Rag & Reed
John lived down in Haywood Lane
Beside the wood, the river's course
And walked each day to see Bernice
His dark-haired lady, for discourse.
She had a melancholy air
A sad and gloomy way with her
And questioned why life wasn't fair,
John never had much sway with her.
He'd argue through the early hours
And speak his love, implicitly,
But she would snap in anger then,
'Your love won't buy the bread for me.'
For seven years they'd to and fro'd
For she would leave, then ask him back,
While he would sit alone and grieve
At every trait that she'd attack.
She always spoke of breaking up
Of taking time out, making space,
Until the day he called on her
To find that he had been displaced.
A woman answered at the door,
And barred his entry as she spoke,
He'd never seen her face before
She wore a witches hat, and cloak.
'She doesn't want to see you now
She said it's over, go away!
Now we'll be looking after her,
You're finished, done! You've had your day! '
'We've been together seven years, '
He tried to say, but she was gone,
Had slammed the door right in his face
And of Bernice there was no sign.
He phoned her then, when he got back,
The voice that answered wasn't hers,
A grating, rasping voice had said,
'Stop phoning, you have been her curse! '
John asked around the village then
Just who this woman was, and more,
He found out there were two of them
Had moved in just the day before.
The locals said they were well known
Two women from an evil seed,
They played with witchcraft, set their spells,
One called Rag and one called Reed.
They would batten on to weakness
Use their spells to hypnotize,
Said that they'd look after them, then
Move on in and rule their lives.
John sat grieving in his cottage,
Wandered aimless through the wood,
Stalked Bernice's house at night
To try to fathom what he could.
Then one night he saw them, dancing,
In a clearing in the wood,
Chanting spells and laughing, prancing
Calling on old Beelzebub.
'We have brought another convert,
Satan, you must be well pleased!
Send your devils down to take her...'
There was Bernice, on her knees.
On her knees there in the clearing,
Looking dazed, or drugged somehow,
'Send your cohorts down to take her,
See, we make her naked now.'
Then the one called Rag had turned
And torn the gown from off Bernice,
Under it she knelt stark naked,
On all fours, amongst the trees.
John had seen enough, and ran
The tears of grief welled at his eyes,
Pacing in his cottage then
He schemed and planned for their demise.
Cast about and found the items
That would even up the score,
Scoured Junk Shops, bought some hardware,
Saw the farmer Ron Trezore.
Checked the Almanac for April
Marked in red the next full Moon,
Modified his Ghetto Blaster,
Tried recording in his room.
On the night the Moon was rising
Once again he sought the wood,
Hid behind an old oak tree
Beside the clearing, in his hood.
Then at midnight, they came prancing,
They came dancing through the trees,
Dragged along with chains behind them
There he saw his love, Bernice.
Soon they stripped themselves in fervour,
Dancing naked on the green,
Calling on the wily Satan,
Shouting things that were unclean.
Then from out the bushes, roaring,
Came a figure, caked in blood,
Head of sheep and horns of goat,
Satan - in his glory stood!
Rag had yelped and Reed had screamed
And tried to hide their naked forms,
'On all fours, ' the demon growled,
And they had dropped before his horns.
Then he showered them with offal,
Then he poked them, with a stick,
Rag had wailed and Reed threw up
The ghetto blaster did its bit.
Chains and moans and clanking noises
Issued from the speakers there,
Flames burst out from both his hands
And left them both bereft of hair.
Soon the devil walked a circle
Traced them round a ring of fire,
'Should you move before the dawn
I'll take you to your funeral pyre! '
Then he left them, took Bernice
Who came back to his world again,
Marveled at the love he'd shown
And thanked the devil for good men.
The last I heard of Rag and Reed
They worked in some old Nunnery,
Washing dishes, being pious,
Bald on top where hair should be.
John moved in with his Bernice
They never seem to argue now,
Hung right on the mantelpiece
A pair of horns reminds them how.
3 April 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Coven
I had shot a couple of pheasants,
Was returning, deep from the wood,
Avoiding the crackle of branches, making
As little noise as I could,
The sky was clear and a harvest moon
Shone down through the old oak leaves,
When I saw the glimmer of candlelight
Shimmering through the trees.
I hid myself by the mighty oak
That had grown, six hundred years,
And heard the mutter of chanting there,
The rhyme of an evil verse,
I looked on out to a clearing where
The Devil and all were stood,
Thirteen candles and thirteen cloaks
And thirteen wearing a hood.
The Devil stood on an ancient stump
His face was hid from the mass,
He held a crucifix upside down
They all bowed down in the grass,
A woman rose from the group and peeled
The cloak that covered her form,
The sight of her beauty caught my breath
As if I'd never been born!
The hood remained, and concealed her face
As she dropped down on all fours,
The Devil leapt from his stump, and raged,
Then took her there by force;
The others chanted and danced about
In a circle, for some rite,
Despoiling the Devil's chosen witch
Was the purpose of that night.
They all dispersed as the moon went in
Was hid by an ugly cloud,
I kept my eye on the Devil's form
He was wrapped in a purple shroud,
I trailed him, loping, out of the wood
Like a beast that's held at bay,
And brought him struggling to the ground
To see what he'd have to say.
I ripped the hood from his evil face,
He snarled and snapped in the night,
‘Let's have a look at those evil eyes! '
He growled, and put up a fight;
But I laid him low by the mansion gate
And I held him there on the ground,
He yelled: ‘I'm the Lord of Leighton Hay
The Lord of these these woods and downs! '
‘So this is the Demon Devil's face,
Then who was the Winsome Witch?
