Meg the gypsy gal
Old meg she was a gypsy gal she lived and loved upon the downs where life was swell where joys were too be found she wore a dress of ember red thou they do say she wore nowt when she was in bed
She worked each day for king and crown all her dreams were upside down her father was a tinker true he sold cockles down in the bay of Poole
Her mother was a local dame who grew in stature as well as fame her children were all true diddy Coy's they were brought up to lie and give the eye
Her apples were like blackberry leaves she made such sweet rhubarb pie her gooseberry's were so green shed have you believe she wrote a sonnet each and every day she roamed the lanes down our way
they say her brothers were the purbeck hills Her sisters were the Rockey sands where all the lovers each day hold hands her bosom was plentiful and her thighs so white and rare
Tis said she took the lads for a ride to the local fair they say she didn't care with roses and straw within her hairs
Old meg she was a gypsy queen who folks say danced at Halloween they say she was part of the local scene her sisters often asked her where shed been
but she declined to say.
On the ferns down
Its a far distant country from whence my people once roamed where the heather grew rich and the roads were our own there were folks you could trust and a song you could sing when the meadows were sweet there and the church bells did ring
Its long from those moments we treasured from dawn with the skylark a singing and the ears on the corn the wagons did roll then and the ponies were free when we rode o'er the hillsides to old alderney
The bourne was a spring then to the mouth of the town with valleys and bottom from hill to the great alder downs from the high Howe meadows where the spring met the stour where the nettles grew tall in the breeze and the showers then we would be happy for many an hour
The shire horse was strong on the trails which we led then as evening approached we were ready for bed our vans they were comfort though with sparse room to lie but we were happy and free beneath the rich sky
Our children ran free and our work it was hard where we gathered our strength afore the next yard our folk songs were sang then as we grew old and wise amongst the heathers and gorse with our true Romany eyes
There were fairgrounds and shows then where we sold of our wares with our devil may care freedoms and a rose in our hair
The sky was like diamonds and the air it was fresh those were the days when we put love to the test that we loved the best
There were clay pits and brickyards with work for to gain when we traveled those roads down those old country lanes the fire smoke was dense and the aroma smells oh so rich when we loved in the mire above the ferns ditch.
Gypsy lives
They hid within the shadows where the sun had gone to rest their seasons were enchanted and their clothes all Sunday best their heartaches were all numbered and their dreams were satisfied they hid their dreams in baskets far from others wandering eyes
The tree were high and covered in fir cones and true grit their campfires were a welcoming with their ashes warm and lit their shawls were woolly comfort and their smiles were rich in Grace they wore the look of freedom and had that grin upon their face
Their vardos were rich in crafted skill and flowing art without whilst the wooden steps that led inside were hard and trimmed with grout the rooms were cosy and set in comfort zone with lamps of brass and wicks so trim i can still hear their plaintiff gypsy reels
The songs they sang were handed down like the clothes their children wore they'd traveled through the dirt and land through many many wars their refugee foundations were set in history like the wishes and the spinning wheels and the tarot revelry
The sands of time enriched their lives like the spirit intuitively they set their store upon goodwill and they set their store for thee their ponies all were bridled and their dog packs all ran free they lived upon the heather-ed heath just a stone throw from me.
Dominic reeves
Dominic came to kinson downs where gypsies bedded and young girls were heaven bound the wheels did turn there and times were tough on the common land of peat and bluff
He road the trails of bracken down where birds did sing o'er rabbits mounds where folks worked hard when hours were long amidst the days of swallow song
Where Mountbatten arms doth stand today afore shoulder of mutton along the way where birch did grow amidst heathers sweet with adder n lizards at your feet
Near alderney where john did paint naked ladies so frequent where sankey ward built houses for the rich n gent and lady wimbornes lodge was close to pitch the writer stored his memories of gypsy life neath sky and trees
Where crafts were rich in lore and pen where kids grew tall and fern did bend the local people in kinson free were rich in style and histories the longham bridge over the stour to ferndowns haunts and village squires
The war had took the youth its true with tales of valor from Waterloo the commons rich in gravel clay and stone but to the gypsy it was home
Where grass was mean and trails were sand and fortunes told to open hands where families came from forest glades to build their homes n get it made
Dominic wrote and his wife did paint the gypsy story oh so quaint till they were all housed on west Howe land with bricks of rogers builders band the chimneys grew tall upon the land and pigs were sold in markets grand the gaffers paid you on the land and the rich grew richer you understand
Those days of gypsy life so free were recorded there in histories with Dominics books of fame and lore he painted it as it was after the war
The gypsy families are still abroad you can hear them sing with one accord their heather sprigs are sold today in Poole high street just like twas yesterday.
