A rolling stone gathers no moss

They were as free as the birds that sing in the trees

with handed down verse and old memories

they haunted the heaths then and they rode o'er the downs

like a tribe that was home there so in tune with the ground

they say that a rolling stone gathers no moss

with the song of the thrush and the gooday to the toffs

They rode in the cities and the great springing towns

but they were home on the heath bedded down on the ground

with the fairgrounds a calling and the Ferris wheel sounds

like those carousel melodies strumming around

There were gypsies and turners with travelers free

from the hills of the lodges to the bourne of the sea

you could see all their kinfolk all gather-in free

with their banter and talk of pure history

The steps that they trod then were sandy n grit

they offered such wisdom with fires all lit

Across England's heath lands of common land free

the gypsies roamed homeward through old alderney

Where few men were freemen and talk is was cheap

they gathered their prayers and rode down to the sea n the deep.

Traveling man

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.

Queen of the kings

She was a gypsy sweetheart

one time queen of the kings

she rode the canford commons

she made the starlings sing

She was beautiful when she was young

she made the young heads turn

she was a rare breed gypsy girl

within the heathers and the thorns

she rode the caravans of wood then

the wagon wheels did turn

She danced and sang a melody

she made the young men yearn

then when she was older

she lost her young good looks

her darkness held her lines of age

she made children feel disturbed

She was the queen of Gypsy

she died upon the heath

she was buried in her wagons flames

with her belongings and her teeth

her funeral was attended

by hundreds of her clan

she was the queen of Gypsies

mother of the gypsy man

She was the queen of the kings

the new-town clan gypsy family

she grew up wise in tooth and wisdom

when i was a kid she was so kind to me.

Heathland memories

When grandma picked cinders from the old house hearth

when we collected the conies and took them home at night

our dreams were many and our lives we shared

with all the family and the old coal shed

with its sparks and its embers way into the night

The dogs would bark to warn us of intruders afoot

the ganders chased the gypsies away

it was a time to remember when time was slow and free

when candles lit our way to our beds and our thoughts were like ships at sea

The grasses were green rich and with wild heathers tumbling downs

there were patchwork garlands scattered o'er the common heaths around

The brickyard with its chimney spire and the clay pits on the hill

the rabbits in their burrows and the bourne stream running still

The gypsies came to call for eggs and water free

the little bantam chicks that ran over the worms constantly

The copper house where pigs meals were cooked sweet every day

across the heath from aldeney and close to old Poole bay

Its a wonder that the work got done and the master took his fee

there were miles of open country then right down to Poole quay

The gypsy folk and travelers lived upon the hills

where lodgers offered sustenance and foxes were oft times killed

The family ran the brickyard then and the songs were course and true

there were characters a plenty from wimborne down to Poole

The cocks did crow each morning to greet a brand new day

the farmers gathered in the harvest and the kids all got to play

The days were long and healthy and the daises chains were sweet

the lads and lasses gathered thoughts and the goats and lambs would bleat

The sun came through the valley then and the birds begun to sing

there were hordes children playing and lovebirds on the wing

the church at newtown offered freedom from the king

Whilst roses grew upon the heath and the music it did swing

the branches of the willow trees o'er the little pond

where the squirrels ran free in liberty and the blackbird Sang his song.

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.

Gypsy reel

Deep down in cuckoo bottom

nearby the foxes hole

i spied some ragged gypsies

a going for a stroll

A lady smoked a pipe there

a sweetheart skipped a reel

a pony in the garden

amongst the daffodils

The caravans were tall then

as the master played his tune

the accordion was playing

that summer afternoon

The dogs they are a barking

must be someones there about

i saw a game of cards and more

a tarot took a chance

There at cuckoo bottom

not far from waterloo

the queen of Gypsies smiled at me

the maidens danced a reel

We ate rabbit stew and dumplings

hedgehog pie and bran

i sure was happy then

in my little durzet town

Just two miles from new england

were turbary birch did grow

they built their homes inside the clay

many years ago

The heather springs were fancy

just like the road nearby

where uncles and aunties

all ate rabbit pie

The eyes were rare and awesome

their fortunes all were told

with one eye on the master craft

another on that pot of gold.