I'm sure the Lady of Leighton Hay
Would be ready to flay the bitch! '
‘You mustn't tell, it would break the spell
Of the coven, and all my power,
What would you take for your silence, now,
For the reck of this parlous hour! '
‘There's just one thing that I'd take from you
To silence this gossiping tongue,
She's sweet, petite, and has dancing feet,
And I guess you know, she's young! '
‘If you talk about Lady Caroline,
My daughter, never for you! '
‘Oh well, the Lady of Leighton Hay
May brew up a Hell of a stew! '
That was a year and a day ago,
We wed, and live in the lodge,
The witches are still in the woods out there,
I often go out to watch;
But my Lady wife is an innocent,
I know she'd never deceive,
Except for the pot of serpents and frogs
She brewed on All Hallows Eve!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Return of Jonathon Grise
I stood on the porch
Like one in a daze,
And stared at the oak panelled door,
She'd shut it so quietly, there, in my face
That I just couldn't take it on board.
Her face was composed, but determined I knew,
Dismissive, but what could it mean?
The wedding we'd planned for the Spring was no more
Said the love of my life, Annie Deane!
I stumbled on out
In the gathering gloom,
And winter crawled into my heart,
The night was a portent of shadows and doom
As an owl fluttered past in the dark,
Storm clouds were filling the evening sky
And the wind set its wail in the trees,
The name of a monster was echoed out there,
The name of one, Jonathon Grise!
He'd come to the village
On just such a night,
Had stopped at the old village Inn,
The brim of his hat hid his face from the sight
Of the publican, signing him in,
He had an old trunk that he dragged to his room,
A magical symbol on top,
The publican smelt some old incense he burned
So he went up, and told him to stop.
I never was told
What was said when he knocked,
The publican staggered back down,
His face and his hair had turned grey, so they say,
When asked, the old man had just frowned.
He never said anything more on the case,
But bowed when he passed, to keep peace,
I sensed something evil, unclean in the man
That we all knew as Jonathon Grise.
He never went out
In the daytime, we knew,
But pottered about in the dark,
His cloak would be seen flaring out in the wind
As he strode through the trees in the park,
He bought the old cottage that stood by the shore
Moved in, with a rottweiler hound,
We dared not approach, or the dog would come out,
Bare its teeth, and start sniffing around.
He was watched by the locals,
But never approached,
And he never spoke to a soul,
He seemed quite content on his own in the dark
When the nights were both clammy and cold.
Then one foggy night I saw Widow McLean
Walking down to his house from the fells,
She walked in a daze, and her eyes, they were glazed
As she carried her basket of spells.
Long thought to be harmless,
A lonely old witch,
She knocked at his door in the gloom,
Then entered and stayed for an hour or more
Concocting her spells in his room,
I asked how she knew him, the mystery man
On the following day in the square,
She shivered, looked frightened, and held up one hand,
'I never was... never was there! '
Barely a month had
Gone by since the gloom
Of rejection had landed on me,
The heart that had loved had turned into a tomb
For the love that had set us both free.
Then rumours were whispered that in the Great Hall
The banns had been read and released,
The banns for the wedding of my Annie Deane
With that horror called Jonathon Grise!
My mind couldn't take it,
I tore at my hair,
I ripped at my coat and my shirt,
I drank a whole bottle of whisky off straight
In the hopes it would kill off the hurt,
I wondered how long since the two of them met,
And drunkenly swore my revenge,
I set off to squeeze all the truth from the throat
Of the visiting Widow from Henge.
She screamed when she saw me
Burst in through her door,
I looked like a figure from hell,
What spell had she cast there for Jonathon Grise?
She finally said she would tell.
'The man is pure evil, I met him before,
I met him before you were born,
He came on the night of a westerly gale,
Cast out from a Barque in the storm.'
'I think he deserted,
He wore seaman's clothes,
He never went back to the sea,
He married a woman, and left her in child,
A woman you'll never believe! '
'Just try me, ' I snarled, 'so he's done it before,
And now thinks he'll do it again! '
'Ah yes, but that happened when I was a child,
I couldn't have been more than ten! '
I stopped in my tracks
And I looked at her face,
The Widow was wrinkled and old,
She must have been seventy-seven or eight,
I felt all my innards run cold.
'You must be mistaken, this Jonathon Grise
Must only be thirty or so...'
'The man is the same, ' said the Widow, 'his name
Is the Sailor Who Never Grows Old.'
I sat for a moment
To gather my thoughts,
'You say that he married close by? '
'Ah yes, that he did, but the woman he wed,
In the churchyard, now, she lies! '
'Just tell me her name and I'll leave you in peace, '
I replied, with a portent of fear,
'Her name was Helene, and the child Richard Deane,
Your Annie's Great Grandfather, dear! '
I dropped like a thunderbolt
Onto the hearth,
I couldn't stand up for my life,
The devil had spawned the Great Grandfather
Of the woman he'd have for his wife.
My heart, it burst, and a thousand tears
Came flooding from deep within,
There must be a way to send Jonathon Grise
Back down to the devil's kiln.
I sat with the Widow
For thirteen days,
We read every spell in her book,
On the morning before Annie's wedding bells rang
She tossed all her charms in the brook.
'You said he deserted a ship once, at sea,
Do you have a drowned sailors spell? '
Her eyes had gleamed, old Widow McLean
As she lifted a caul from the well.
That night the moon
Stayed in, and hid,
The stars, they gave up their lease,
A mist came rolling on in from the sea
To the cottage of Jonathon Grise,
A groaning and creaking of timbers and masts
And the plash of the oars then grew,
The longboats, sent from the ghostly Barque
Rowed in with a ghostly crew.
