The following poems were all composed by The Gypsy Poet/Ray Wills.

HARD WORLD

It was a hard hard world they had left behind

where the wheels did turn and their songs did rhyme

it was a hard hard road with its twisting bends

with its new dawn sights and its clucking hens

its a long long time with a dim dim past

where the smoke did drift and the tales did last

its a hard hard story to unfold with its dreams all lost

with its children cold

It was a hard hard reason to tell them lies

to say that it was like heaven beneath the skies

when your hands were cold and your belly weak

all your journeys long and your spirit bleak

oh its a long long journey from start to end

so cock n ear n lets pretend my friend

there were rabbits free around each bend

friends n neighbour for money yet to lend

the chavvies they played upon the downs with barefoot steps

with laughing sounds

the old uns sat around the yog and told of dreams within the bog

the chaffinch trilled and the adder sqirmed amongst the gorse each sunny morn

where the vardo rested and the young men dreamed

and kissed the gals n made em scream

it was a hard life looking back amonst the broom and alder downs n back

where the work was hard cutting peat and selling craft to mushes feet

the stories told and the lies were spun of how we all had such good fun

with blistered hands and swollen feet and little monies

but we had those dreams.

Gypsy rides

Down some quiet country lane where oak trees stood so proud

where chaffinch sang amongst the fern and poppies grew so proud

where honey bees they blessed the thorns where Rose petals bloomed

the traveler's trotted down the lane where sun did beat at noon

The crowds did gather on the grass and the tractor turned the soils

the geese did fly across the downs and the lassies looked forlorn

where cocks did crow at early morn and farmer kissed his wife

beneath the chimneys thatch with hope and the laborer's retired

the Gypsy traveler's used that lane where the children sang their rhymes

alongside grass and heather downs where country folk resides

The language it was rich in tome and the vardo tall and gay

whilst children danced upon the green just a little ways away

the Gypsy crowd that walked the road alongside vardo decked

with good things crafted in their hands and windows with neat nets

The steps were hard and mighty there and the gypsy boy he sang

whilst gals did dream of long off days a courting in the sun

the walks and rides to the village fairs where ponies trade was free

whilst landed gentry smiled that smile from hilltop o'er to sea

The gaffers talked of far off days when land was open fields

where Gypsy gal and Gypsy boy was part of brotherhood

the lessons learned around the fires and the dogs they barked twas true

whilst old uns told of olden days and ate their mushes stew

The sailors sailed to far off lands and the soldiers went to war

but the poor old Gypsy worked the land and never knew what for

the nights were dark and the stars were rich with jewels set to see

from common lands where travelers roamed to far off liberty

whilst story tell ers told their tales to poets like you and me.

Around every campfire

We looked into the embers as the sparks did fly n soar

we dreamed of happy memories and those who'd gone before

the scouts sang all the chants there and the children sang a rhyme

the Indians made their camp there before the ranks of time

The cones did sit and crack there and the hedgehog looked so good

as we gazed into the embers and shared our brotherhood

where the vardos hitched there daily and the stars did shine at night

beneath that blanket serenade we told our yarns so right

The old uns told us stories tales of long ago

when the freemen roamed this barren land in summer sun and winter snows

when the rabbits they were plentiful and the bison was just game

long before the white man took the rights of men

The fires lit our lives then and the heat was shared so free

from the foothills of kentuckty to the plaines of Tennessee

the English country yokels where the land was open reign

whilst the Aussie bushman lit his pipes and told his tales again.

She was proud to be a Gypsy a traveller on the road

with her tales of Gypsy life and her stories that she told

she was proud to be of a family that cherished every day

who rode upon gods highway and cast her cares away

The folki they all gathered to eat upon the green

where the oak dale trees were stout and the roads were in between

the wheel it told it story as they shared a tale or two

as they chatted there so freely oh what a real right do

John he told me stories of Gypsies long ago

how they traveled on the road summers rain and winters snow

oh the highways they were wide then with their twisting lanes a few

when the dew was on the ground and the road was their true school

Oh Rosie she had drunk a few and Jeff was full of wit

their were photographs of days gone by and ponies bridle bits

the gypsy pies were plentiful and the table spread so free

with bouquets of lovely flowers all for Joyce to see

The tales were told so freely and families gathered true

with Jeff's and Crutchers gathering up the road from Poole

the photos they were taken and the snaps were of good taste

all the food was so well eaten very little waste

Oh the tales were told and shared reminiscence's so free

of Kimmeridge road and Alderney just a few miles from the sea

oh the party was for traveler's and

Ggypsy folki free

one hand on the reins my lad and the other on the spree

She was proud to be a Gypsy a travellers of the road

with her dress so red and special and her heart was rich not cold

the families all gathered and shared their tales of old

one man told of funny days others winters oh so cold

There were hugs and smiles a plenty with kiddies on the floor

not a word was spoken out of place no copper at the door

the folks did share their joyfulness and the hours ticked away

with stories of lost cousins and nights out in the hay.

