To float on a cloud
As angels sing loud
Hymns
about the redemption of sins
Would, I think
Drive me to drink.
The devil would wink
And invite me to sink
To his abode below.
Should I choose to go
There would be good cheer.
bitter beer
and a warm fire, forever near
A girl well spoken.
The doors that could open
close
on this delicate rose.
The primrose path to hell is sweet
But the way back will defeat
Those who walk on dainty feet.
Don’t judge a book by it’s cover
Or you may discover
Something other
Than you bargained for.
Janus stands atop the door
while the raven does khaw.
Waking from a strange dream
I hear the fatal bellman toll.
‘Tis Macbeth’s owl
Signifying death.
A warm bed
On a dark October morn.
My fancy
And the cold note of an owl hunting.
As empty as a harlot’s kiss.
There is no bliss
In these aisles
Where smiles
Are lost
And the cost
Is known
By those who shop alone.
No tower fell
And the hangman’s bell
Failed to knell.
The passage of time
Obfuscates crime.
Was a line crossed
And morality tossed
asunder?
Did plunder
Take place?
Disgrace
Waits in the wings.
Things
Are not forgotten
And often
The deeds we sow
Flower in woe.
We come out of night.
Oh brief delight.
The song of the bird
A loving word
All are heard.
Nature’s scent
Our lives are spent
In joy and pain.
In the end ‘tis all the same.
From the dark womb
We come
For a time dally under the sun
Then to the tomb.
It is over all to soon.
This is a re-recording of my poem ‘Dolls’. The clarity of the second recording is, I believe, better than the earlier reading.
‘Dolls’ can be found in ‘The girl who wasn’t there and other poems’, available here for the UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/girl-wasnt-there-other-poems-ebook/dp/B0155KSKOC/ref=cm_cr_pr_bdcrb_top?ie=UTF8 and here http://www.amazon.com/girl-wasnt-there-other-poems-ebook/dp/B0155KSKOC/ref=cm_cr_pr_bdcrb_top?ie=UTF8 for the US.
The ice in my heart
causes tears to start.
Sometimes the lark doth sing
bringing thoughts of spring.
Flashes of light
In the darkeness of night.
The candle flickers
As Lucifer snickers.
The fire is piled high with coal
But can not unfreeze my soul.
She watches the mountain.
Granite spurts as a fountain
out of control
encompassing the whole.
Lava fills her garden.
The rock it will harden
once more.
Another eruption is in store.
The poet on the hill
Sits still
And ponders why
Man must die.
The weather is fine
nature or the divine
causes the sun to shine.
Every living thing
Will have it’s spring.
The newly opened flower
time will devour.
The blossom’s heady scent,
is quickly spent.
Men soon disperse
We are lent this earth.
All must enter the dark wood
The bad along with the good.
The poet continues to ponder
While yonder
The light begins to fade.
Man’s destiny is the grave.