Under a blue sky

Under the blue sky where wagons once did roam

where dark barefooted children made the heath-lands their true home

where fires once were lit at night and where the organ sang

within the birch and briar's leaves where all men were as one

upon the heather-ed downs of Poole and bournes fair valley dale

the wagons rolled and gypsy sang to greet the morning sun

Where warblers chirped and rabbits ran where frosts were sharp and bare

with candle sticks and lamps that lit the night with fervant glow

within the glade where poets made their rhymes of gypsy joes

The spires were tall and brickyards all were set to paint the scene

whilst zunners ran and gypsy clan were gathered on the down

whilst ponies grazed and sweethearts made the sweetest eiderdowns

where talk was free and company was scattered all around.  

New england gypsies

I journeyed to new england

within birch and heathered down

i rode upon a pony there

where gypsies bedded down

there were sackcloth on the floor there

clay beneath your feet

gravel on the sidewalk

the nicest folks you'd meet

I trod upon the bracken

where the rhododendron grew

there were dart-ford warblers singing

not far from Waterloo

the village children came there

to crown the gypsy king

there were whites and coopers laughing

i heard a blackbird sing

Across from wallisdown and bare cross

the gypsy rovers danced

there was music in the night

when the gypsy lady glanced

she said i was so gifted

i had the rose tattoo

i was a lucky fellow

from alderney via Poole.

Gypsys on canford heath

The caravans glory is written in sand

like the dreams from the heath lands

the lonely steel bands

the chimes of the clock and the walk to the door

the preachers and lovers unite in the hall

The ponies that run there free on the moors

the old toothless ladies with wise words so pure

the poetry reads there like the new dawning sun

with cows in the meadows and rabbits a run

The work in the factory and the times not your own

with hours spent in fashion and no wheres to roam

there a church bell that chimes there and a scene for to see

with lonely sidewalks and a stroll to the sea

The organist plays his music so sweet

with chords of pure love and honey to eat

there's food on the table and wagons that roll

there's an old gypsy saying left out in the cold

So beat the drum lowly and ply the flute fine

with cherished emotions and words on the vine

there's a gypsy boy playing out on the heath

but its only a childhood left a cutting his teeth.

Thats the gypsy life

Heather sprigs and pollen bee

silver birch and tall pine tree

wagon wheels rolling

fancy free

that's the gypsy life for me

Yellow flowers of the furze

sandy trails

where sounds not heard

quiet havens beneath the sun

where deer and fox and rabbits run

Dogs in packs and fires a lit

horses ponies

bridals and bit

pegs of wood

and tins of pan

the dark dark tan

of the gypsy man

Stews of rabbit

hedgehog pie

herbal potions

for the eye

floral sprays

kissed by the sun

bare foot children

free to run

Carts gayly painted by hand

dance and song

and merry bands

with sparks that fly

into the open sky

and miles of heathered countryside

On the move

by ordered law

no regard to rich or poor

vagabond diddy coy

common vested one and all

all branded by mans laws

Roll the wagon wheels

one more time

drink the freedom with the wine

when men were free to taste the vine

and run the winding whispering windy trails

so let us dance just one more time

and listen to the gypsy ryhme.

Romany rye

The following poem is largely based on a traditional gypsy verse.

 A Romany Rye

She was a Romany rye

a true didikai

she gave you the eye

she built all her castles

beneath the blue sky

She never paid no rent

cause she lived in a tent

thats why they called her

sweet Romany rye

She had just bare feet

used the Romany speech

she could weave and tell yarns

twould do folks no harm

She was swift in the tongue

for her the birds sang

she was a didikai babe

she took her thruths to the grave

She danced at the dawn

twas so good to be born

where cartwheels did turn

on the heaths sacred morn

She was a Romany rye

ate rabbit stew pie

gave chase to the mush

she was so dam kush-ti.