They dragged him swearing
Away to the beach,
He cursed at the Barquentine,
They threw him into a longboat there,
And then he began to scream,
I watched as the ghostly sailing ship
Hove to in the rising swell,
While Jonathon hung from the yardarm there
At last, on his way to Hell.
28 January 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Sonnet XXIX
Dearest, there is no part of us, but air
And earth are counterparts. Your fragrant eyes
Touching my own, some essence of the skies
Instil therein, and all your warm, brown hair
Smells of the sun’s slow passion, fine and fair.
I cannot touch your hands but I surprise
Some element of summer; and the sighs
Of stars from your red lips I seem to share.
O Love…Love…Love…Dearer than God to me.
Earth of the earth are we and light of light.
God-born, God-breathing, all our scented souls
In Death will glow, gladdening eternity.
So give me love…all love…this perfect night
As round our naked limbs its full fire rolls.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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The Convalescent
. . . So I walked among the willows very quietly all night;
There was no moon at all, at all; no timid star alight;
There was no light at all, at all; I wint from tree to tree,
And I called him as his mother called, but he nivver answered me.
Oh I called him all the night-time, as I walked the wood alone;
And I listened and I listened, but I nivver heard a moan;
Then I found him at the dawnin', when the sorry sky was red:
I was lookin' for the livin', but I only found the dead.
Sure I know that it was Shamus by the silver cross he wore;
But the bugles they were callin', and I heard the cannon roar.
Oh I had no time to tarry, so I said a little prayer,
And I clasped his hands together, and I left him lyin' there.
Now the birds are singin', singin', and I'm home in Donegal,
And it's Springtime, and I'm thinkin' that I only dreamed it all;
I dreamed about that evil wood, all crowded with its dead,
Where I knelt beside me brother when the battle-dawn was red.
Where I prayed beside me brother ere I wint to fight anew:
Such dreams as these are evil dreams; I can't believe it's true.
Where all is love and laughter, sure it's hard to think of loss . . .
But mother's sayin' nothin', and she clasps -- a silver cross.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Shadow of Elspeth Brown
The sky was grey on that fateful day,
The sun was going down,
I made my way through a field of hay
To the cottage of Elspeth Brown.
She lived alone by the forest there
And studied her ancient tomes,
Her Grimoires, Necronomicons,
And her hearth was filled with bones!
I'd loved the girl for a year or two
And I'd made my interest known,
She was torn, she said, by the spells in her head,
She needed to be alone.
I knew she was seeing another guy
He called when I wasn't around,
‘He's more like the shade of a ghost, ' she said,
‘I raised him, out of the ground! '
She looked distraught as she waved me in,
Her hair was a tangled mess,
A book that featured some ugly Djin
Lay open across her dress.
I've never been one for the ancient arts
Of Magick, or spells and glooms,
But Elspeth wanted to play her part,
Cast spells in the afternoons!
I saw a copy of Crowley there,
A copy of Dragon Noir,
The Grimoire of Honorius
Was scattered across a chair!
‘What horrible Djin have you raised up
From the terrible realm of hell? '
I laughed, but Elspeth began to frown
And conjured another spell!
‘Three bat-wings and a gouty toad
And a strand of a maiden's hair,
A philtre of deadly nightshade stirred
With the leg of a wooden chair!
A third of a pint of hemlock, gathered
Close to the midnight hour…'
The sun was gone and the bright moon shone
Through the door of my lady's bower!
I thought to say it was nonsense,
Raised my eyes and stared in the gloom,
And there was her patient shadow cast
On the whitewashed wall of the room,
A shadow hand ran up through the hair
So tangled, under her cap,
I looked again at my erstwhile friend,
Her hands were down in her lap!
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck
Rise up, and a breathless chill,
The shadow had suddenly straightened up
My heart was standing still,
Two horns curled out of the shadow's head
Distinct on the further wall,
When Elspeth suddenly screamed, and said:
‘My skin's beginning to crawl! '
She spilled the book on the oaken floor,
Jumped up and looked at the wall,
The shadow that she had claimed for her own
Was suddenly eight feet tall,
It raised its hands in a threatening way
Against all physical laws,
I went to say, in a blank dismay:
‘Those fingers look like claws! '
We rushed together, out of the door,
Her screaming, me in fright,
The moon was rising, up in the sky,
You couldn't tell day from night,
The shadow followed, hard on our heels
And spread out over the ground,
I noticed it wasn't attached to her feet,
But followed with never a sound!
It moved around, ran by her side,
And then I saw it ahead,
She stopped in horror, whatever she'd done,
She'd summoned a Djin from the dead!
‘You'll have to set up an undo spell, '
I knew that she was to blame,
‘I can't, ' she muttered, ‘I don't know how,
He was here before you came! '
She wandered back to the cottage at last,
‘It's only a shadow, ' she said,
‘I shouldn't be worried, it won't hurt me! '
I turned on my heel, and fled!
I'm such a coward with magical things,
I ran full pelt all the way,
Then lay in dread, hid under my bed
‘Til the sun came up, next day!
I finally plucked the courage up
To return to the cottage there,
I stood in the yard, and called on out:
‘Elspeth - come out if you dare! '
A shadow stood in the hallway
And my heart, it turned to stone,
As I read the note on the lintel post,
‘I want to be left alone! '
The sun was high in the morning sky
As I looked on down at my feet,
There wasn't a sign of a shadow there,
My heart then skipped a beat,
For there on the inner whitewashed wall
And beyond the hallway Djin,
I could see two shadows, making love,
But I hadn't the nerve to go in!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summertime
Summer time and winter is gone
Summer time and I'm left all alone.
