
Flashing golden in your mind.

Out of your window
You cannot see the world
But in yearning, dream fantastic
Dreams of how it should be

Fancy is clear
With no rough hewn edges
But life, alas is cruel and real
Holding nothing smooth

Contours from the draughtboard
Of your isolation
Pacing the room
And crowding the walls;
A perfect world you create

One of Our Own

The Russians are exempt from blame now
The trouble's from Blighty, and from Blighty alone
We saw those bragging pirates on TV
But we're blaming Facebook
Cos they're one of our own

Cambridge Analytica, what bounders, what cads!
We must deflect with old-school loyalty away from these lovable rogues
Even though, like that Mark Thatcher, they're clearly mercenaries
But it's okay cos they're one of our own

Pirates in slaves or dealers in arms and in oil
Some will sell their own grannies
For profit, land, influence or gold
And some goes to the Tories, some into the Treasury coffers
But that's okay cos it's one of our own

Britain has lost it's moral compass
If it ever had one in the past
It put a patriotic spin on brutalised bone
But more brutal, the truth between post-truth and bare lies
But that's okay cos it's one of our own
That's okay cos it's one of our own.

The British Police

The British Police
Fleece
The lives of young black men

National pride hides
In lies
The brutality of so-called white supremacy

Jacked up in uniform
Snide, violent and full of scorn
They hunt the black man down

Disguised in plain-sight hunting-season
What is the ryhme and reason
For these uniformed gangs at all

With bludgeon, cuffs and tazers
They stop and search, stoking sparks to blazes
To justify through body cam
Arrest, and charge and imprisonment and death

These inheritors of slave-island militia
The so-called law-upholders (but really violent law-forsakers)
Form a Snide-Fellowship and Brotherhood-Apalling.

And if you should peel back the skin
You'll see the pernicious psychopath that lurks within
That can be called upon to weaponized
All Britannia's kin