| At death's own wake | The dead will dance |
| In dying light | She shall in trance |
| Bewitch those near | All round about |
| The sky shall rend | With scream and shout |
| The bloody rain | Now flowing true |
| Exudes from clouds | When cleft in two |
| The rift is open | Dawn is red |
| The world is drowned | And all is dead |
5 o'clock and all is well,
Loud and clear rings the Mission bell,
Summoning people in to prayer,
The Beast now stirs in its darkened lair.
6 o'clock and it's mostly good,
The commoners deign to dine on food,
As they sit to eat and all tuck in,
The Beast thinks thoughts concerning sin.
7 o'clock and it seems okay,
The sun lets out its final ray,
The folks all gather in lighted halls,
The Beast crawls out as darkness falls.
8 o'clock and a tinge of fear,
Perhaps they feel a presence near,
They lock the windows and bar the doors,
The Beast digs deep and breaks through the floors.
9 o'clock and the children wail,
Their mothers cower in corners and quail,
When the husbands join forces and try an attack,
The Beast roars loud and soon fights back.
10 o'clock and the feelings are bad,
The mayor collapses and turns quite mad,
The parishioners make a last stand at the church,
The Beast rounds towards them with an ungainly lurch.
11 o'clock and the people all scream,
Some of them hope that it's all a bad dream,
They shut all the doors and hide in the crypt,
The Beast barges in and leaves bodies ripped.
12 o'clock and Hell breaks loose,
The reverend swings from a homemade noose,
When there's no more sound and all have died,
The Beast slinks back quite satisfied.
My life is a poetry of deeds.
My deeds are the life of my poetry.
My poetry is the deed of my life.
I live at the nadir of life,
Where hope resides within a knife.
Existence is a tale of sorrow,
A wish to terminate tomorrow.
I live for challenge, honour, glory,
The chance to live another story.
Everything could rot to tatters,
Chivalry is all that matters.
I live for life, for joy and passion,
Battling at the fore of fashion.
Fads may come and fads may go,
But always I am in the know.
I have eyes that I may see you,
I have ears that I may hear,
I've a nose that I may smell things,
And a tongue for drinking beer.
Trust in villainy
Trust in greed
Trust in power
Trust in need
Need is power
Power is greed
Greed is villainy
Trust indeed
To C— who is the apple of my eye,
Temptation manifest in mortal form,
Whose beauty begs of me to draw a sigh,
And whose fair countenance keeps my heart warm.
If Heaven's gates would open for me wide,
I know within my mind there is no doubt:
I would not choose to got there now inside
Were I within and you were left without.
For though the love of God is always true,
My love is not for God but all for you.
If love were but a leaf upon a tree
I'd offer you the forest of my heart,
And if you were to pledge your love to me
I know that we would never be apart.
For though the Autumn causes leaves to fall
And soon the barren branches start to show,
And though the chill of Winter touches all,
You are the Spring that makes my feelings grow.
And what could make this more than paradise?
A Summer spent forever in your eyes.
[Published in ISBN-0-7951-5062-8]
I am a stranger to the arts of love
And falteringly I put pen to page.
I have, I must confess to God above,
Imagined your affections for an age.
And what could make this innocent young child
Embark upon this journey to a man?
'Twas yesterday you looked at me and smiled
And touched me with the warmth of your right hand.
And if one smile, one touch, drives me to this,
Imagine my reaction to a kiss.
Another year has passed you by at last,
But don't let time's illusion fool you so.
Although it seems the months go by so fast,
Whole days can feel interminably slow.
The secret of this paradox is clear:
We just remember what is good or bad,
So leave behind your sadness and your fear
And hold close everything that makes you glad.
Now seize the moment, let your spirits raise,
And celebrate the happiest of days!
What strange compulsion draws my eyes to yours
And forces me to think of you all day?
Perhaps a fey enchantment is the cause,
Or spells of binding hold me in your sway.
But what if it's an illness that has struck,
For why else would my heart beat faster so?
Whatever power it is, I fear I'm stuck;
But when I think of you all fears go.
And then I hear the voice of truth exclaim:
"There's nothing else but love for you to blame."