Summer time is so dam hot, so why don't it stop.
Red, yellow, green someone look at me with grief.
I think someone die, he was on wine or was it a
hooker that got caught with a John, or was it a white man.
That was shot by a black man. Oh it's so dam hot!
Here in the city in the summer time
(
poem by Bernice Rush
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Love Sonnet XXI
If there should be a moon above the hill
To-night, dip down with me into the sea
Of our first passion, and, with naked glee,
Breathe its ripe wonder to our beings’ fill.
O, as the moonbeams on the violets spill
Rivers of uncontrolled felicity,
We’ll tune our bodies to a melody
And set our pulses to a poet’s thrill.
Love…Love…Your hot lips tremble on my eyes.
You droop. You swoon in silence over me…
Heaven, out of yours, my very eyelids sup.
The stars are running out of Paradise…
I languish, perfumed with expectancy…
Beloved, kiss me, for the moon is up.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This was the first time a woman in Dallas had won public office of any kind - even women questioned whether or not I was qualified, whether or not I could take it.
quote by Eddie Bernice Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Original Sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden
The devil knew that Eve was weak;
So chose to tempt the lady first;
A Liar by nature, Satan,
It asked Eve tell what God had bid.
Poor Eve knew not the wily snake,
And the Tempter's evil design;
She blurted out the truth God said;
‘They could eat fruits of every tree.
But not the one, God had forbade,
For, death befell the one who ate.'
But Satan told innocent Eve,
It wasn't the truth what God had said.
By eating fruit of ‘knowledge' tree,
One came to know the good from bad!
Your eyes open, you'll be like Gods,
And never die as God had said.
Poor Eve believed the charming words
Uttered by mouth of wily snake!
The tree looked good, so would its fruit;
She thought the snake had told the truth!
The apple looked so enticing
That Eve decided to taste it.
She longed for the wisdom it brought,
And so decided to eat it.
She ate some fruits and took one to
The sleeping Adam; made him eat!
Adam also ate the fruit brought;
They realized they were naked!
Eve was the first to fall in sin
And succumbed to the temptation;
She did not stop with her folly
But made her husband do the same!
The moment, they had eaten then,
Their nakedness, they realized;
They made loin-cloths out of fig leaves
to hide their nudity from God.
They hid amidst the garden trees,
But God called them in a loud voice;
Adam threw the blame upon Eve,
And ate the fruit because she gave!
When God asked Eve, she threw the blame
Upon the snake who tempted her;
Thus was the original sin
Committed by our first parents!
The Tempter knew how to deceive
The lady first, through her the man;
To make the man first eat the fruit
Was perhaps not an easier thing!
And so, the crafty devil lied;
The woman Eve in him believed;
They committed the first big sin,
For now, the Liar seemed to win!
‘The snake became accursed of all
Bellying its way all through its life;
And eat dust as long as it lived.' -
The punishment pronounced by God!
When God had asked both Adam, Eve,
If they disobeyed His command,
They tried to blame the next for it,
Persisting in their lie to God.
Eve would bear children with great pain;
And yearn for her husband all life;
Adam would have to till the soil,
And get food-crops by sweat and toil!
As Adam put the blame on Eve;
As though he knew not God's command;
They weren't aware of God's wisdom,
And hence were banished from Eden!
Had they accepted their fault then,
Perhaps God could have forgiven;
And mankind could have still been saved,
From exile from Eden Garden!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-7-12
poem by John Celes
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House of Dreams
The house was ready to move right in
When Jane and John were wed,
A wall in the lounge was a TV screen
And another, over their bed,
It was fitted with every gadget
That could open, close or sing,
‘We want it to be the most modern house, '
Said Jane, ‘with everything! '
The washing machine was silent as
It whisked around their clothes,
They ate right out of the dishwasher,
Why stack them, keep it closed,
The carpets muffled their every step
They had a luxurious pile,
‘It's just like walking on clouds, ' said John,
As they wandered round for a while.
The lights were hidden in ceilings
Casting a faint, enchanted glow,
And speakers whispered their music
Following round, wherever they'd go,
They had ipods and pads and things
And touch screens all about,
‘It certainly is the house of dreams
So why would we want to go out? '
John would follow his wife around
The room with his loving eyes,
While Jane would gaze at the garden
Through the shades, with heaving sighs,
‘There's so much love in our little house,
I feel it's almost a dream, '
Said Jane, who stayed in her nightie:
‘Why get dressed, the clothes are clean! '
The oven there in the kitchen had
Six burners, worked on gas,
But Jane never got to turn it on,
‘We have to make it last! '
They sent for take-out, burgers, fries,
For a treat they'd eat Chinese,
‘And that is the beauty of this house,
We can do whatever we please! '
John had installed a system that
Was called ‘The House of Love',
It whispered insidious messages
From the speakers up above,
‘Oh Jane, you are so beautiful, '
It would whisper in the shower,
Told John: ‘you're such a lucky man,
To be let in your lady's bower.'
A speaker out in the mailbox said:
‘Hello there, Mister Man,
I see that you have some letters there,
Just place them in the can.
Or maybe you'd like to take them up
And slide them under the door,
They're busy now, in making love,
We'd be thankful, Man, I'm sure! '
When visitors rang the bell, they'd hear
The sound of a drawn out sigh,
‘John and Jane aren't in today,
But they'll phone you, by and by! '
Both friends and family ceased to call,
Got on with their mundane lives,
‘That pair have nothing they want to share, '
Said the husbands, to their wives.