When the yellows on the broom

When the yellows on the broom and the heather decked the floor

when the traveler's on the road and wel sing the Gypsy reel

when the birch tree shed its branches and the warbler sings his tune

I'll be wandering down that highway beneath that old new moon

When the yellows on the broom and the furze is rich with dew

where the lizards warm their bodies and the adders bake in June

where the fir trees shed their harvests with coney's rich in tar

where the wandering gypsies travel playing that old country guitar

When the yellows on the broom and the wheels they turn once more

where the vardos bless the hillsides from north to sandy shores

where the gypsy boys lay sleeping whilst the rabbits hunt n play

across the moors and valleys where the wise ones sit n pray

When the yellows on the broom and the gal she tells her cards like fortune tellers do

there be lots of zunners laughing and yokels playing tunes

where the benders blessed the heather and the fox did hide away

whilst the caravans rolled on towards the light of day

When the yellows on the broom and the bracken's rich in black

where the berries are sweet in fruiting and the horses rode bare back

where the dogs all run in packs and the accordions still play

where the wise man knows the Gypsy song and the hares do dance in may.

Rose in the thorns

She was a rose in the thorns one of ten born

her manner was rich with bridles and witch

her home it was blessed with bracken of best

her family rich all born in the ditch

She travelled this land from old broom to wareham

her clothes they were bright of hues red and white

though her work it was hard on the earth and the sod

with two babies to bless and a husband at best

The Ferris wheel turned and the darts were forlorn

where the stalls they wear grand and the rolling big band

oh the times they were hard on the roads and the yards

the horses were free with their manes liberties

Old Rose she was poor but rich to the core

with her shawls and her home all decked by the frome

the gallant young men Withs their didy coy zens

all knocked at her door and were blessed that's for sure

Down old country lanes where they pulled on the chains

where the bracken and thorns tore their clothes all forlorn

with their pipes made of clay they saw light of days

on the heather sand lanes where the ferrets were gained

Down the tumbledown tracks to lodge hills n back

over ferndowns tight lanes where the drunkards were seen

where the farmer were blessed put his back to the test

for the gaffers were rich in their homes o'er the ditch

Old Rose she were plain though her manners were gained

picking heathers at dawn amongst the briar's and thorns

she sang every day and worked hard for her pay

like her neighbors afore she granted peace at her door

where the wagon wheels tunrned and new generations born

Though its hard facts to see now there no liberty

no free hills to roam and no place to call home

 POETRY BASED ON THE GYPSY LIFE

http://www.thegypsypoet.co.uk/booking__the_gypsy_poet_.html

  CONTENTS

 Page one of My gypsy poetry

Page Two of My Gypsy Poetry

Page Three of My Gypsy Poety

Page Four of My Gypsy Poetry

Page Five of My Gypsy Poetry

Page Six of My Gypsy Poetry

MORE GYPSY POEMS

 Farming days

When gypsies trod upon the downs

when heather sweet was scattered round

when vardos were true caravans

when kyers rode pon these lands

Where rabbits ran the meadows sweet

where fox gave chase and lords did meet

where grouse and pheasants were dismissed

amongst the hills where Gypsy's kissed

Where forests walks and grassy mounds

hid all the wealth of gentry found

where springs did burst throughout the land

where Gypsy songs were loud and grand

Where zunners ran most every day

amongst the gorse they hid and played

where bees did buzz and warblers song

caressed the mornings and days so long

Where bare knacked fights were all in rage

upon the booth where folks did stage

where youth and charms were on display

where farmers worked amongst the hay

Where church bells chimed

where wheels did roll

upon the tracks where folks did go

where factory hand and market stalls

were rich in life for one and all.