Gypsy love
Once trwer a zunner knew an ole gypsy song he sang me the words n they were true n so strong about a fair maiden who sang for her alms she was loved by a gentleman n fell for his charms
Oh the sun it did best there on heather n down her heart it did melt and the loving was strong the skirts tat she wore showed a pleasure for free under the brambles beside the bourne sea
Oh their love it was sweet and his words they did spin he offered her comfort and she gave love to him
The wind it did blow and her flesh it was fair they laid in the grasses cum some n bare
the world it was savage and the men they were free with soldiers of fortune out on a spree their heartbeats were one and their flesh was so free under the brambles on the edge of bourne sea
The birds they did chirp and the words he did spin as she succumbed to pleasure and his love fondling where trees they were rich in leaves to the shroud under the hedge grows where love was so proud
Her dress it was scanty and her flesh it was free then he gave her his love proud the rest is history.
Gypsy fortunes
Those gypsies ladies with their heads hung down the tarot readings and the words that show no frown the i ching coins jingle and the roulette spins they'll tell your fortune from the mood your in
They'll read the lines there in your hand they'll look inside the heart of man their intuition and their dark dark eyes the romance is burning in the lore and wise
The headdress ladies with their astral plains they'll thumb the stones and grant you love or pain their caravans all laden with sheeky satin sheets their lamps all lit from their body heat
The signs and wonders and the stars at night the horoscopes and cards that flow just right they take your silver and your chance of luck they hoodwink many for the common buck
The music plays like Egypt's theme Indian Sanskrit's and melodic reams the nights of starlight and the days of chance just take the heather sprigs sir and stir romance
The queen of gypsies thumbed the orient pack she'll spread those cards and then hit the sack the nigh time fancies have all flown away in the gypsies world of chance and play. Bender Days
When we bent our benders down by the creek where the wind did blow and the wind did speak there were many fine people there scattered around from the walks of life and the talk of towns
The grass was green and the clay was white the fields were free both day and night the trails were wide and the roads were long but we whistled free and we sang our songs
We built our homes like travelers do amongst the ferns and the bracken's hue we saw the deer and the rabbits play where the lights were stars and the dark was haze
Ihe bramble thorns and the virgin land the talk was rich and the fortune hands the stolen words i heard yesterday when the gypsy gal came to play with me the thunder roared and the lightning flashed the lizards squirmed and the days went fast
The life was hard and labour free but we shared our hopes and our miseries down in yonder dip where the sun sets morn the wind did blow but we were warm inside our benders made of frames crafted from the dews and rains
The stew we served was hot and mean the countryside was fit for queens where kings and carters sat and toiled amongst the birch and lilies torn
The roads were hard and our spirits free with time to stare and life was free where folks did share an hour with me amongst the benders beneath the trees. sign my guestbook
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In country life and gypsy lore
In country life and gypsy lore when skies were blue and trees were tall when farmers locked their pens at night with young men's bodies full of sprite
On heather-ed down and village green where artists bold would paint the scene where baccy pipes and fire lights glow would lighten our world in times of snow
When country lass and laddies danced upon the green to true romance where bells did ring each Sunday morn where birds did sing and love was born where orchards branches hung with fruit where daisy chains and lilies roots
Where tractors rolled across the downs where vardos spread their ways around the gypsy queen smoked her clay pipe for free whilst one could hear the buzz of bees
with scent of heather gorse and fern where sheep did wean their lambs just born
The old town clock struck each hour within streets of ancient histories towers whilst school kids ran to greet each day whether back at school or holiday
In country life and gypsy lore the artist poet went to war with easel's brush oil and plan whilst the poet etched the world of man
When life was rich in time and space where each young man did know his place where rivers flowed through country scene from springtime joys to Halloween.