A year went by in a flash, the bliss
Was almost too much to bear,
‘Why don't you move, ' said Jane one day,
You're still in that same old chair! '
‘You're getting fat, ' said John to Jane,
As he looked at her burgeoning thighs,
Maybe we ought to go out one day,
Go out for some exercise! '
They sat and stared at the oak front door,
They sat and stared for a week,
‘Maybe you're right, we should go out,
If only to take a peek.'
John turned the knob on the door, and pulled
But he found that it wouldn't budge,
‘The wood has swelled, Oh, Merry Hell, '
He swore, ‘we'll wait for a nudge! '
They hoped when a visitor came to call
They would push from the other side,
But no-one called, they'd given up,
Stayed home with their dented pride,
And tempers frayed in the house of love
As the voices whispered on:
‘Oh Jane, you have such beautiful thighs,
Now why did you say that, John? '
The take-out came through a window
Far too small to be climbed on through,
For Jane had the hips of an elephant,
And John had the belly of two,
The Pizza boy was a slender lad
And he'd nudge and he'd nudge in vain,
But the door stayed fast ‘til the very last
Until the firemen came!
The voice said, ‘Hi there, Mister Man,
I can see you're coming on through…'
The firemen called on the local police,
‘See here! Now what do we do? '
For Jane lay drowned in a half filled tub
While John had sat down, and choked,
‘You shouldn't have said that, John, ' it said,
The knife was still stuck in his throat!
13 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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May Colven
False Sir John a wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colven was this lady's name,
Her father's only heir.
He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
He wood her in the ha,
Until he got this lady's consent
To mount and ride awa.
He went down to her father's bower,
Where all the steeds did stand,
And he's taken one of the best steeds
That was in her father's land.
He's got on and she's got on,
As fast as they could flee,
Until they came to a lonesome part,
A rock by the side of the sea.
'Loup off the steed,' says false Sir John,
'Your bridal bed you see;
For I have drowned seven young ladies,
The eighth one you shall be.
'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your silken gown,
For it's oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.
'Cast off, cast off, my May Colven.
All and your embroiderd shoen,
For oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.'
'O turn you about, O false Sir John,
And look to the leaf of the tree,
For it never became a gentleman
A naked woman to see.'
He turned himself straight round about,
To look to the leaf of the tree,
So swift as May Colven was
To throw him in the sea.
'O help, O help, my May Colven,
O help, or else I'll drown;
I'll take you home to your father's bower,
And set you down safe and sound.'
'No help, no help, O false Sir John,
No help, nor pity thee;
Tho' seven kings' daughters you have drownd,
But the eighth shall not be me.'
So she went on her father's steed,
As swift as she could flee,
And she came home to her father's bower
Before it was break of day.
Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:
'May Colven, where have you been?
What has become of false Sir John,
That woo'd you so late the streen?
'He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben,
He woo'd you in the ha,
Until he got your own consent
For to mount and gang awa.'
'O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,
Lay not the blame upon me;
Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,
Your cage of the root of the tree.'
Up then spake the king himself,
In the bed-chamber where he lay:
'What ails the pretty parrot,
That prattles so long or day?'
'There came a cat to my cage door,
It almost a worried me,
And I was calling on May Colven
To take the cat from me.'
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Sonnet XLIX
In me there is a vast and lonely place,
Where none, not even you, have walked in sight.
A wide, still vale of solitude and light,
Where Silence echoes into ebbing space.
And there I creep at times and hide my face,
While in myself I fathom wrong and right,
And all the timeless ages of the night
That sacred silence of my soul I pace.
And when from there I come to you, love-swift,
My mouth hot-edged with kisses fresh as wine,
Often I find your longings all asleep
And unresponsive from my grasp you drift.
Ah, Love, you, too, seek solitude like mine,
And soul from soul the secret seems to keep.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The voice I have now, I got the first time I sang in a movement meeting, after I got out of jail... and I'd never heard it before in my life.
quote by Bernice Johnson Reagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brother John And Friends
I sat quietly in my study
and tried to concentrate
when I heard things crashing
all about the house,
then came the rattle of chains
a sound I had not heard in years.
I closed my eyes in dread,
as I knew who was calling
a pesky friend Brother John and his entourage.
Brother John was back with ghostly friends,
back to wreak havoc over my life again.
It wasn’t so much Brother John
but his dubious ghostly friends.
Bang went my peaceful life
as it had done many years before.
Now it was back to being ever watchful
of things flying across the room
of lights being switched on and off.
It was all mischievous fun
to Brother John and friends
and all I could do was sit
and wonder when will it ever end.
16 September 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Czechmate!
'I won't be back 'til very late, '
The note from her had read,
He poured himself another drink
And headed off to bed,
She often spent the night away
Carousing with 'the girls',
The forty-something's group of them
Out on their monthly whirls.
They'd known each other all their lives
From kindergarten on,
Had played with beads and Barbi dolls,
With lipstick on the lawn,
They'd had the odd pyjama nights
Had ogled all the males,
And giggled through their early teens
At love, and lovers tales.
And now they'd all been married off
For twenty years or more,
Their nights were spent in darkened bars
Where some had hoped to score,
With jaded lives, they gossiped there,
At every fault, the blame
Was laid right at the husband's door,
At every husband's name.
And so it was with Mary Jean
Who said that she was bored,
She said her husband Jack was tired,
He lay in bed and snored,
The days of making love had gone
She lay awake at night,
Frustrated in the marriage bed
That once had brought delight.
