Sheaves

Sat in the snug

The rug before the open fire

After a walk along the pavements

Past the sculpture

Behind the church

Overheard Irish accents

Using militaristic terms

Talks of re-unions

Open doors

Did I hear the words of war

Anyhow

The kindly landlord

Called last orders

Once more out onto the street

Once more out in to the night

We tiptoed, we whispered

We thought perhaps to scare

To tell of subterfuge

And sabotage

And all the glory of no more

Before then our love

That night we visited

As children at the fair

Oh so then our love

That night revisited

In flames of passion bore

Later a Mexican beer

A slice of lime

The same old faces

As from before

The talk of re-union

Was of a day at the races

The trace of hearing few

We tiptoed and we whispered

And smiled for what we knew

Again, before then our love

The night we visited

As children blessed, so so free, so so rare

Oh then our love

The night we revisited in flames of passion dare

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East Coast or anywhere

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s pouring down with rain

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s mating time again

Last year we went to Cleethorpes

Ingoldmells and Mablethorpe too

What a day

Or was it an afternoon

Out past York

At Flamingo park zoo

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s pouring down with rain

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s mating time again

Well our lad

He met some lass

And his sister

Well she found Ramoon

But he was too young

It was altogether way too soon

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s pouring down with rain

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s mating time again

We’re all in tears

Room for fear

Of repetitious news

She’s glad

But we’re sad

That god damn silvery moon

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s pouring down with rain

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s mating time again

Married in the autumn

Parents by the spring

Memories of hold me close

And kiss me quick

Another day in Mablethorpe

Of which today we sing

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s pouring down with rain

We’re on our way

It is a summer’s day

And it’s dating time again

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The ballad of coming good

Jack, for that was his name

Jack rearranged his life

He was not a poet, nor a singer

Or a storyteller

No, writing words 

Was not his road to fame

Nor was he a happy Jack

Or nimble or quick

Or that famous stone rolling

He was no moss gathering

Jumping jack flash

With cracked open champagne

Rolling down the lane

His moulded words

Never turned the same

He unfolded herds

Of herringbone

To sail alone

For lonesome was his game

One day he met a miner

Many years ago

He wrote

That he met a sailor

On a Eastern European boat

One day, he said he’d never forget

In the mills of steel

He feels for the cotton workers

With the silent bobbin reels

Jack, for that was his name

Jack rearranged his life

He was not a poet

Nor a singer

Or a storyteller

No, writing words 

Was not his road to fame

Nor was he a dapper Jack

Or the ripper by another name

Or that slipper Jack; from the yard

Who caught the robbers of the train

He called the agent, the publisher

He called the girl from Maine

He sold the rights on dark deep nights

But never wrote again

One day he met a tailor

A cutter of the cloth for all of those who reign

Another day he met the blacksmith

And the cobbler who shod the shoes to remain

One day, he said he’d never forget

The echoes of the wheels which he feels

For the farm workers, the country folk

Who sing of empty harvest fields

Jack, for that is his name

And Jack has rearranged his life

He is now a poet, he is a singer

And a storyteller too

Yes, writing words

Are now his road to fame

Believe you me, it is true

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On the corner, across from the statue

Soft, golden, free

And only one day older

Than yesterday

A still night, quiet and steady

Under halogen and sodium light

To stop and caress

Fondle

The old worn gateposts

Shorn of historical reference

Would you, feel this moment

In your own existence

Would you

Resist the urge to race along

Then reflect why don’t you

On the quiet time

The free, and soft, and golden

Those still nights under the street lights

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