Silence. Man builds a motorway. Silence. I like it. Man builds a power station. Fresh air. I like it. Man dumps waste. Cleanliness. I like it. Man kills animals. Kindness. I like it. Man is greedy. Money. I hate it. The Eve Of St. Agnes: Angela. I St. Agnes` Eve - no more bitter was a night! The cold sun did gently dip into the river'`s icy depths, And the sheep in congregation - a shivering pack. Frost clung to every timid twig and branch alike, Whilst from her dwelling and observer cast Her ageing eye over the frozen land below. There trod a man, she saw, a slow but determined tread Barefoot t`'ward the graveyard, dead lamp his companion only. He passed barely able, her heart warmed in relation. II In a moment Angela`'s glances were all disturbed By sounds of sweet music and merriment below. The Beadsman yonder trudged on but did pause For a time, to lift his weary head at the sound. Then on and away he shuffled ,numb, to the joys just begun. Angela averted her gaze and descended with cautious limp To the festivities around; her soul was still willing For joys of life remaining still, Yet her Beadsman body prevented such appreciation full. III The hills were alight, awash with lime and fire As golden music and colour shone out with pride. Bodies danced with glee around bright orange glows. Gone was the chill- banished to the bed of the rivers Now streaming with warmth and silver sparkle . (CONTINUED . . .) (CONTINUED . . .) Every corner of the land awakened to joy And a smile passed old Angela'`s creased lips As she moved by great nourishment, a kaleidoscope Of colours, to rest her aching body outside awhile. IV Ah - but great fortune she did! For hence arrived but the eager youth, Great enemy by blood to the dwellers of here. At great panic the nurse arose to her feet, `Get hence! Get hence young Porphyro, go now! `Thy great hater Hildebrand is nearby. `With him Lord Maurice - alas me, get hence! `Thou timing is ill for my young Madeline sleeps `To the ritual of St. Agnes` Eve - oh be gone!` V Passion in his fiery heart was only re-kindled As Porphyro knew well of the tale of St. Agnes; For if Madeline fasted, laid silent and supine Casting her beautiful eyes just heaven bound, Then then the old dames did say the girl Would dream a blissful vision that night- Her future lover would be presented unto her. As Madeline, hopeful, prepared for skin angel white, Porphyro, hopeful, pressed on poor Angela'`s goodness. (CONTINUED . . . ) (CONTINUED. . . ) VI Once concealing him, Angela queried his thoughts, Witness to his request to be placed within Madeline`s' room. '`Go, Go!`' she doth urge at his plan so questionable. Yet soon, age gives in to youth`'s eagerness: `It shall be as thou wishest, come.` Angela lead him with such woe But with promise to return with dainties To nourish young Porphyro so, she embarked Walking weakly, with sense of danger in her step. VII She did return as hastily be her ailments permit With security and succulents for he. Great foods a many she spread before him Though she knew she was his key. Yet still she warned of dangers great And grew intense as fire`s heat drowned her brow. Scarlet-cheeked Porphyro danced like a flame As Angela hurried quickly away. Burning heart of Porphyro settled silently to wait. VIII Not once did Angela gather sweet rest All eve and morn she paced so restless: `Oh the Beadsman! Oh Hildebrand! `Oh what of the lovers and her part? (CONTINUED . . . )` (CONTINUED . . . ) The place was so still and dark now But how her mind raced with such worry. Chilled moon and iced stars gazed down upon Her anxious eyes - dark and sullen, Shaded from silver rays of hope above. IX Dragon of the horizon soon awoke Breathing his fires of crimson and amber. As morn drew on, Angela did tense so For nearby came a sound of shuffling Akin to the night rodent's scuffle And two voices of youth drifted whispering In the air, by the old crone as she sat Unmoved, so silent: for she sought not now To intercept their flight for life anew. X She watched with salty tear to cheek As young Madeline and Porphyro Made complete their flee from this place; This place of age, this home of hate. Free as the wind the lovers went And sleepy clouds wept too from the dim Light above. Ah - growing was the light! Angela saw, for a new life was to begin Whilst she settled her ageing body for soothing rest. (CONTINUED . . . ) (CONTINUED . . . ) XI Not so many moons after Hildebrand's storm Did pass, came word from the hills Of an old man's death; a Beadsman he was, Burnt out lamp strewed beside. Buried o'er the valley, not far away Lay a worn old soul, defeated in health, Struggles told in her very face. Upon Angela's passing, St. Agnes' Eve gave way To this , a more bitter