Heather view

How i remember days at heather view

with views across to Waterloo

where Marion archer and i did play

upon the swing above the hay

The cottage stood upon the hill

with rambling roses around the window sills

the bricks were painted red and white

with door of green and stable light

The furze was sharp and the broom was rich

where ponies grazed and willows pitched

the gravel road was rich in time

where Augustus painted the house so fine

The common lands stretched to magna road

with foxes laires and newts and toads

the rabbits played upon the downs

where gypsy folk were bedded down

The Archers lived at heather view

where sankey ward was chimney new

where clay was rich and sand was prime

where horses grazed most of the time

The Phillips lorries drove by each day

where kids would chase and run n play

the daisy banks were green and rich

with buttercups along the ditch

The common hedges were thick with dew

where golden spiders crafted webs so true

where lizards squirmed and adders chased

the heathers rich in bloom and face

The days were long and sunny too

with views across to town of Poole

where train did chuff and spout did steam

from lights of town and birch tree leans

Those days have gone and where we played

replaced by speed of moneys made

where factories stand and office space

lost to the pride of our parade.

COMMONS AND ALLEYWAYS

We had a drink upon the quay where the Morris men frequent

there were sailors on the promenade and gals all heaven sent

they drank a toast to old long john and Gulliver's old scents

then we went into the jolly pub and downed our last weeks rent

The sky was getting overcast and the organ boy he played

old sea chants of long ago and lovely bosom maids

the bar was packed and overdue with cockles being sold

we ate a dozen winkles too then gathered up our load

The dog he barked across the sea where ships they once did sail

for bounty treasures set in maps upon some foreign shore

the captain was a wiser man though his crew were drunk as lords

but they had him in their pockets mate and sang with one accord

I stumbled through the alleyways where once Augustus drew

then chanced upon a heath lands gate that led me to a dancing crew

where gypsies gathered heather sprigs and sung of true romance TOO

the highway is for gamblers and the alley cats are primed in chance

i gathered up my songs of mirth and joined the offerings N dance

I wallowed n the merriment and could hear the blackbirds sing

the gypsy gal she danced a theme with flowers in her hair in spring

her dress was long and red that night and the flesh so tender too

i offered love and innocence like only lads know how

then took her on the moors that night amongst a herd of cows

The stingers stung and thistles scratchiest and the heather it did bend

within the common lore of love where romance did comprehend.

Visiting my roots

I journeyed to new England was in the spring n morn

the Grass was growing green today and the chaffinch sang his tune

i talked to all the gaffers there and watched the zunners play

the cartwheels were a rolling still and the hare was in the hay

I strolled across to the bogs where vardo wheels sank deep

where reeds grew within the damp and Augustus drew the scenes

the hills across to lodge were high and the fuzz it grew so sharp

there were adders in the heather than and the gypsies lit their lamps

across from heavenly bottom the crew were stewing meat

there were sounds of gypsy laughter from shawls down to bare feet

The cones were thick and brittle on top commons rich new downs

where rabbits ran from Fox's and sounds of farmers guns

then i journeyed over to bourne bottom where folki rarely sighed

where soldiers signed their papers and young mothers sat n cried

The heather it grew plentiful and the dartford warbler chirped

whilst common gorgios laughed and the battles won their corpse

the vardos rolled along the tracks from Poole to alderney

whilst gypsy song and stories long told of better days

whilst clay was thick and sand was red and sparrows sang for thee

i counted hopes amongst the dopes who gave their land for free

The wandering packs of traveling jacks who worked upon the soil

for pittance then was lost to whim and soldiers lost at war

the blackbird sang his melody and the lizard squirmed so free

where Gypsy life and pikes own wife was making stew for tea

Amongst the gorse and unrehearsed the youth they sang her songs

whilst Caroline Hughes was lost in blues

amongst the songs of poets on the vine.

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.

KEIR'S AND KAKERS

Keep well away from the Keir's and Kakers she said

with her eyes full of rage and her words full in face

don't you play with those scoundrels they lead you to hell

with their wanton low ways and the stink of the smell

For years I have pondered what words did it mean

why she were dark herself and she played on the green

where the fuzz it did spread and the ferns it was deep

with the birch trees close by where the warblers did sleep

Where the chimney top soared o'er brickyards n downs

close by the valley where the tribe bedded down

there neath the willow they spread their good days

singing the old songs whilst their zunners did play

I never did know why she gave me the eye

to beware of the kakers and their homes neath the sky

though their families moved on now I can barely recall

the days on the commons where rabbits did fall

Where the song thrush sang daily and the foxes gave chase

over the hills where the gypsies did date

there were stories of artists who painted them bare

with brushes of oil and pastels of care

the sun it rose daily and the ponies ran free

where the common was wide and stretched to bournes sea.

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