At home, her husband Jack, asleep
Had dreamt of other things,
Of dancing nymphs who never spoke
To him of boring things,
Who never held their hands out every
Payday for his cheque,
But fed him loving tit-bits, kissed
His feet, and pecked his neck.
Then sometime in the early hours
He heard the bedroom door
Creak open, as his wife returned
Tip-toeing on the floor,
He tried to cling to sleep, to keep
Immersed within his dream,
But then his eyes flew open as
He heard the woman scream.
She threw her handbag at him,
Hit him fair across the face,
Then started yelling something and
He heard the word 'disgrace! '
He struggled to sit up as she
Hurled insults at his head,
And then he realized that
Someone else lay in his bed.
He looked, quite disbelieving
At the blond head lying there,
That lay upon the pillow,
Fast asleep, without a care,
Her painted lips were parted in
A sexy, loving pout,
As if a sudden climax had
Hit home, and knocked her out.
'I've never seen...' he went to say
But Mary Jean had gone,
Was stomping down the stairway
Shouting curses at the moon,
The blond leapt up and smiled at him
And said: 'I'm sorry, Jack! '
Then as she left: 'You should have known,
You have to watch your back! '
The papers for divorce, they were
Delivered, just on noon,
Demanding half the house and all
His Super, called the tune!
He stood accused, adultery,
And in the marriage bed,
While Jack sat down and tore his hair,
He wished that he was dead!
He phoned the band of sisters, phoned
And spoke to every one,
He asked about the night before,
Just what was going on?
They wouldn't give away a thing,
Stonewalled, and left him lost,
'Til one broke down: 'So sorry Jack,
She planned it - you've been crossed! '
She told him of an agency that
Figured out these things,
An office in a little street that
Specialized in 'Stings',
He took a trip downtown and then
He hung around 'til late,
The sign above the door, it said:
'Divorces! - see Czechmate! '
At eight o'clock, a blond came tripping
Out into the street,
He recognized that pretty face,
The blond between the sheets!
He cornered her and made her spill
The beans, she looked quite scared,
It seemed that Mary Jean had paid
For her to grace his bed.
His wife had been unfaithful with
The owner of the place,
A little Czech called Pavel, so
She wanted her own space.
She thought that she could score off him
If she could tap his guilt,
But Jack had other plans now that
Her secret had been spilt.
He scribbled out a note and gave it
Folded to the blond,
And told her to deliver it
Before she could abscond.
He wrote, 'I hate to tell you this,
Your little scheme has failed!
About the money, honey -
Well, the Czech is in the Male! '
22 June 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Must Have Been Sleeping
'Where are you going, ' I heard her say
As the dream took me straight to the core,
We parked at the side of a very long road
And I got out the driver's door;
'I've never known that, ' I replied, and she sat
On her hands, with the pain of surprise,
'So what you've been saying has never been true! '
The tears rose up in her eyes!
'The road has been long, the road has been wide,
I never knew where I could turn.'
'I thought you were happy with me, ' she said;
There was nothing to say in return.
'I must have been sleeping for seventeen years, '
My voice sounded foreign and coarse,
But I couldn't handle the sighs and the lies,
Or the terrible sound of - 'divorce! '
I walked to the wood at the side of the road,
And followed the pathway around,
I couldn't look back now I'd made up my mind
Though I walked unfamiliar ground,
The clearing was quiet, the birds didn't sing,
A mountain rose up in my view,
I suddenly saw there was no going back
To the comfortable life that I knew.
I cast off my shackles and took a deep breath,
To breathe in both freedom and pride,
My strength was returning, and clearer my eye,
I walked with a bounce in my stride,
The years fell away, I was thirty again,
I stopped then, and sat on a stone,
For darkness was gathering there in the gloom
With that terrible feeling - alone!
I thought of the woman I'd left on the road,
Who'd always been faithful to me,
The tears that she'd shed for a love that was dead
Made me sad, and ashamed to be free,
I thought of the comfort she'd given me when
All my world started going insane,
She'd cooked and she'd cared, and she'd loved and she'd shared
And I'd given her nothing but pain.
I turned on the track, and I made my way back
But I couldn't see where I had been,
I stumbled through thickets and walked into trees
And I fell on my knees on the green.
'I am lost, I am lost, ' I cried into the night
Then I heard her voice, dim, by a tree
And woke to her stroking my face and my brow
As I cried… She was waiting for me!
9 March 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Woman of Magic
“Oh woman of magic, charms, spells and strong love potions
will you make me a philtre to give Sarah Green a notion
to fall in love with me and to hold out her left hand
to do as I ask, to marry and wear my gold band? ”
“Tell me, does this Sarah Green know that you exist,
does she give you the eye that flutters so quick?
Does she move gracefully and glance over her shoulder,
smile and pucker her lips, or do something bolder? ”
“No, unfortunately she does none of these desirable things,
but each time I see her she makes my heart sing.
I see her in the village each day and in my dreams at night,
and if I can’t have her I will turn out my life light.”
“It appears to me that you are nothing but a lovesick fool,
how could this Sarah Green make you so drool?
But if I did spend time making you an extra special brew
what could you give me to make your wish come true? ”
“I am by no means a wealthy man, of this you can be assured
and if I was to make you an offer you may think it absurd.
However, are we talking about money in the greatest of sums,
or are we talking about the smallest of crumbs? ”
“A moment ago you said you would turn your life light out,
now what is your life worth, what value would you shout?
