POEM OF THE DAY
|
adventure days
We built those big adventure playgrounds in those pioneering days
we used the best of timber constructed great walkways
the kids came from the neighborhood from two to twenty one
they swung upon those Tarzan swings oh boy did they have fun
the streets were full of laughter in those bye gone days
when the kids did all gather there to while their days away
there were tiny tots and punks with bikes skin heads and greasers too
little kids in fancy dress ans kids with just one shoe
they built their wooden dens there and painted them real cool
there were tall beams with commando nets
with ramps and slides a few
the games they played were roustabout run out and give chase
there was laughter on the playgrounds then with smiles upon each face
we use big tools and hammers with saws to cut and prime
there were hordes of children playing there all having special time
the leaders all wore long hair and the kids were satisfied
no health and safety limits the just common sense ans rhymes
gypsy chatter
i rode those gypsy caravans
where the trails were wild and the journey's long
i watched the swirling reels of rhymes
the wheels that spun and the poets vines
i stumbled through their tales of woe
their sodden rides where willows grow
where eyes of destiny saw through trees
brambles that caught ones hands and knees
i listened to the folki lore
those tales of old like days before
where sparrows flew upon the downs
where gypsy folk were bedded down
i saw those fairground roulette's spin
those darts that flew o'er every whim
i heard their chatter each new line
their jests and spin like hands of time
i walked those tracks o'er meadows sweet
where berries grew above my feet
where rabbits ran and foxes chased
where plough was rich and life's no haste
i heard their laughter and saw their pain
their tears of joy like once again
where cock did crow and cows did graze
where pony's ran and boy did laze
the gypsy reels and folki lore told tales of life
no eyes deplored and yet it richness was divine
afore the bricks and mortars zine
A fool and his money is soon parted
what becomes of the broken hearted
many a foolish words-spoken in jest
many an angry word spoken n blessed
Who rocks the baby in the cradle tonight
who says a prayer wipes a tear
then says goodnight sleep tight
There thunderstorms brewing
in the valleys of regret
where fools and vagabonds sigh
where all your dreams are just regrets
i saw the candle flicker in the dead of night
i saw the heartless dreamer walk the stage in sight
I heard the whispers of a starstruck fantasy
then i awoke and you were gone far away from me
the prophets sounded the rocking tune
the crowds that gathered smelt her cheap perfume
the lonely starstruck fool faded from your sight
then the music whispered and you'd gone into the night.
COMPASSIONATE STREET
Grandmas house
We went to visit grandmas house
with roses around the door
with scented dreams on innocence
just like folks did once before
we sat down at her table
ate jam scones by the score
with buttered crusts of brads so rich
like the royalty for sure
we walked out in her garden rich
with apples hanging free
cherry's ripe for picking
lots gooseberry's for you and me
we gathered all life's offerings
blessings one by one
like children of the innocence
and blessings by the score
the days were full of sunshine dreams
wishes fit to see
with trips out on the painted bus
to places by the sea
we had such lovely picnics then
we shared such fun and more
we counted all our blessings then
through grandmas open door
ROCK N ROLL TEARDROPS
Ive got these rock n roll teardrops
lost lovers in the alley and fools left in the dells
I've got troubles in my love life
though on the outside it all looks swell
there's rock n roll fools
like rock n roll joys
hip hop babes a dancing cool punks counting all their ploys
i saw twenty babes in my garden
picking berries from the bush
but they werent there no more
last time i up and looked
there's music in the treetops
I'm skipping through all my fears
I'm drowning all my sorrows
trough these ole rock n roll tears
there's miles of road to travel
lots of troubles round each bend
Ive got a dollar in my pocket
lots of dreams left to spend
I'm crying in my beer tonight
skipping through life's fears
I'm drowning in my sorrows babe
through these rock n roll tears
the stars at night are twinkling
the moons face is all aglow
though I'm crying in my sorrows
got no place else to go
the singers sing in the moonlight
tall their gypsy melodies run free
though they sure make a nice sound
it don't mean that much to me
for I'm lost here in my own thoughts
those sad ole rhapsodies
there's no more rock n roll for me
rock n roll teardrops.
chains of freedom
love is the answer
love is the key
set me free of this world
give me sweet liberty
the children are crying
in the streets of despair
their hands reach for freedom
but there no wisdom there
the streets are for losers
like the stars in her eyes
the words reveal truth's
but their meaning's just lies
down trails of the traveler's
home of the brave
the peace pipes are blowing
the smokes rearranged
the battles are over
but the wars still remain
in the minds of young children
with tales of the rage
through pathways of vengeance
through hollows refrains
the victors own answers
yet love still remains
its a constant confusion
wherein the sage dwells
in a haven for prophets
neath the old wishing wells
shadows of the poet
when the poet writes in the crisp of the night
when the words are flowing and the theme bleeds white
its like an illusion lost in time and sanity
like a wild wind blowing for the lost humanity
the thunder storms are brewing in the harvest of the pen
when the words flow asunder and the thoughts of will remain
the breezes blowing in the lost causes of the sprite
like a child crying for someone to turn on the light
the pen its plunder like the sadness in her eyes
like the visions of Johanna and the gentle gift surprise
the vast horizons hold no frontier's left to see
only the shadows hide the Truth from you and me.
journeys
life's scenes are but shadows played out in our dreams
whilst the carousel goes around its course
the funny man he screams
the sun comes up each morning
to greet each brand new day
but the minutes and the hours
like dust they fade away
the sunshine and the flowers
that blows each petal sweet
comes bye each day to greet you
like all the good folk that you meet
the worlds all full of troubles
fear hides around each bend
there's rainbows there to welcome you
and terrors to pretend
the loud avenging angels
who ride the beaten tracks
where wolves share bread with angels
whilst kids play lets pretend
the forests hide the shadows
where the willows bend their boughs
where sorrows they do greet you
friends to show you how
the wars they come and go like light in darkness hide
the horrors of the moments
mankinds foolish pride
its all one big mascaraed
you see it every day
when you look life in the mirror
or watch kids hard at play.
