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  • The Countryman
    When life would show me the hidden ways to achieve success
    I would take the hands of my fellow countryman
    Whenever I needed to I’d walk the streets and curb my stress And receive the heart of every countryman

    For the countryman is a man of the earth
    He takes his hoe to the soil where he knows his toil
    And dig for victory with a cow mooing for Company
    And link his eyes to his wife who is readying to lay with him

    The day’s work would fly on by to the rhythm of a toss of a spade
    Turning the ground into a vegetable pound
    He may be green from the food he’s grown but he’ll fetch a packet at the market square
    His wife beside him looking forward to the country fare

    He’ll buy his wife a brand new dress
    To fit her growing belly and expanding breasts
    And then she’ll make him a grand breakfast
    With rations of meat and eggs to fit him out best
    (With a pot of tea to calm her strife
    He’ll don his hat and boots with a wink to his endearing wife)

    Success brings fertility in the country life
    Both his wife and the soil bring joy to his sight
    Created in the image of nature
    Comes a child born from the spoils of his tithe

  • The Inevitable Yearning
    Your encroaching skin brings with it your sins,
    like clouds scattered high blotting the universal sky
    Infectious as you are you dampen my spiritual fire,
    a rash upon my face you cease to go away

    For I am the Earth who shines out in joyous mirth
    I cater for your lows by oiling a heavenly rainbow
    Strident tracks I trace for your uncommitting race,
    endlessly searching in vain for that treasure in between

    Don´t chase me (for you will never catch me), cos for all your stealth
    you are only following your shadowy self
    No matter how tall you are (for you will never see me) or loud your calls,
    you are running round in circles

    To find a crock of gold you must ever be bold,
    and loosen your hair to the wind´s chilling care
    Providing you with lips to the morning dew
    And the sun basting your back in Autumn

    Red in tooth and claw that survived the Winter's gore,
    your bloody hands then gave rise to pastoral lands
    The Spring turned to Summer with the beat of the parochial drummer, who scrapped after the appeal of militant zeal

    In time the territorial year turned over your global fear,
    as mountain snowcaps melted into amorphous sea maps
    Sweat and tears gave way to sunken roads without frontiers,
    leading your emotions just where they belong, in the malaise of your throng

  • Song for a Dying Man
    If ever I knew you it is now old man Truth
    Your shrunken posture dries like a loosely hanging fruit
    Still lingering on an arching twig precarious in your stance
    Peering down at the chasm between your heels and the last dance

    You think to hang in there like a fleshly ripened pear
    If only to be picked by your most noble dashing mare
    She would carry you away on horseback to Elysium
    And place you in a bowl made of gold and platinum

    Ring it will when struck like a distant peeling bell
    When only time will tell how long that cirtcling sound will dwell
    Cradled in the Earth’s most precious gifts under terrestrial law
    To reveal within omniscience whilst stripping you to the core

    Time to die, no time to lie, no time to buy or cry
    No regrets, don’t reflect, prepare for the ultimate trial

    Everything you valued is thrown to the maelstrom
    Sucking into an infinite void every last atom
    There is no more substance to carry you yonder
    Only form to continue an imaginative venture

    Your weighty shoulders once proud now huddled in the diminishing light
    The airy sky and its convecting heat occlude you its almighty sight
    Your gravity spent on one final descent from the tree of life
    As sure as a pear under Death’s stare you vanish in the swish of His scythe

    Old man Truth you came and went not before your time
    You contorted into many shapes and still lost your mind
    The very blackness from which you appeared is now the hole you crave
    Where peace and nothingness and quietude welcomes you into its grave

    Time to die, no time to lie, no time to buy or cry
    No regrets, don’t reflect, prepare for the ultimate trial