It seems that my potions would be worth everything you’ve got,
and if you’ve nothing, you will do anything, am I right, or not? ”
“You mean that money need not be the only method of payment,
and there are other ways to pay for our agreement?
What does one normally have to do to leave you fulfilled,
surely you won’t ask for someone to be killed? ”
“Oh no, no, I wouldn’t sink so low as to hire an assassin
with my spells I can eliminate, alter or fashion.
Now listen to what my dreams have placed on my agenda,
I require a girl child on May 1st whom I’ll name Diana.”
“So you want me to find and kidnap a female child or baby
before ten months has passed, or eleven maybe? ”
“Why don’t you listen properly to what I say you stupid man?
I must conceive a baby in the way only two people can.”
“What! You actually want me to make a baby with you
and you bear my child, and be its mother too?
I don’t know if I can do this, you are so ugly, old and wizen,
my love is for Sarah, and to her only it is to be given.”
“Give me strength, I’m not asking for your love or your heart,
just give me your seed and then we can part.
I don’t want your stimulating conversation, or boring company,
just do as I ask and leave the details to me.”
“Will you give me a potion so you can appear as a real beauty,
so when I make love to you it won’t feel like a duty?
And then of course there is the love potion for Sarah Green
to make her love a reality instead of my dream.”
“Yes, yes, I will give you these potions just wait and see,
so now what is your name and do you agree?
I will draw up a contract and you must sign it in blood,
if it isn’t done this way it’ll be worthless and no good.”
“My name is Alfred George Boon and I agree to all you say,
when do we begin and when do I pay? ”
“When the next moon is full I will concoct Sarah’s brew,
but I will require a hair from her and one from you.
This symbolic union requires the hairs to be tied and knotted
and I will ensure she drinks the potion to become besotted.
Seven weeks and one day there after you both will be wed
and for one week after that you must share my bed.
It is with all this in mind that you shall now freely sign
a contract that is binding in the sight of mankind,
and if for any reason you do not agree then walk away now,
but if you do now sign, it’s your written vow.”
The potion worked, Sarah and Alfred were happily wed,
but one week later he wasn’t in the potion maker’s bed.
The maker of spells and potions was feeling very annoyed
Alfred had broken his contract, and must now be destroyed.
She searched and found him to give him one last chance
and warned him of the punishment in this circumstance.
He told her to get lost and to get her face out of his sight
for his romance was as natural as doves in flight.
She made two new potions to overcome the power of will,
the first one for Alfred and his contract to fulfil.
In disguise she sold this strong potion to Sarah his wife
saying it would put vigour into the man of her life.
Two nights later Alfred hastened to the bed of the maker of spells,
and seven after that he had finished in the house where she dwells.
The morning after, she gave him the second brew in an herbal tea
and minutes later, he was a sapling of a growing birch tree.
She planted the sapling in Druids Wood in a clearing wide and open,
Alfred was of course missed, and at first his wife was heartbroken,
but after several days her love potion wore off and she didn’t care,
she fell in love and ran away with a man from the Goose Fair.
The pregnant woman of magic, charms, love potions and spells
gave birth to her baby who was blessed with the gift to foretell.
On Diana’s sixteenth birthday on the very first day of May
she was to be the May Queen, and it was to be her day.
The sixteen year old birch tree in the wood clearing that once stood so tall
was cut down, trimmed and carried, and placed outside the town hall.
With coloured ribbons and flowers attached, it was firmly fixed in the ground
and was ready for The May Queen and the young people to dance around.
Alfred did not know his daughter had been crowned The May Queen
until mother and daughter together had made themselves seen.
Dancing, laughing and joking, they both kissed the Maypole,
and the tree began weeping from its fresh knot holes.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Barton Leas
You can't see the tiny village
In the bush, called Barton Leas
For it's hidden in a hollow,
Down a track and through the trees,
And you'd pass it on the highway
Never knowing where to stop,
If it wasn't for a broken sign
That indicates a shop.
There are just two dozen houses
By the shop, a little pub,
And an oval with no grass on
All burnt up, just like the scrub,
While the buildings look forsaken
Peeling paint in every street,
And the roofs are made of iron
Fending off the scorching heat.
You would think the place deserted
If you ventured there by day,
For the streets are always empty
Like the folk have gone away,
But that's only in the summer
When the sun is at its height,
If you want to see some movement
Then, you have to go at night.
For it's then that all the neighbors
Gather, drinking at the pub,
Or go out to tend their gardens
Though their gardens are burnt up,
For it hasn't rained in Barton Leas
For years that I can see
When a passing shower startled them,
The first since fifty-three.
The people seemed so friendly
When John Inkerman turned up,
He was just a passing drifter
Quite a jolly, friendly chap,
And the locals thought he'd fit right in
And rented him a place,
They would pay him for odd jobs,
Invite him round for tea and cake.
There had never been an argument
Before in Barton Leas,
For the folk were all good neighbors
Helped each other, tried to please,
But when Inkerman had called and
Whispered things to Molly Brown,
The atmosphere began to change,
He'd said, they 'put her down.'
Then little Amy Pearson
Began to fret and cry,
When Inkerman had called on her,
The neighbors asked her why?
He'd told her that her husband Jeff
Was sweet on Ellen Tredd,
He'd seen the couple necking
In the trees behind the shed.
Then Mrs. Bartlett snubbed a friend
She'd had for twenty years,
While Mr. Bartlett smashed a glass
And went for old Carstairs,
While Peggy Neap had wandered out
To tend her veggie patch,
To find that it was all dug up
Her vegetables trashed.