At sugar knob 

At sugar knob mountain by monkeys hump lanes

the children kept goats on long iron chains

in cinders town near frying pan the children danced

when rabbits ran

The gypsies came to wallywack above high moor

folks had never seen their likes before

their caravans were decked with lace

with polished glass to see your face

There were so many gypsy camps

folks said they traveled from over France

hemley bottom was home of kings

Sherwood's and whites remembering

At bribery island folks did vote

to keep their homes n keep the quotes

lady guest did rent them out

to local lads with digger shag and baccy snout

The upper class gypsies lived in Wolsey road

the spinning tops were busy that side of the roads

the rag men came with their heavy loads

at least that's the stories what we've been told.

Down leafy lanes

Down leafy lanes where heathers grew

across the heaths with views of Poole

down gravel lanes and stony trails

where lizards ran and tinkers dwell-ed

Through rossmore walks and manor road

the artist john once did abode

where streams ran free and rabbits too

across the heaths that stretched to Poole

Where ladies walked in dainty steps

amongst the fields of violets

where grass grew tall and warblers songs

greeted the days when we were young

Here Gypsy's sung and organs played

across the magna road to wally caves

where blackbirds song was rich in tone

where zunners and maidens were not alone

Upon a hill where lodge once stood

the master rode to yonder woods

where Talbot house was rich and more

across the tracks of barefoot poor

The wimborne bridge it spanned the road

where whites old yard was once remote

where broom road chimney was in view

at alderney just across from Poole

Where wagons rolled and kids did play

upon the heaths across the way

where heathers rich and furze bush high

with fir trees tall up to the sky.

Romany genes

She had Romany genes

she was born in the briar's

one of sixteen children

everyone would admire

Her mother was faithful and her father was true

they lived on the hillside in ole Waterloo

she traveled the fairgrounds and ran with the pack

she was chased by the boys but there was no going back

Her life it was hard but her love it was true

she courted her sweetheart in ole Waterloo

her father was nelson and her molter was jane

they roamed all the commons and strolled through the lanes

They ran with the pack like gypsy folks do

and they lived by their wits in ole Waterloo

her boyfriend was handsome and he courted her true

gave of his love and his humanity too

They ran in the lanes and they rolled in the green

where the rabbits did scamper and the fox never seen

they married in church one Sunday at noon

the vicar was laughing and they danced to their tune

The gypsy folk sang the harmonica played

in the village of memories where children were made

in the garden of thankfullness

down by the glade

Ole romany genes are true and so deep

they cover a multitude of memories where mothers do weep

the spring it doth yield and the flowerrs bud neat

whilst the ole blackbird sings his love song so sweet.

 Poor diddykye

He had Romany genes like a poor diddykai

he wandered this world as his dreams floated by

his wheels kept a turning though no end was in sight

as he counted his fortune with the stars of the night

His dreams full of laughter and his past full of pain

he'd travelled this world down old memories lane

he'd sat with the pedlar's and sang their refrains

as he skipped down the highways of memories lane

the brambles did tear one and the rabbits did run

the daisies were spread there with the fear of the gun

The chimneys were tall then and the bricks they were clay

the soldiers of fortune returned to tell of those days

The caravans stretched there through old heaths of Poole

where children once played and the boozers were full

Old wally watton picked fag ends each day

whilst the farmers daughters rolled around in the hay

The pigs went to market and the sheeps in the corn

the claypits were hot then and the clay it was born

There were lodges at wallisdown of good lady guests

whilst sam stanley was young and twer no high fence

The lodge hills told stories were foxes did run

where farmyards were spread and you heard the thrush song

The gypsies were rich and their vans were so rare

the girls all loked buxom with long flowing hair

john Augustus paints pictures of young ladies bare

whilst the wheels kept a turning and we went to poole fair. 