A beach hut by the sea
I wrote my masterpiece in a beach hut by the sea
some secluded place with lots of spray sun and history
my vagabond friends and dreamers were in tow
they sent me lots of letters seemed so long ago
the seagulls flew there and the ships they sailed on bye
the weather clad my dreams in the nighttime sky
there were children playing on the sands
with toffee Apple beach chairs and lovers holding hands
i wrote my best lines and the notes they fell like dew
the dreamy eyed lovers on the road to Poole
the fir trees glistened and the squirrels danced lullabies
it was a night for dreamers and the words went shy
the lines were fashioned like that summers breeze
where sandy shores stretched to somewheres outta reach
the moon cast shadows and the stars they did a dance
one moonlight dreamer and one step to true romance
the lines were crafted from my old time memories
the prose was lifted like a lonesome summers breeze
i heard the wood pigeon cooing in the tall ole trees
the lights in the distance and the rolling waves that breathed
no one taught me how to write those lines
they fell from my mind like long forgotten spies
crafted in etas of a young mans virtues dreams
kisses in the moonlight and a promise yet unseen.
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 frequaint
where sankey ward built houses for the rich 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 where 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.
western union blues
I took the narrow beaten track
where few did choose and folks called black
i walked the sad and lonesome trails
with others bruised and battered gals
the folks just did not understand
i had no love to hold my hand
my home a worn out memory
my trust had gone and sad was me
the neighbors and the family too
said trust to God that's cwhat you must do
i beared my cross and gave my pledge
i gave up my life for others said
the road was full of thorns and briar's
with scattered dreams ans old flat Tyre's
the promises of youth long gone
with just the sparrow and his sad song
no one was there to understand
to hear my pleas or hold my hand
just scorn and sorrow down the years
bitter disputes abandoned fears
the life i chose is left behind
with kind words choked and crafted lies
only the Truth is yet to be
foretold in passages of revelry
one time i put my trust in him
with faded dreams and long lost sins
now I'm free to go my way
to live my life
my way.
TRAVELLING DAYS
There were gypsies on the sand dunes before Blackpool golden mile was born
there were Gypsies on the lodge hills near Poole when farms were planting corn
there were gypsies in their caravans and in their tents so mean
with lights a burning bright each night all full of kerosene
there were ponies on the hillsides then and donkeys on the sands
there were fairground cars to ride and more with big top traveling bands
those fortune telling ladies on the pier did often stand
with their cards of tarot destiny and with silver in their hands
all the belly dancing ladies and the singing baritones
with the dancing of the festivals and the wagons rolling home
there was work out in the fields then with the fruit picking every day
with the singing of the gypsy gals and guys each working holiday
each year the traveling circus came to call with big top and the clowns
with horses bred and braided well and there was hay upon the downs
the crowds were all a thronging and the lights were shining bright
these were tales to tell your children when the gypsies were in sight
there were belly dancing ladies with earrings and bright gowns
with their castanets and tambourines jingly and the accordion's gay sounds
there were gatherings on the hillsides then and merriment when the traveler's came to call
with their Roma ways and dialect like gents and ladies at a ball.
HATCHIN TAN
they built them there a hatchins tan
with concrete base and barbed wire surround
no more were they a free race lore
with open Sky's and heather floor
now they partook the gorja ways
so its kushti bok and taxing days
no more the traditions of the gypsy clan
for now they twer part of the master plan
the 1994 act was introduced
to rob them of their rights and truce
each one imprisoned like a criminal for their nomadic ways
like a fortress camp in a Freeman's grave
the traditional skills were just old hat
their weaving baskets and ladies hats
no more the land to plant n sow
with ponies braided for to show
still the dreams live on in Romany
like the life of the poor old didikie
where wagons rolled and stories told
in the past down gypsy roads.
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 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 gravelled 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 along
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'.
KINSON GYPSY DAYS
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 side of the roads
the rag men came with their heavy loads
at least that's the stories what we've been told.
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.
the sparrows song
of summers past the sparrow sang of hidden dreams and days long gone
forever grateful to be free to sing within the great oak tree
with leaves of richness and boughs so strong land so wide to travel on
the stories told the tales long gone only the memories linger on
past battles and lovers laments hidden talents and loving words a sent
the sweetest voice the song of love relent
the joy of life from up above the meadows sweet with honey dew
daisy chains they made a few
the youth of many the fun for all the boys are gone all lost in wars
the chimney high the cradle low the banners stretched for freedoms show
many prayers unanswered and many lost within the fields of high Howe cross
the crickets played their little dance whilst many lives were lost in France
whilst many danced upon the green to celebrate the new may queen
the sparrow song traveled the land across the moors his voice so strong
his melody an old refrain his story thus a tale of pain.
The turn in the road
We took out for the country
where the air was so rich
we travelled the bye ways
through gravel and ditch
we crossed by the meadows
smelt grass on the leas
where the chaffinch did sing
and the stories were free
we travelled through counties and countries back then
we wrote it all down with pencil n penned
the roads they were hard and the life it was too
with hardly a dime and poor heels on our shoes
where heathers grew rich
where the birch trees did sprout
amongst hillsides and grasslands
forests so stout
the stories were sung then by accordion Joe's
like the teller of fancy and the rags for our clothes
the pots they did hung there
on kettle drum shanks
where bridles of leather were rich in high ranks
where the sun rose each morning
like the blackbirds rich song
awoke you and thrilled you
as the road bends along.
| Visitor Counter: | |||||||
 |  |  | | |  | ||