  • The Flight of the Cyclist
    Beyond the rooftops there’s a mountain, and beyond that a sky
    Beneath of which flutters a bird above the arboreal hillside
    There’s a stream of smoke wandering, a shadow behind a window wondering
    Below meandering through a gravel scree the tinkling of a spring
    A car motor onwards direct in its object of destination
    It hoots and flashes with intent its motive of deliberation
    Beneath is a road that’s lifeless, an encroaching weed its enemy
    It bakes in the summer and cracks in the winter in its oily indifferent melee
    There’s a cyclist who travels the world carrying what little to boot he needs
    But most of all he shares in his experiences and his most adventurous deeds
    The people come out to greet him from behind their doors and windows
    In their own small words they reminisce of a life they remember as a child who grows
    They want to be free and travel and dream of flying the open air
    But always they must return to the eaves and sills of their cagey lairs
    When will they let go of their material possessions? Can they buy a holiday to the sun?
    They are anchored in the roots of a tragedy that binds their hands and feet as one
    Sinking ever further into the floorboards beneath the layers of their wrath
    They can all but let go if they would even dare to join the cyclist in his laugh
    But to keep him here just a little longer to see what material goods are on show
    Surely the cyclist will stay and dither and plant a little lower his own soul
    Oh no, he has foreseen these lonely trappings, he smiles and waves goodbye
    Wondering if ever just one will leave it all behind without so much a sigh
    Every valley opens her groins to receive him as a fish would follow the rivers
    They kiss his feet in the Boine as a memorial his brief presence delivers
    A protruding rocky fort gives him protection against her moist enveloping clouds descending
    So that in his sleep he may travel into her most dark secrets as an eternal child returning
    With the rising sun so Dunaad offers him shelter from the wind, a trio of horned sheep to witness
    The shod foot sunken into the footprint of his ancestral grave sealed with a deathly kiss
    Upon the steppy slopes of Aintree the giants prepared the way millennia in advance
    So that the descent into the sea is marked with a volcanic heritage, the world of man in penance
    The eruption is deep enough to cause division and strife among the floundering masses that pretend reverence
    But the wise traveller who always returns to the caves of antiquity knows better than to brandish a needling lance
    Instead he enters the great womb of the land’s boggy interior feeling his way back in the familiar darkness
    And lays down his head into her peaty cushions and drinks of the knowledge in quiescense
    These mnemonic waters washing from him any cultural bonds that might embark him into political angst
    Close up the boundaries between north and south so that every hill is a dimple of thanks
    Could the cyclist repair the rent that so religiously tears at the fabric of the earth?
    If only to return the Scotti into Dalriadic ecstasy in the name of spiritual rebirth
    Will the castles now ruined be reconstructed into pilgrimage sites of reconciliation?
    In order that Ireland and Scotland will remember again its roots as a single nation