 A rolling stone gathers no moss

 They were as free as the birds that sing in the trees

with handed down verse and old memories

they haunted the heaths then and they rode o'er the downs

like a tribe that was home there so in tune with the ground

They say that a rolling stone gathers no moss

with the song of the thrush and the goo-day to the toffs

They rode in the cities and the great springing towns

but they were home on the heath bedded down on the ground

with the fairgrounds a calling and the Ferris wheel sounds

Like those carousel melodies strumming around

there were gypsies and turners with travelers free

from the hills of the lodges to the bourne of the sea

You could see all their kinfolk all gather-in free

with their banter and talk of pure history

The steps that they trod then were sandy n grit

they offered such wisdom with fires all lit

across England's heath lands of common land free

the gypsies roamed homeward through old alderney

where few men were freemen and talk is was cheap

they gathered their prayers and rode down to the sea.

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 their 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.

Chavvy days

Oh the chavvy days on Canfords heaths

where us zunner kids did cut out teeth

whilst wagons rolled and vardos roamed

amidst heathered bracken and fern rich home

Oh the nights were cold upon the down

of wallisdown and kinson town

where Whites and Turners came to call

Coopers Kings and chavvys all

The pylons stretched for many a mile

from cuckoo bottom to home of lady Guests attire

where rabbits frequented the fern rich downs

whilst fox did hide high above the crown

Augustus john did sketch the zunners sweet

whilst lady Mary clapcott stretched with beauty down to her naked feet

Newtown zunners under wimborne bridge

collected falling coins from kings rich carriages

the hills of canford magna rich in rhoedenrun ditch

the flowers of the lily spread where heathers sweet aroma rich

The cans and tins of yesterday amidst the smoke of clay pipe days

where chavvys sported catapult and net for rabbits rich in lorded debts

The run of hills and trees so rich with blossom scents and caravans unhitched

the songs of piano accordion darkie echoed free from wallisdown to alderney

Whilst zunners ran and chavvys played upon the heaths

just yesterdays.

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.

 What did you do daddy

what did you do daddy when you were once young

did you make pegs for a living or carry a gun

dd you shoot rabbits and hang them up high

did you ride caravans under the sky

What did you do mummy when you were young

did you make flowers and make the streams run

did you ride the fairgrounds and were you may queen

then did you take daddy walking upon the heathers scene

What did you do daddy when you were so young

were the birds and the fishes your friends under the sun

did you train ponies and were you a king

or did you cut peat on the first days of spring

What did you do grandma when you were still young

did you raise ten children n love every one

were you a castle or were you a doe

why did you move to a house then was it to get out of the snow

What did you do daddy when you were young

did you tread daisies and you go to farnham school

were you raised in the gypsy talk

or were you raised in a house at Poole.

 Gypsy memories

The caravans glory is written in sand

like the dreams from the heath lands

the lonely steel bands

the chimes of the clock and the walk to the door

the preachers and lovers unite in the hall

The ponies that run there free on the moors

the old toothless ladies with pure words so pure

the poetry reads there like the new dawning sun

with cows in the meadows and rabbits a run

The work in the factory and the times not your own

with hours spent in fashion and no wheres to roam

there a church bell that chimes there and a scene for to see

with lonely sidewalks and a stroll to the sea

The organist plays his music so sweet

with chords of pure love and honey to eat

there's food on the table and wagons that roll

there's an old gypsy saying left out in the cold

So beat the drum lowly and ply the flute fine

with cherished emotions and words on the vine

there's a gypsy boy playing out on the heath

but its only a childhood left a cutting his teeth.

Warblers song

Kaiser bill rode through kinson estate

to visit guests family he couldn't wait

he fell off carriage into river stour

till village folks helped him out that fateful hour

twas afore the world war number one

when Germany fought in France

we Brits fought the Hun

millions died it wasn't fun

Then the canford house was rich in style

they shot the deer all the while

folks would gather on the kinson village green

it was a pleasant country scene

Kinson parish spread to Poole

took in wallisdown and waterloo

the sun was high and grass it grew long

when zunners ran and fields were rich with warblers song.

