Just before sunrise, down at The Farm

Two days to find you

Two days of scraps of torn up paper

Let me remind you

Even more

If you count the ballads

If you count the songs

Just at the break of day

After a late night gig

You walked the blues enormous

Your shoes they danced the simple jig

Now one step, and then one other

With a glass of beer in hand

It’s what he does best, so says his mother

But fails to understand

It is what he does

How ever many days it takes

The rhythm makes for the uncertainty

The liquor soothes the band

Two ways to remind you

The lays and loves behind you

All with torn up scraps of paper

All who want to hold your hand

Even more if you count the hedgerows

Then the green and promised lands

And the smile you rascal

That smile which you wear so dandy grand

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Sunday School Outing

On the corner

Last exit of the roundabout

First turn, you’ll see the sign

And the coach for the roamers

Later, downhill

Passed the old mill and the factory

You’ll learn, first to take mind and will

As the roaches in soft air are still

In the square

By the railings, the clock tower

They discern, demur with conservation

As gamekeeper and poachers weigh and tare

Now, homebound

In the charabanc; a saucy song

Burn your bridges, kiss her on the lips

All around her hat, be ready to be wound girl

Next Sunday, at chapel

Your songbook

Her garland, did you ever

Now fancy that

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A similar but more indivisible blue

Do you

What’s the word I used, I forget

On the theme of to infuriate

But I guess on a more regular basis

Not you

Never mind that I forget

Even less need I discriminate

Yes I guess now and forever always

More than minor observations

On the road

We sing songs of detectives

And private investigations

My indivisible blue period

Someway short of levitation

Is over

My wild rover devoid

I sold nothing at all

Yet always

Always for the highest price

Always to the tightest bidder

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The dramatic remains

Cow & Calf

River on the flattened valley

Forgive the thermal spas

And the candelabra

At the wishing well

We wish them well

Truth to tell

It was on a school trip to the abbey

The sisters and I

And a hunk of Cistercian monks

Making wine

And catching fishes in the water

Blunt, to the point

Overtaken in the making

Our teacher

Your mother and father

Or your cousin

Or daughter, or son

Anyhow, no need to shout, or blame

We side stepped the stones

Stepping backwards through the water

About turn; hell, hellfire; year five, not ever

No more the same

No, not ever again

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This is not about you but for you

Every colour in the many

Multifarious flower arrangements

Every shade

Says something about you

Your gaiety; flaming red

Your tenderness; softest yellow

Your waistcoat; gregarious green

Your sky; of the deepest blue

Your white waves; splash in that

Sensual way only you bestowed

Every word in the many

Mixed up messages of goodbye

Every line

Lays down something about you

Your honesty; open and true

Your forgiveness; surest you

Your individual; rare remarks

Your light; in nighttime parks

Your tight curves; sway in that

Sexual way only you dared to show

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