  • My Austin Allegro aka 'All-agro'
    Rodney’s said, ‘This is a proper car, it is made of metal’
    Little did I know that it would leak like a kettle
    From the outside she looks just sound
    From the inside she denied even the car pound
    Not that Cary, that’s her name, is full of money
    Rather , she’d prefer to send the driver on a spending spree
    Even the RAC man accused it of being naughty
    As it clanked to a dead stop on the A40
    ‘It’s not throwing any oil in the rocker cover’
    ‘And you were going to visit your Welsh lover?’
    Well, he didn’t really say that
    But he implied it tit-for-tat
    ‘It’s bone dry’ he said with a sneer
    ‘There’ll be no nooky for you this New year’
    Even when he dragged it onto the back of the recovery vehicle
    It caused a puncture that made the RAC cough up from their till
    ‘Definitely the big end is gone’
    As he dropped me back in Forest Hill all alone
    Let down with the fireworks blowing up a storm
    Perfect timing I thought to envisage an apocalyptic doom
    Luckily Rodney’s accepted the beast into their care
    As it squeaked in without a horn to bear
    And I spent the next few days reclaiming my financial loss
    Not that anyone really gave a toss
    And there she laid slowly gathering algae
    Whilst instead I got into Catalonian olive oil and considered Gaudi
    Oil, the source of man’s modern woe
    It’s the black stuff that threatens to bring him low
    But I produce the golden stuff that glows like a lamp
    A return gift of thanks if only Rodney’s would help me revive the tramp
    And they did with the mentorship of its foul-mouthed staff
    No environment for a proper lady but you got to laugh
    Solly and Brian, all they talk about is sex
    With the vigour and mindlessness of Tyrannosaurus Rex
    Cary was no spring chicken either
    Born from that most greatest of years 1980
    She is the Series 3 the best of the lot
    Apparently it was to save British Leyland who were hatching a plot
    It was followed by the Metro, with wings from a can of Red Bull
    Unfortunately the environmental movement were just beginning to condemn fossil fuel
    Albeit one may reflect on the Allegro for its racing quality
    That only fell off the pace when Ford produced the Capri
    And all that bad crap aired about this problem car
    Well, that was just American propaganda
    I mean, square steering wheels and hydroelastic suspension
    Reminds me of the French bird I had in pretention
    After perusing her art work in those very comfortable reclining front seats
    I had her leg over me in a manner that praised her cleats
    But before I could lodge in my full attention and the matter at hand
    PC Plod knocked me up and gave me a turn
    ‘Excuse me’ he said. ‘Do this in your home’
    Can’t I have any privacy, this car is my own?’
    Alas we moved on but the spirit had died
    And the car would never again entertain a bit of crumpet on the side
    And I thought Cary liked the French, I took her across once on the way to Spain
    But my Polish friend didn’t appreciate me blasting out Elton John whilst Cary overheated in pain
    A few years on and she is looking as good as gold
    Rotten in a few places but not looking so old
    But the story is much longer than this if you feel you can bear a little more banter
    And it starts with my father who would revamp her
    She was looking good then, only 2 owners
    Before she came to me as retirement bonus
    That is when she took a few dents
    Not least the bonnet that the wind caught in a vent
    It ripped up into the air as I was driving
    And I couldn’t see a thing as it stood there writhing
    It bent the hinges so that it would never fit true again
    So that every time I lift it the body whines in pain
    Like I say, when they came to take her away for being untaxed
    They told me to keep it for it had no value as scrap
    The engine has had two rebuilds now, the first from a fiery Turk
    After it started smoking he must have taken me for a jerk
    He charged me £550 and then added a little more for luck
    After I waited weeks for it it still quacked like a duck
    Lo and behold I steadily used up my RAC cover
    As the vehicle went back and forth like a son to his father
    I asserted ‘Hang on there Mustafa Crap’
    ‘Why do you insist on taken me for a sap?’
    ‘You promised a rebuild but all you’ve done is toss’
    ‘Maybe only changed the head gasket so as to prevent any oil loss’
    ‘Don’t tell me that you gave this car a krypton tune’
    Even superman would be horrified as to fly to the moon
    So I left it in his care with an unspoken agreement
    After I mentioned court cases he appeared to repent
    So for a year and a half I went back and forth
    As a Greek he called me Yeshua and kept me aloof
    He was my mentor and historian as he whinged and waxed
    Being a Cypriot he wanted to blubber out the facts
    And slowly that engine came together over winter
    New piston rings, new pistons, another head cylinder
    Gleaming like Sir Lancelot’s armour
    I was betrothed to it with a creative ardour
    I ended my stint with the fiery Turk’s company
    As he continued to remind me of the ongoing fee
    But it was me who forked out for a gasket set and a load more oil
    And I wasn’t about to shrink away to the sound of the Cockney toil
    With a super kebab for a communal dinner I said my farewells
    And looked forward to pulling a load more girls
    But I soon learned that the radiator was naff
    So I bought a reconditioned one and made a huge gaff
    It didn’t fit the Series 3 which meant buying the right hoses
    Especially if I wanted to be saved from the flood, just like Moses
    This was getting complicated and expensive that left me meek
    When on pressurizing the system caused the water pump to leak
    So I replaced that also and took her for a ride
    Hoping that all things past I could be turning the tide
    But the thermostat didn’t work and so I changed that too
    To prevent it from overheating but that was only a ruse
    Apparently to prevent an airlock one needs the correct version
    For the radiator to work in a particular configuration
    Anyhow, on another occasion when I took it to my sister
    It started first time even in snowbound Rochester
    On parking I ambled to a public house
    And returned to find it whined like a mouse
    I opened the bonnet and discovered the fuel was spraying
    And realised the lines had been cut that got me praying
    ‘Who would do such a thing?’ was a thought I saved for later
    For I went back to the pub to ask for a favour
    Requesting a beer line I quickly fixed the problem
    And scootered off home with ambivalent chagrin
    Soon after I lost reverse gear, then 2nd or was it 3rd
    Never mind I am so confused in trying to understand this bird
    She flaps and quacks, squawks and squeaks
    There just wasn’t any water going round to cool down this freak
    But the final insult must surely be
    The failure of the oil light to indicate when to pee
    So she clogged up and I suppose caused her big end to pong
    Stuck as I was on the A40 without a hard shoulder to cry on
    It could not have helped when I over-topped her with juice
    If only I could encourage her to get more loose
    And that is when I retired her away into a garage
    Looking very similar to metal-load of garbage
    So two years passed but Rodney’s helped to clear the fog
    As I rebuilt her and found a screw lodged in the reverse gear cog
    I also returned the original radiator after having it re-cored
    And now Steve got her purring after all the mishaps she has endured
    And thanks to Alex and the other Steve that I got her through an MOT
    But not before breaking the law, just give me another chick to carry on from where I left off before
    Oh... that reminds me, there was an older lady once sitting next to me
    When the wishbone collapsed and the wheel jammed inwards to Blondie
    As she belted out the tracks I calmly and one-handedly guided her in
    A fifty meter skid got my passenger on edge after taking it on the chin
    But that is another story, and there will be lots more to come
    For my girl is coming to Spain loaded to the hilt of her bum