Heather for your luck
Heather for luck my love like days that used to be just sprigs of heather wrapped in foil and flowers made by me
I saw them in the high street there on Poole town high street lanes they sold them pretty sprigs my love just like way back when
The commons were their territory loaned from ladies guests with Talbot sisters manor house and plentifully in game
The gypsies toiled upon the land and maids to the squires they hung their clothes on furze bush then and sat round open fires
The cartwheels rolled upon the lanes and the benders on the heath where little new England swarmed with homes all little n so bleak
The birds did sing their melodies the warblers and the thrush where birch was rich and gravel led ditch was home to rabbits wild
Gone are the days of ferreting with catapult in belt where foxes chased the rabbits fleet and laborer's did sweat
The fields were rich in rye grass there and the sparrow sang at morn where brickyards grew and greenfly flew upon the pleasant fawn
The local yokels sang their songs and the gypsies turned their cards where clay pits sweat was ever blessed and the gaffers clocked your day
Whilst the poor man waged upon the land and the church bells chimed forlorn the flowers grew upon the heath where can-fords lodge did stand and soldiers lost their innocence in wars for glories grand
The tide did turn and the ships at Poole sailed out from harbor rich where nelson and ship tasted lips of nectar sweet with brew
The kinson life was full of strife and the stories told were true of harvests poor and men at war and gypsies lives in Poole
Strange that the heather grows so rich on sandy soil and clay where bees do buzz amongst the fuzz and young gals went astray
The gypsies told their stories then and were housed in west Howe lanes where the co op grounds did stretch the downs where little kiddies played.
The Smugglers Wain
I went back to the smugglers wain where gypsies gathered and love remained i saw the Kinson walks and where stories were told of customs times and hands were cold
I went back to that time of olde where fields were rich in green and tales were told i chanced upon the smugglers tracks from canford magna to wally wack
Where kinson folk did paint the scenes where john did paint and poets dreamed where rabbits ran the tracks and downs of village greens and grassy mounds
Where cottages of lady wimborne stood so tall and proud next to the woods where master guest was gaffer king where sparrows sang first song of spring
The white house of pelhams graced the scene down millhams lane with trees rich and mean where stocks once stood upon the green where witches danced at halloween
The vardos roamed the canford lanes through Poole tracks and ferndowns horses manes were rich in hair and supported ladies fair in times of olde when fists were bare
The streams and river of the stour where swans did glide and buds did flower where brambles stretched the lanes and tower where lads did fish for many an hour
The merry men of Morris regale danced their foolish antic show next to the quay of Poole hi ho where johnny onion came to call before the autumn winds and fall
Those were the days of Poole's great fair where mills and Stanley's boxed each night there there beneath the canopy of stars n moonlight where orchards grew and gypsies roamed where canford was their noble home.
The Gypsy Fairground
I went to the gypsy fairground where I first meet gypsy Jo We went upon the Ferris well seems so long ago Her father was a tailor and her mother was a queen She took me on the spinning wheel she was my swinging scene
One time i remember when the vardos reached the sky the grass was green and thick with dew with rabbits running bye
There were birds upon the branches where the willow spreads its fall their were gypsy children dancing long before the fall
The piano accordion was playing from the tattooed man the gypsy gal was dancing tambourine upon her hand the fire was a glowing the sparks they flew so high their were pastures and a haystack with a river running bye
The folki they were blessed them with children by the score with packs of dogs a chasing tails and tales of long gone wars
The music that they played then was rich in words and tone i kissed her neath the raging sun and loved her more n more
The foxes were on the hilltops hidden from our view there was heather n gorse a stretching from alderney to poole
The sands of time have rolled along and the tides of surf will sap the beaches where they carried the shawls and loving mats
There were tinkers then and traveler's n johnny onion was in tow the fairgrounds offered substance and the harvests were a show
The darts did fly upon the cards and the bumper cars did spin there was candy floss and coconut shies and sweets for uncle Jim
The days are gone when we cut grass and sliced the wood and cane when flowers were made on canford hills wish we could go back again.