night. Based on and derived from John Keats': 'The Eve Of St. Agnes'- January 1819. It's Not Fair! Wednesday morning Very very boring, I'm lying in bed With a pounding head. Wish I was elsewhere, It's not fair! Wednesday dinner time And I start to whine. I'm lying in bed with a painful head. This I cannot bear! It's not fair! Wednesday afternoon School's out soon. I'm lying in bed With an awful head I'm missing Art there... Wait...this IS fair! All in Black and White. When the sun`'s fiery passion and flames are dimmed, When the scarlet-orange horizon'`s shades are ranged, When the colours of heat are to sleep, they'`re changed To the dense eternal depth Of the jet-black sky And its eyes with silver sparkle Watching down from on high. Dwelling there within the vast wide dome Sits the calm torch of the night. Its soothing rays on the river top Give the waves their milky light. Gently lapping at the frosted bank, Nature in harmonic talk Beneath a sky of beautiful contrast: The watching coal and chalk. Peaceful breeze goes slowly by, A caressing cool night air. Whilst all around two simple tones Conduct each nocturnal affair. Hills so fresh, earth sprinkled with dew, All`'s alight to the open-mind`'s eye, Bathed in angelic light from above... From the deep, dark, jet-black sky. Written and composed in The Lake District, Lakeland Village, Newby Bridge, overlooking River Leven. WordsWorthLess. Crime. Doesn't have to rhyme. Fighting. Hurts to be writing. It's war. Need not be a metaphor. Kill. Poison from the quill. Needy nation. Needless alliteration. Pain. Word so inhumane. Mirror Poetry. Reflecting life; Despair: Mirror needs repair. Tig the Thrush. Hello there - I'm Tig the Trush! I'm taking my flying test. I've been practising alot, And I'm going to try my best. I'm not very confident It's not easy for a thrush. But here comes my instructor, He's about to speak, hush! "Hello tiddler, I'm your instructor, And I'm going to help you to fly. When I've finished with you, little one, You'll be able to fly so high!" "Thanks for the confidence boost mister, But I'm afraid I'm not all that good. I'll try my very hardest, And I'd pass if I could!" "Don't worry my dear Tiggy! You'll pass with no problem at all! (oh and don't be scared - I'll catch you if you fall). So up I go - up, up, up! Then all of a sudden it's down! I land with a thud on the instructors head Who says you silly clown! ( CONTINUED OVER PAGE . . . ) ( CONTINUED . . . ) "Don't fret, don't worry, don't have a fit My fine feathered friend. All you need is confidence, Not to go round the bend!" So on went the test, we did loads of stuff Flying high and low. Before you could say 'Smackaroony!', My confidence began to grow! Then to my dismay the test ended My how time did rush. "So how did I do? Did I do well?" "Wait and see my freckled thrush!" After a week, the instructor came He came right to my nest. "My furry friend, I have some news- You've passed your flying test!" Thinking. This Christmas When the air is full of joys, When all the girls and boys, Open their new toys. When you think of all things good, When you eat your Christmas pud. When pulling crackers, you should Spare a thought. That's all. 30 seconds, 40 seconds As much as you can spare Think of the children out there Who want a Christmas present of care. Spare a thought. That's all. The youngsters with hunger so great, Nothing on their Christmas plate. A ghost of Christmas future Isn't written in their fate. Spare a thought. That's all. Go ahead, enjoy the day Love each other, smile and say 'Merry Christmas!' But along the way, Spare a thought. Just spare a thought. That's all. In Prison. In prison With the whole world outside. In prison My thoughts spread far and wide. Thoughts of prison A boredom in itself. Boring prison No sound, no friends, no wealth. Suicidal prison I'll slowly twist the knife. In prison No hopes, no dreams, no life... STILL STREET. Still, motionless street, Light, wispy clouds In an azure blue blanket of sky. Sound is only the buzz of a bee, Nestling in a row of multi-coloured, assorted bright flowers. A car engine, faintly somewhere in the distance, And a child's happy shout Are the only things breaking the silence. Another sound; this time a train rattles the tracks Somewhere... 