Monday, April 7, 2014


You preach about peace
then for a sword call.
You speak of pure love.
It's beyond us all

for mankind is born
to love and to hate,
or at times do neither
and transcend these states?

Find Mrs Bobitt
cut-off the carrot
of the buck rabbit
whom her husband be.
Disliked his infidelity !

Goes 'I' before 'E'
except after 'C',
though, of course,
it's only generally
as we do find otherwise
wEIrdly !

Longer are the days,
very short nights have come.
Time for the golden
spring-and-summer sun.
The green of the leaves,
the butterflies and bees,
the preening peacock,
kingfisher and the swan.
Yellow of the water-lily
like the sun on the pond.

The cameras all snapped,
the Chinese took photographs
and the other tourists too.
I'd bought a pack of corn
on that bright sunny morn
to feed the birds greyish-blue.
"Ah my pigeons, my pigeons,
be my flighty angels do,
descend on me and feed
as is your hunger and need,
I'm no scarecrow for you."
And so the cameras clicked
as pigeons alighted, pecked
at the corn I held out there
in both my hands, for them to feed.
They flew at me with speed
where I stood in Trafalgar Square,
landed on my arms outstretched
and on my head; though they scratched
it was not that very-hard
to entertain visitors, as was I
beneath a grey-blue pigeoned sky,
ending-up, perhaps, a postcard?!

To my stature when a child
the gypsy-girl had height.
She saw that I was one of
the children of the night.
Wolves might bay, bats might fly,
owls might screech and alight
on creatures smaller than was I
a child of the night.
I looked into the darkness
where moon or stars shine bright
as jewels, as pearls, for my poems.
I sought to capture the light.
What about the light of day?
The fairy-gold glows out of sight
hidden by the sun's very rays,
as hides your own inner-light.

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