Free men

They hung the poor gypsies or sold them as slaves

they tortured them daily from birth to their graves

they sent them to prison and to the US of A

then they gave them some land but made them work for their pay

They marked them with signs on their head and their breasts

just because they were different and not like the rest

with rings on their fingers and dark shiny hair

their music was rich and they went with the fairs

They gave them sites in the war years when they fought for this land

then they moved them on with after their ponies and bands

they made them take houses and give up their ways

to live in this country for the rest of their days.

The gypsy and Dylan

Dylan went to see the gypsy

she read it in the cards

there was alpha and omega

Isis was in the stars

So he rode upon the highway

he crossed the seas of blue

he visited old England

caught the train at Waterloo

He was like a traveling gypsy

he always bedded down

a troubadour of words of hope

boy did He get around

He sang at covent gardens

filled that Albert hall of fame

he was a calypso song and dance man

all poets knew his name

Those gypsy words still haunt him

she read it in the cards

with tarot books and ornate gold

she had his future carved

His fame it spread through art and soul

it conquered Ecstasy

his visions of Johanna made

his road to honesty.

Lundego walks

I took a trip to lundego

were gypsies camped in rain and snow

on egdon heath by Graham moors

where heather stretched in gypsy Roma lore

the Carey walks with Rhodie dens

with trees so tall and song of wrens

Where streams were rich in woodlands lore

there as a boy i saw it all

the Sanford dells and stoborough green

where folks all danced on Halloween

The roadside vardos stranded there

with gypsy rose and heather fair

the moreton tracks and worgret heath

where as kids we learned to cut our teeth

The potato field of spiller jack

with sacks of spuds upon our backs

where fishes jumped and eels did slide

through rivers rich and mills that roared

With waters rich and wheat not spoiled

where granary walls were hard and mean

with views and walks to Redcliffe beauty scenes

The corn exchange beneath the clock

far from the brambles and stingers docks

where urchin children once there played

upon the heaths of yesterdays.

Queen of the kings

She was a gypsy sweetheart

one time queen of the kings

she rode the canford commons

she made the starlings sing

she was beautiful when she was young

She made the young heads turn

she was a rare breed gypsy girl

within the heathers and the thorns

She rode the caravans of wood then

the wagon wheels did turn

she danced and sang a melody

she made the young men yearn

Then when she was older

she lost her young good looks

her darkness held her lines of age

She made children feel disturbed

she was the queen of Gypsy

she died upon the heath

she was buried in her wagons flames

with her belongings and her teeth

Her funeral was attended

by hundreds of her clan

she was the queen of Gypsies

mother of the gypsy man

She was the queen of the kings

the newtown clan gypsy family

she grew up wise in tooth and wisdom

when i was a kid she was so kind to me.

Gypsy talk

Cross my palm with silver mister

buy my heather sprigs

look into my basket

open up my lid

See my hard exterior

glimpsed my soul within

let me deal the cards

let your fortune telling spin

Buy my silver trinkets and my paper rose

see my ponies watching and see my gay bright clothes

hear my gypsy dialect don't say cackers please

for i am just a traveling gal with love all up my sleeve

Hear the fairground chatter

the Ferris wheels in spin

the boxing booth is open

Freddie mills within

See the darts a flying

hear the gypsy reel

gaze into my eyes mister

i have looks to kill

Ride upon the carousel

bumpers crash and bang

all besides the handsome frame

of the tattooed man

Walk upon the heath lands

where the winds did blow

where travelers built their homes in clay

many years ago

Let the music touch you

let their voices ring

gold and silver earrings

hear the chaffinch sing

Where barefooted and freedom

they all ran hand in hand

amongst the dunes of canford

lady guests proud land.