  • The Golden Man
    It belongs to us who believe in the Great Spirit
    Like us you crossed the frontiers of time and space
    But not like us you are sucked into your finite race
    You defy extinction and by extension God’s will
    You build towers and rockets that push your material zeal
    Upward and ever you think there is no limit
    But little do you know that your repressed instinct is but decrepit

    Technocracy only answers to your boxed-in mind
    It solves the problems of yesteryear and omits tomorrow’s finds
    Forever your are chasing your tails with your heads stuck up your ass
    Plugging the pollution as you regurgitate your far(ce)ts
    Let’s be honest you are not really that healthy
    Where do you take your sanity from other than the mire of the un-free
    Your big society is merely your small minds running rampant
    Your imagination bloated and ready to implode in ever-growing contaminants

    Can you not see where your cancer originates from?
    Your lack of the greater picture is contained in a scientific bum
    It fattens in response to the concentration of emissions
    Because the real world is lost to you for want of a gaseous fission
    You breathe in only what matters in the short-term
    Truly you must look outwards if you are to put in place every stone, tree, animal and germ
    Not an infinite possibility of unchecked growth for the craving of human endeavor
    Worthless as it is in the context of becoming a cultural diva

    There is a true individualism but it is self-effacing
    How irreverential to forget the spiritual roots of creation
    God, the Unknown, is not nature to be dissected and individuated
    Rather it is the knowledge that only the Great Death confers if you would just capitulate
    Yes, give up your human-centered motives and uncover a myriad of creative possibilities
    Not any of them an act of material growth but one of spirituality
    Yet your discriminating souls contest this sacrificial act for the sake of identification
    Believe me, the Golden Maen awaits you like an irrational light of emancipation

    In your hearts you know that your outward manifestations are earthly bound
    Soulfully leading you to the event horizon beyond the scope of your perceived sensual land
    I say again, your humanness is an act of your defiance of God’s hand
    You must die to yourself if you ever hope to be the origin of mankind
    And then the realization will dawn upon you of the continuum of all small things
    When the Golden Maen will shine forth as the harmony the whole of Creation brings
    It is your soul who leads you to death as the environmental act yielded by the unconscious spirit
    Making sacrifices of you all in the name of evolution and beyond in the revolution of the Id