'Squawk' is the call of a seagull which flies overhead. An aeroplane, out of sight as if invisible, Cruises through bright, sunlit clouds above me. Wandering dog, Moving silently across brown worn grass... Worn only by time. Air cool, with only a slight fresh breeze. Lovely silence, almost unbroken, is a pleasant part of the world Which man CAN'T destroy. Therefore it will go on forever... Lands End. Why can`t people see The Earth`s treated wrongly? It`s only care and love Is from the lord God above. Man doesn`t seem to realise That everything eventually dies. Each and every single nation Disregards God's fine creation. Every soul upon this Earth Takes for granted the miracle of birth. What must The Creator think of mankind? Towards loving his world, we are all blind. For the animals, man should care, Accept the kingdom is to share. They are not food for you and I, They do not live so they can die. Why are creatures just dismissed As victims to the scientists? Man shouldn`t resolve to cutting their throats, Just so some humans can have nice coats. Killing God`s work must be a disease, Now it's spread to cutting down trees. Aren`t the 'clever' humans at all aware, That we need trees to breathe our air? Maybe man is not clever at all. Only intellectual in making trees fall. And humans are just satisfied That more of God`s fine trees have died. And when we have finished with His trees, We go on to polluting His once clean seas. Soon there will be no water, for us to drink. But the problem is, we don't stop to think. For the air, diaster loomes, That`s polluted by car fumes. Humans just don't stop to reflect That it`s us who`ve caused the Greenhouse Effect. It certainly isn`t humans roles To give the Ozone Layer its holes. Fairly soon, there will be no time to cry, When the Earth and its `owners` are poised to die. Innocent people are dying at war, Because man is greedy and just wants more. Until we all learn to compromise The amount of fighting will simply rise. The human race should stick together like glue. Not fight each other, and destroy the earth too. God's army will kill, 'cause they think it's funny, But all of man`s greed comes down to money. Without it, people have little to eat, And many are forced to live on the street. Helpless children without food are dying, Because the world just isn`t trying. Living on dirty streets is bitter, Ridiculously coated with mountains of litter. Humans are treating the earth like a toy; To play with for a while, then finally destroy. What right has man killing the work of the Lord? A costly mistake, we could ill afford. Everyone thinks that they are exempt, From saving the world, making an attempt. Life is not handed to you on a plate, As people will realise but much too late. Man has shown the Earth no love or respect, And before too long now will begin to detect That we have commited a treacherous deed, An unforgivable sin is that of our greed. Good guardians of God`s earth, we`ve failed to be, It`s too late for a resurection now...surely... In The Car. We are going on a holiday Everyone piles in. The car starts up And the arguments begin. We are going on a holiday Everyone`'s getting away. The kids are bored, but Mum and Dad have plenty to say. We are trying to go on holiday Everyone`'s shuffling about. The kids are now amused, So is Mum with the map book out! We are attempting to go on holiday Everyone`'s counting the cost. The kids are not amused When they hear Dad say - "We`'re lost!" A silence falls over the car The only sound being the radio. The kids are now praying, When Mum says "Oh no!" It looks like there`'ll be no holiday Rowing resumes to a familiar sound. The kids say "Here we go again!" As Dad turns the car around. We'`ve abandoned another holiday It is an awful shame. The kids await the next gruesome chapter, Called who`'s going to get the blame? 1993. The Shadow. There is this dark black shadow, which goes everywhere I go, But why it keeps on following me, I do not know. If I run inside, it`s a shame, For the shadow is bound to do the same. Each time I go to the shop for my mum, This silly old shadow will always come. Everywhere I would go, I knew the shadow would follow. But the thing I discovered quite soon Is that the shadow is darkest at noon. So if the shadow was dark at midday, Perhaps the opposite at midnight, it would go away! My plan worked (of course!) very well, And now there`s not much left to tell, Except if your shadow goes wherever you go, And why it keeps on following you, you do not know. Then just ignore it during the day, And at night, it will go away! I Believe. I believe in a future free of violence, I believe in a world without war. I believe in a planet of peace, With countries conflicting no more. I see a tomorrow minus hatred, I see a tomorrow without greed. I see a future for our children, Children no longer in need. I believe in my Utopia- But only in my mind, In contrast to the real fate For the future of Mankind. Fate is not future Unless we want it to be. There's still time to save our Earth A resurection, surely... 26th September 1994 Accepted for publication during the production of this book in Feb/March 96. To be published May 96.I Believe.