August 11, 2014

 

 

It seems that birds

throughout the land,

had been touched by

Percoughalees’s guiding hand.

 

Each one willing

and of their own volition,

had all bought into,

his secret mission.

 

His stay never long,

for with the rising sun,

he felt the need,

to then move on.

 

And all the birds

called out his name;

‘Oh Percoughalees’,

they did proclaim,

 

in echoing tweets

of contrasting notes.

It seems each one,

he had their vote.

 

They knew him well;

he’d travelled far.

Many lives he’d lived,

under many a star.

 

But always, at the

back of his mind,

was his one true love,

he’d left behind.

 

And though still grieving,

from the loss,

he felt someday again

their paths would cross.

 

The unrequited love

that he still yearned,

for dear Mendotta,

in his soul now burned.

 

And all the birds

that had acquiesced,

and flown into

his temporary nest,

 

to give him solace

in times of need,

were just a quick fix

to stem the bleed.

 

And with lack of sleep

through restless nights,

Mendotta was clearly

back in his sights.

 

And with the new sun

high in the sky,

he knew his love for her

would never die.

 

Now the time was right

to continue his search,

leaving high and dry,

other birds on their perch.

 

Those casual callers

and fly-by-nights,

who said they wouldn’t,

but he knew they might,

 

didn’t mean a thing

at the break of day,

for it was towards Mendotta,

that his heart did sway.

 

And with this in mind

on his morning stroll,

his heart skipped a beat;

he was on a roll.

 

He now knew for certain

where his priorities lay.

He would search every cove

and each sandy bay,

 

in a last ditch attempt

to realise his dream,

and make Mendotta

his Queen supreme.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our naughty Nance

just loved to prance

amongst the London elite.

 

But not a chance

had our naughty Nance,

of landing a titled seat.

 

For our naughty Nance

was unable to dance,

because of her two left feet.

 

So she fled to France,

did our naughty Nance,

hoping a Count to meet!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How precious is

the gift of time;

to awaken and know

the day is mine,

to do with as

I choose to dare,

to explore the wonders

that life lays bare.

 

How precious is

the gift of time;

in equal measure,

both mine and thine,

to use for free

whilst it is there,

for not a second

is there to spare.

 

 

August 7, 2014

 

 

 

If only she could

see me now;

the one who pushed

me up yon brow.

 

Who I suckled free,

when mealtimes due,

from mother nature’s

potent brew.

 

Who gave me hope

through word and song,

and always taught me,

right from wrong.

 

Who saw in me,

my greatest strength,

and urging, went to

any length,

 

in her role of

unconditional support,

never backing away,

from a hasty retort,

 

that came, at times,

when sensitivity lacking;

she took it all, and still

gave full backing.

 

Though, alone in tears,

she would sit and wonder,

what had gone so wrong,

when she was cast asunder.

 

Yet, always returning

with both fists clinching;

accepting of her lot,

without ever flinching..

 

Through my ups and downs,

my lows and highs,

she loved me like no other,

without compromise.

 

And who, in later life,

whilst in sad decline,

still said ‘You’re round the bend,

sweet child of mine!’

 

And me, by then,

old enough to be a Gran!

Her words so insane,

if heard, by fellow man.

 

But she’d never leave me;

she made that clear,

that in death too,

she’d be always near.

 

And true to her word,

she’s never far away.

Her presence I feel,

at some part of each day.

 

The one who held

me to her breast,

and gave me life,

and knew me best,

 

may not be here

in human form,

but still keeps me calm,

and away from harm.

 

And tortured still am I,

to this very day,

for the times I kept

her love at bay.

 

in my quest for freedom;

my only goal.

Such impulsiveness,

beyond control,

 

which seems so futile now

I can please myself,

and my travelling boots

never on the shelf.

 

But it’s much easier now

to enjoy the view,

for where I choose to go,

she comes with me too.

 

And the one who pushed

me up yon brow,

forever on my shoulder,

for it’s my turn now,

 

to feel her warm embrace

and keep her memory near.

Until such time she feels

it’s time to disappear.

 

And when that time comes

I’ll know how she felt,

when I found her praying;

on her knees she knelt.

 

For she saw in me, herself,

as the pressure piled.

That’s how she knew too well,

her child, to be quite wild!

 

All too late, alas,

these things come to pass.

But closer now, than ever,

this mother and her lass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 5, 2014

 

 

Percoughalees found himself

on Rodney Bay,

where he met a dog

who was a stray.

 

They strolled together

for a while;

maybe perhaps as far,

as half a mile.

 

Until he met a girl,

who was an easy lay,

and the dog, disgusted,

went on his way.

 

 

 

 

And in the heat of

such a storm,

words spat out

in bitter form.

 

Not meant, nor true

and just like speed,

gather momentum

as hot air free’d.

 

And then the calm

that surely follows,

when swifts arrive

and dance with swallows,

 

to lighten the moment

and distract the mind,

making nonsense of the past

now left well behind.

 

And as the streets

dry out from the rain,

gone is the anguish

one can’t explain,

 

that in the heat,

of such a storm,

built up and bubbled

in grotesque form.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A late developer;

a timid bud,

who, from inception,

was misunderstood.

 

A silent craver;

a ‘stick in the mud’.

No joy was there

when they drew his blood.

 

A late developer;

a former runt.

But the litter’s smallest

soon would win the hunt.

 

 

 

 

A little nudge;

a word in the ear;

from a well meaning friend

or a concerned peer,

 

can oddly, sometimes

a button click,

when reality’s burden,

plays a blindfold trick.

 

 

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