  • Peaches
    Her stride, the way she walks
    Upright, her head held high
    She makes me ready

    I follow, my thighs give chase
    Bloody, a spear on her gait
    My heart cries rebel
    She’s close, I feel her heat
    Her scent, leaves a trail of leaves
    A bush who smells of myrtle

    A snake, I wind a route
    Her cover, a shady resort
    Brings me unto her bower

    Peaches, sticking out of the hedge
    Peaches, I bite into her nest
    Peaches, sweating juice down my neck
    Peaches, leaves my face in a mess
    Peaches, her lips I ingest
    Peaches, I drink of her sex
    Peaches, thrust them down with zest
    Peaches, I giv’em my best shot and no less

    What beauty is this creaturely love,
    that binds up like a deer to a hunter
    How majestic she drew me in,
    like a sword into its scabbard.
    Like a seed carried in its husk,
    nurtured in the moisture of the earth.
    Swelling to puncture her hymen,
    to give rise to a virgin sovereign heir.

  • The Hunter Revisited
    Rain for the people
    Rain for the fields
    Rain for the festivals
    Rain harder still

    Rain for the virgin
    Rain for the chase
    Rain for the rivers
    Rain until they break

    It’s a miracle, a miracle, a miracle
    It’s a miracle, a miracle, a miracle

    She came in the rain
    Every drop had her name
    She washed me from high
    Each moment she cried
    Her tears rolled down
    And bathed my horny crown

    From head to toe
    She came with a flow
    I paled to load up my bow
    She slipped on a ring
    And caught me in a spin
    I came into her thrashing steening

  • Destination God
    I am free to ride, I am free to fly
    To fly away upon this day
    To ride the light with courageous might
    And reach the exalted heavenly way

    No religion anchors me
    No politics burden my view
    The whole earth is my nesting ground

    God leads the trail
    God makes me not fail
    This is the road of the prophets

    Every nation embraces me
    Every culture embalms me
    I will be remembered for liberation

    The rocks stare up to fallen idols
    The rains pour scorn upon sunken cities
    But I traverse the higher road
    Where the starry sky meets my nomadic soul

    The sun glints off my mercurial heels
    Venus passes me with a loving kiss
    Her virginity is no match for heroic plights
    Mars canters only a short while into the mists

    But even must I ascend the empirical realms of Jupiter
    Saturn still grounds me in wild earthly delights
    Before even Uranus will give me an heir
    And then on Neptune raise the chosen from their watery graves

    For ultimately I follow the sun into its Plutonic demiurge
    For ultimately I follow the sun into its Plutonic demiurge

  • The Falcon’s Descent
    When the world was flat they said, ‘You can’t reach the ends.’
    And now the world is round they say, ‘If only we could be friends.’

    Man knows no limits, he is killing for all the same reasons
    Territorial boundaries leave him scrapping around the edges
    One stone too many has been tossed over the line
    The rivers are filled contemptuously to overflowing
    Its muddy waters change the course of history
    Leaving the fields plagued with death and disease
    And the people are left like salmon to a poacher,
    Blinded in the aftermath of their melee

    From a mountain top and riding on a stream of sunlight
    Comes the hunter wielding a scythe in one hand, a net in the other
    He returns to reap his glory sifting the wheat from the chaff
    The rulers of unkempt lands will buckle under his righteous gaze
    There will be no mercy for his sweeping hands will strike them at the heel
    He shall recover the balance of nature by flailing the rotten at their core
    And the boar, the lion and the scorpion will pay homage,
    In the graceful umbrella of his spreading wings

  • Second Sunset
    First one up, the whole world on my shoulders
    The embers of yesterday’s fire still emitting its glow
    I shake it up, another stick to rekindle my inner desires
    Hidden flames once dormant, now relish the new day’s activities

    Duty meets passion, the creative touch of hand and heart
    The hours pan out, senseless to the real flow of energy
    As wood turns to ash, and ash to soil, so the winds stir up another spirit
    The death on one leads to the birth of another, its name is mythicpoetic