Then Gordon almost hit a tree
When heading out to town,
His truck had veered off the track,
The tyres all let down,
It seemed that almost everything
That could was going wrong
In Barton Leas, since Inkerman,
The drifter came along.
One night they held a meeting
In the little village hall,
The place was packed that night
With all the neighbors, wall to wall,
But later, when John Inkerman
Had tried to join the crowd,
He found the doors and windows there
Had been both locked and barred.
The meeting went 'til midnight
Then the neighbors wandered home,
While Inkerman had stopped a few,
Asked what was going down;
'Don't let that worry you, my lad, '
Said Benjamin Tresize,
'You'll find out soon enough! We'd like
To keep it a surprise.'
One night as Inkerman had slept
Beneath a haloed moon,
Dark figures stirred around his house
Moved quietly through the gloom,
From every house in Barton Leas
They issued in the mist,
On every face a coloured mask,
A blade in every fist.
The screams were truly terrible
That night in Barton Leas,
As in they filed and, one by one
Ignored the drifter's pleas,
And every blade was bloodstained
When they filed on out the door,
That not one would be guilty;
As good neighbors, they would share.
The villagers of Barton Leas
Are friendly, never dull,
Their pub has gained an ornament
That looks quite like a skull,
And Peggy Neap grows veggies
That when cooked, just fall apart,
So succulent, they're fertilized
By a drifter's heart.
15 March 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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John, I'm Only Dancing Again (1974 Single)
Dancing
I'm having so much love
Dancing
Too bad my back had gone
Dancing
Boogie down with daddy now
I'd give my house in the country
If you'd slept it's so funky
Music
I'm dancing in the street
Ooh music
I've torn the shoes from my feet
Romancing
It's got me dirty and sweet
It's got me reeling and rocking
Won't you let the slender thing in
Rolling
I think it's all I can do
Rolling
Just got me feeling you too
Rolling
Get a little take a little
Get a little back
Jumping John the great goose is gone
Got a lion in my hand
Got a Charlie on my back
John
I'm only dancing
She turns me on
I'm only dancing
She turns me on
Don't get me wrong
I'm only dancing
I'm only dancing
Dancing
Have you heard the news
Dancing
President has got the blues
Dancing
I tell you comfortably
If he gives it to you
He'd better take it from me
Said Sir
I pick up the bones
Said Sir
Leave the numbers alone
Said Sire
Get off your telephone
Look the people in the eye
Tell them my oh my
Let your backbone slide
Buddy whistle and cry
John
I'm only dancing
She turns me on
I'm only dancing
She turns me on
I'm only dancing
I've lost my feet
Don't get me wrong
I'm off on my way
I'm only dancing
Please dance with me
I'm only dancing
Please dance with me
I'm only dancing
Dancing
I'm only
Dancing
I'm only
Dancing
I'm only
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Book of Van den Braak
I stared at the book on the table
Where it lay on the weathered oak,
The cover so black and tarnished,
Tanned in leather through coils of smoke,
Its ancient layers had long been carved
As petals of some grim flower,
Where an evil mildew spread its mould
From the walls of that ancient tower.
The book was set like an altar piece
In that ancient, flagstoned hall,
Catching the feeble rays of light
Through cracks in the old stone wall,
I hastened to look away, but yet
It gripped me in its glare,
Like some old German Grimoire...
Though no title page was there!
I reached for the cover and opened it,
The leather creaked with age,
As it formed with its rotting petals
Into a rose around the page,
The smell of the mildew wafted up
And the chill was damp and stark,
There was nothing but evil in that tower,
In the book of Van den Braak.
I leant right over the book and saw
A woodcut of a lane,
The trees were grim in their winter coats
As the snow gave way to rain,
The mud was thick on the barren leaves
That were mulched from the Autumn's fall,
And I felt it squelch right under my feet
As the wind howled round the hall!
The tower was gone, I stood outside
In the rain and the brooding dark,
Walking along a windswept lane
In the book of Van den Braak,
I saw the light of a cottage there,
Set back in among the trees,
And a woman wailed on the painted step,
My own, my dear Louise!
I ran towards her, through a stream
That babbled beside the lane,
Louise was crying and wailing there,
She muttered: 'I'm not to blame! '
I must have seemed like a phantom there,
I waved, but she couldn't see,
She said, 'you shouldn't have killed him,
I just asked you to set me free! '
A man ran out from the cottage door,
His coat was covered in blood,
He ran his hands through his tangled hair
And fell, to kneel in the mud.
He took her into his arms and cried,
She clung, and called him Mark,
And then when he turned, I saw his face,
I knew him - Van den Braak!
I must have been quite invisible
In the pages of that book,
Or they were a couple of phantoms
Making love as I stood and shook,
I walked around to the cottage door
And peered in out of the rain,
I lay stone dead on the hearthstone there,
A bullet lodged in my brain.
In shock I turned, I saw the tower,
I ran with all my might,
Back to the Norman Keep and Moat,
Back through the surly night,
The eyes of demons had followed me
From high in the trees of the park,
But I was ready for come-what-may
At the hands of Van den Braak!
Then suddenly, I was in the tower,
Leaning over the book,
When Van den Braak called out that he
Was ready to take a look,
I'd brought the book with the tenants' rents
Of those that lived in the park,
But I stabbed him high in the rib cage there,
And cut his throat in the dark!
I went to his German Grimoire
Fell once more through the open page,
Went looking for my Louise, by now
In the white hot throes of rage,
She sat and wailed on the painted step
And muttered there in the dark...
'I didn't ask you to kill the man,
Just free me from Van den Braak! '
1 April 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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