Take It With A Grain Of Salt

We grumble too much

Rumbling on about what we

Care to gain and Fail,

Or what we Get and Never want..

We're too Obsessed with The Misery

Of Failure,to look at what It brings us

Next..

Get up,fellas,brush off the dirt,

and While you're at it,

Take it with a grain of salt,will you..

...Won't You?

Your Rewards On A Platter,Sunny Side Up

Eggs,sir? Madamoiselle?

Poached,fired or gone to tail?

You put em In,we'll serve 'em up,

And down you're throat,and in your Grub,

We all feel low,but still we'll jingle,

Put out a halfpennorth o' shingle...

We'll Look alive,

and stay alive,

and look unto the happy side,

So,Lets Put some coffee In your cup,

and Lets ONLY have our eggs-Sunny Side Up....

Of William Wallace,and Jeanne D' Arc

Farmer and Peasant girl were you,

Lad strong and lassie frail,

Oppressed and decreed,

A hundred Years of Tyranny your Only Birthright..

Yet somewhere In you Glowed bright The power

Of Humanity and Thirst for freedom,

You lusted for life,and You fought

To pay your debts,to country

And people,a populace of Lackeys,

Of Patriots,and those In between..

You stoked in 'em The embers of your

Fire Divine,you fed 'em Hope,

You Gave 'em thrust,

And Victory after Victory pronounced,

Gave you as gifts to your

Man and Woman and Child...

And persecution You feared not,

Neither of Traitor nor of Witchhood,

The world Forgets you sometimes,

And you dwell in the past of forgotten

Passion,Lost in crumpled parched

Books,torn and frayed,

With underliners,and Bookmarks,

And Scribbled Q&A's,One must Know

The Battle of Stirling, The Siege

Of Orleans,The burning,The torture,

Five marks allotted for that,FIVE marks,Imagine.....

Marks and books,Your fate gentleman and Milady,

There You rest,

And I cry silent tears,

In my heart of hearts,and Pledge allegiance,

Wish I were In your ranks,fighting beside you

To lift this tyranny upon us....

There William Wallace,and Jeanne D' Arc,You

Remain,in the hearts of us patriots,

Of Life,and Liberty profound,

Knowing Nor Country,nor Profession,Nor

Skin,None but a cause and The Humanity,

Which Sharpened your Spurs,

Who try to live your dreams,and cry out,

For Freedom,And your Immortal souls guide us,

As we rally around you,diminshed and

Outnumbered,but undaunted in Passion or mettle,

We Roar out,and we hold ready our swords,spears

Pens and Spirits..

Cry out..We forget you not,Heroes of Yore,

But await your command,to resume the fight

Where you left off.....

Half Past Moon

Traipsing along the spiral staircase

to catch a breath of fresh air,

My terrace invites me,

I swivel and stare

Gloomy, moody ,callous..

It wouldn't work,The air's too thick

Too supressed,too humid,

I can feel the pallid smokescreen hung

Like a curtain soaked and draped,

About me as i shake my head

and unmist my sight,and Glance up

Stars galore

Lo,and a little more than Behold,

I see her sitting there

Pockmarked,roundish

But twinkling with glee,

Silver dinner plate..

She sits too proud,

Arrogant more like,but

I can't resist her stare

Contemplates me,and laughs

Her sparkling Maiden Laugh

I Shake my head,exasperated,

She'll never learn,Ol' show-off,

then I chance a half-glance,

and a reluctant half-grin

Yea,I know,it's half past moon..

The Woman On My Window Sill

Every Morning,

As The Sun Takes it's morning coffee,

She Breathes In my ear,

"Wake up",She says,Blowing

Her minted air on my eyelids,

And I wake,puffy-eyed and ragged,

As she wanders off to the balcony,

I follow her,dragging my slippered feet,

and Put My hand on her shoulder,

She smiles a curious little smile,

Indulgence playing The clarinet

Ripples On her face.

She gently prises off the hand..

I freshen Up,and I come back to her,

She sits on a window-sill,

Legs bare,white,dangling,

She surveys me with appraisal,

She blows a gentle kiss at me,

and laughing,She slides away..

Horror-struck,I stare after her,

I dart to the Balcony,

I see her garlanded Head,

Wreath of Lillies and

Sashe of Petunias,

Strung around her womanly frame,

She sniffs,she Glides,

Ballerina's grace,from Flower-top

to tip,

a wink and a nod and a burning passion

She wafts The aroma at me,

I take in her scent of sandal

and Strawberries,

I taste the air On which

she leaves her trail..

She Vanishes among The

Four-leaved Clovers,

Misletoe brushes my hair,

My eyes kiss the portal she made,

and I make a short wish..

In My head,I hear her voice,

Sparkling,like a fountain in spring

And she says,I'll come again,

watch,and wait,

And in the meantime

My essence,I leave you to guard

The Dew On your marble Window-Sill..

Airing thoughts on a cloudy summer's Night....

The solitude of The cramping sultry warmth fills my soul...Outside blows a powerful lusty,yet unthreatening wind...It is cool

and soothing,however...Somehow,as it blows my hair askew,I feel at peace,It's power calms my frayed nerves,a gust of particular strength hits me

I go back in...All alone in my home..My mum's away...I don't quite know how I got this way..Tired..Not physically,but a sort of languor that acts

As a soporific on my corporeal existence...I feel half-dead,Yet would not change my position In the least..Slumped against my side-pillow,

with a perturbation eating away at me..something's undone..But I don't know quite what...Nothing's undone..But why that niggle in my stomach?

Why do I feel I have nowhere to go...Trapped...Trapped where? In my own Home? My own body? My own existence...?

I make to shut the windows and doors,put out the light,Maybe some sleep will do away with this? Perhaps...Perhaps not...I wake,every day,renewed

-Not In Freshness,But In doubt,in that all-pervading sense of loss,of belonging nowhere,of existing,and not existing...

I Lean against the wooden door and Watch the red clouds gather...Heaven's Angry pout..An Omen...Yes,I can sense it..A storm is coming........