Gypsy Dreams
Just taking a stroll through Arne avenue where gypsies reside not far from Poole no gypsy sites left and no outside loo just a word with the coopers and that old gypsy crew
They moved them to kinsons west Howe and old turlin moor some up at bear wood and some are not poor they ran with the hounds and they unlocked their doors the locals had never seen their likes afore
The wheels turned there spokes like the world spinning free they gathered on heath lands sold their history
The travelers doctrines were rich and so rare with long flowing skirts and braided black hair
the cooks lived at redditch i knew them so well we went fruit picking daily and the weather was swell
At dog kennel hill in east dulwich lanes the tinkers they gathered in wind and the rain the nursery was rich and the woods they were green where we built the greatest adventure playground the kids ever seen
Oh poets they write of days long ago when gypsies were free and the land was their own but now they have homes of concrete and brick the capitalists have won with their spinning tricks.
looking for the gypsies
I went looking for the gypsies down some old winding country lane way out in the outback where few folks goes again
I took some notes to read there a guitar for to play far out in the heather land many miles away the rain it was a falling the wind it blew a gale there were shadows on the rocks and hills goldfish in a jar
I heard the wind a playing same sad old gypsy song way back in my memory from the days that long since gone
I strolled o'er all the footpaths where the gypsy folks had been stumbled on a few tin cans plus a empty jar of gin
I saw traces of their footprints horses hooves and more dirt cart tracks where love had rolled where young men went to war
I counted all my blessings granted all my hopes squandered all my dreams on nowt but women and rolled dope
The gypsy maiden comforted me with that look within her eyes as she rubbed that fortune tellers glass then looked into my palms
The stories i could tell you would turn the other cheek with laughter and good living they got by week to week i can still see all their wagons as if twer yesterday like a big wheel on the fairground you could hear that Ferris play
The gypsy folk were noble with Romany roving eyes they traveled on the freeway had no stately ties
I can hear the wind a blowing way out on the heaths where the gypsy folks lay sleeping and the warbler chirped in reach
I can feel the mood that moved them as they lay their in their beds underneath the blanket night where the stars shone overhead.
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Before the houses
From bourne valley bottoms along the dirt track the caravans rumbled to lodge hills and back through hedges laden with bramble and gorse lovely chestnuts to nibble with our little horse there at coy meadows we drank from the streams little fresh springs and wonders to dream
There were gypsies at Beale's in town today wel tell you your fortune then be on our way the village kids saw us and give us the eye our caravan homes smoked right up to the skies
With rabbits to ferret and hedgehogs to eat songs around the campfire and family to meet the wheels rolled there daily and the stars shone at night there were folks in their glory and clothes to delight
There was food on the table and rugs on the floors the candles were lit and designs on our doors the music we played there with accordion Joe's the songs that we sang were older than dough
There were times which were hard then and folks who did stray but we were far wiser than many today the grass grew so course and the daisies were spread like creation was labeled for the good and the dead
The queen of the gypsies was dark and so rare she had braided long hair and spent days at Poole fair The wagons were rich and the lamps they were gold the children danced naked upon their tip toes
the chaffinches sung at the break of the day as we ambled along with our stories to say now there's just tarmac and tower park ridge where once there was magic with old uncle Sid
They lived on the heath then when the land it was free before lord guest sold it for houses for thee.
MY GYPSY POETRY PAGE TWO
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campfire nights
Sitting around the campfires sharing all those tales the story book has ended the gypsy sites are gone
The daisy chains and blossoms the birds songs in the trees the gypsy ways of talking the songs of histories
Sitting in the moonlight beneath a spangled sky listening to the breezes as the wagon wheels roll by
The pots of cauldron smelling the rabbit stew and hops the nights under the canvass the days on the wagon show within the docks
The packs of dogs a running the ponies on the heath the accordion man is playing he shows them pearly teeth
The cards come out and played there the lamps of ornate gold the shawls of wool and cotton the old ways as there told
The crafts that once were passed on the fortune telling queen the funeral processions after the caravan was burnt n seen
The artist paints the scene the gypsy dancing sweethearts the kings and traveling folks the brotherhood of means.
The gypsy poets
The old gypsy poets they lived on their wits they lived off the land and on pony's did sit they rode the roads daily and sang of the day when the rabbits did run and twer hares in the hay
The old fairground great wheel keeps spinning around with the lights and the music the organs sweet sounds the darts they did throw and the cars they did roar when the stars were a shining the nights on the moors
The old songs are best our granfer did say that twer good in the brambles where rabbits did play where church bells did ring to welcome the day as the gypsy wrote verse and went on his way.
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