    Ride on, wind up, the journey is a hero’s welcome
    Ride up, wind on, the land undulates to reveal its person
    Its many folds take the rider through a blurring scene
    Its face just a memory of countless dreams

    The setting sun has disappeared among her breasted fort
    The road meanders as a snake to its den
    But in that dappled shade beyond the crest of a hill
    I see it a second time from a dimple of her flesh

    Second sunset, second sunset diminishing beneath the sea
    As if passing away the time it quenches the day’s flight
    Dragging with it a gusty wind that cools the skin of the land
    As nature draws in, her silhouette is a night-blackened tan

    Why, from this ancient spot upon her prostrate navel
    I, emrys stood in full view of her boundless verdant scape
    Reaching up at every turn of my wispy view
    But then taken up in the cradle of her bosom sucking

  • Lord of Lords
    Looking around into the void
    Space is a frozen reticulate scene
    Positioned I am in the middle of time
    Stationed my vision to see from within

    The colours were bright, all angular in sight
    I turned on a point to capture the light
    Everything fused, the dusk before dark
    I made up my mind to follow a line

    Deeper and deeper I cut like a cleaver
    Carving and moulding a world for believers
    A place of my own, a zone all alone
    Beyond the dimensions of human retention

    God in creation, the God of Redemption
    Death is passing me flowers in heaven
    Born to a throne so fine does it shine
    I take my position to state the conditions

    Everyone heeds the word of the Tree
    An elder as high the mountainous sky
    Risen in deed and spreading his seed
    I take me a virgin to sanction a purging

    Heave I will into her Holy of Holies
    The land will tremble and rattle its temple
    A snake through her chasm to enrapture a spasm
    Shaken right down to reveal a new haven

    My utterance reverberates the walls of her cavern
    A single deep note so incredibly remote
    Plutonic and sonic it pierces with fierceness
    To raise upon a dais the most awesome enforcement

    The seas will rise and rivers will prize
    The banks will tear under the surge of an heir
    Give me light, I give you might
    Like no other to rule all nature’s fare

    I live in this world through day and night
    I find myself among the chosen few
    I reside on a rock that reaches to the sky
    And find myself on a shaft of light

  • TheGreenMan
    I am a wolf, I am an arrow, the hunted deer, the bull of a target
    The predator, the prey, the moss on an alder
    My feet are wet with the travel of rain
    My hair a mat of twigs and disdain

    In tooth and claw I was bourn on her back
    All nature produced me to widen her tract
    To regain what has been lost to the men of feign
    Desdcended are they from the families of Cain

    I grew to the size of a colony of honeybees
    And bred on the wing a sweetness for insurgency
    A thousand stings to the temples of perdition
    A thousand drones to the tune of sedition

    You are not what you seem Old man of the gean
    Your fruit is still green Like the mind that you wean
    You nurture revolt Like the insatiable goat
    Who’s cry is consort With a brazen throat

    I chopped down the ash to embody me a handle
    To wield with the fervour of a barbarous vandal
    With metal I sharpened the edge to a tinker
    To cut through the mire of Babylon’s bingers

    The holly bore me a hand with a pang of deliverance
    To curtail from the land the offending officiants
    She bore me a prick with a poignant remittance
    To go into humanity like a scourge unto pittance

    I blew me a scream from the wood of hornbeam
    To the slaughter of man upon the altar he shams
    His blood feeds the soil in revenge and spoil
    To replenish the earth from Mammon’s unrelenting toil

    Into the darkness I ventured within a mangle
    Amid the lianas where men are hung and strangled
    Caught up they are in the vines of their vices
    No rest for them as they struggle against reprisal

    I festoon myself in the clothing of evergreen armour
    Tending to the needs of the budding seedling farmers
    Who march in droves from their sacred oakley groves
    To trample down a succession of foreign hordes

    And in that most quiet place where the yew casts its face
    I bend me a bough that is strung with a vow
    To cast upon the assailants of my Gallic verdant glades
    A death as promiscuous as the rape of my virgin vales


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