The Castle of Lost in Time
The Castle that stood in the farmer's field
Was a grey and battered shrine,
As kids we'd clamber the battlements
And imagine a former time,
When Norman soldiers stood at the heights,
Looked down on the Saxon serfs,
Who paid their tax to the Baron there
When the Normans ruled the earth!
And I'd be Baron Fitzwulf up there,
While Craig would be Robin Hood,
Our histories would be twisted there,
We'd mix and match what we could.
A hundred years was a slip of time
To pray for my own soul's sake,
When I was Thomas A'Becket, and
He was Sir Francis Drake.
The walls were battered and falling down
Had been since the Cromwell siege,
When Charles had fled with his standard, said
No longer to be ‘My Liege! '
The cannon had ripped through the southern wall
Had brought the portcullis down,
And the Roundheads, ferried across the moat
Had slain every man they found!
But ivy clung to the stubborn stone,
And climbed right up to the tower,
Where knights once practised their courtly love
Grew the strangest sort of flower,
Its petals red in the morning sun
With a heart of gold within,
‘They'd pluck it up on their lances there, '
Said Craig, ‘for Ann Boleyn! '
Above our heads was a fireplace
Set high in the ancient wall,
The beams long gone where a floor belonged,
There'd once been a stately hall,
Where Dames had danced in their silken gowns
And knights had cast in their lots,
Had drawn up the Magna Carta there
For the shame of John the fox!
But Farmer Giles was a bitter man
And he'd chase us over the brook,
Whenever he showed in the Castle grounds,
No matter what time it took,
He even managed to fence it off
But we'd scale the fence with glee,
And play to our hearts content, with him
Away where he couldn't see!
One night, we carried our sleeping bags
And stole through the darkening night,
I was the Duke of Marlborough
And Craig was Sir Hugh De'Spight,
We made our way through the ruins, found
A nook, we could safely sleep,
‘We'll wait ‘til the morning light, ' I said,
‘Then we'll play the Lord of the Keep! '
We woke as the Moon beamed overhead
Peeked out through a glowering cloud,
I could hear the strains of a harpsichord
The murmured sounds of a crowd,
A man that looked like a villainous lord
Appeared, not saying a word,
We scrambled out of our sleeping bags
As he drew out a wicked sword!
Then Craig took off with a yell, and I
Flew over the slated floor,
We jumped down into a passageway
That hadn't been there before,
The walls were damp with an evil stain
And brands that flickered the way,
Along to the castle dungeons, filled
With chains, and a smell - Decay!
And there in a tiny cell we saw,
Most rivetting sight of all,
The skull of a grinning skeleton,
Chained fast to the dungeon wall,
The bones were covered in cobwebs
But he'd scrawled in dust on the floor,
‘Pray God to smite all mine enemies,
The Devil will take them all! '
We heard the clanking of chains along
The darkened passageway,
And like a shroud in a shimmering cloud
Was a soldier, dressed in grey,
His stare was that of a madman, crazed
The fires of hell in his eyes,
As he seized the haft of a burning brand
He looked like the Farmer, Giles!
I ran clean through the spectre, thought
That Craig was coming behind,
Cleared the end of the tunnel, leapt
Back up in a single bound,
I didn't stop for a backward glance
I ran with a sense of doom,
Away from the Castle of Lost in Time
To the safety of my room.
I never saw Craig, my friend again,
They scoured the countryside,
Ravaged the ancient Castle grounds,
Questioned me ‘til I cried!
They found him dead in the dungeon
Chained, and lying against the wall,
A piece of flint in a bloodied hand
That had scraped in a childish scrawl:
‘May the Devil smite him, through and through,
Mine enemy, Sir Giles FitzHugh! '
20 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The End of the Feud
The revellers came to Castle Krag
And whirled in through the hall,
Into the lavish ballroom with
The Lord of Donegal,
He came with his wife and mistresses,
A merry, laughing crew,
To answer the call by Castle Krag
To end their ancient feud!
For there by the central pillars stood
The Baron, John FitzHugh,
A smile on the ravaged, bitter lips
That his enemies once knew,
He was of a mind to end it all,
The bitterness, the strife,
And even smiled at the courtesan
That he'd asked to make his wife.
She'd laughed, and fluttered her fan at him,
'I don't think so, my lord.
I'd rather share in the favours of
The Lord of Donegal! '
And so she had joined the mistresses
Of his neighbour, and his foe,
The family of O'Donnell with
Their feud of long ago.
So long ago it was lost in time,
The generations passed,
But none of the bitterness had gone,
Some things were meant to last,
The wife of the Second Baron
Had absconded in the night,
With the heir to the Lord of Donegal,
He'd not put up a fight.
The Seventh Baron, John FitzHugh,
Now strolled around the floor,
Intent on greeting guests as he
Had never done before,
'There's wine and ale a-plenty,
We have venison and game,
Let's make it the sort of party that
Goes down in the Hall of Fame! '
The orchestra struck up a tune,
The ladies whirled their fans,
And strutted with their bustles,
Tripped the floor and waved their hands,
Loosened off the stays that held
Confining every breast,
As bodices then fell apart,
Revealing all the rest.
The wine was flowing freely, you
Could see it in their eyes,
These revellers, who'd come to gloat,
The man they'd ostracized,
They laughed and chattered freely
Lurched and fell in revelry,
The Lord of Donegal was drunk,
And sat with Alice Leigh.
The Baron looked at Alice and
She stared him in the eyes,
'Is what you see acceptable, my lord,
Are you surprised? '
She placed the Lord of Donegal's
Right hand upon her breast,
As all the while the Baron stood,
Most pale, and quite distressed.
But out beyond the oaken doors
The masons were at work,
Building a solid wall of stone
That no-one could disturb,
While others filled the windows with
Their mortar and their lime,
And slate of seven inches thick
From Donegal's own mine.
By midnight John FitzHugh had gone,
Was nowhere to be seen,
The revellers were drunk as dogs
And thought to leave the scene,
Whereon the baron, he appeared
On some high balcony,
Within the ballroom's gothic dome
He called to the company.
'I trust you have enjoyed the fare
I've given you this night,
What's left, you'd better make it last,
There's nothing else in sight!
You may as well just party on,
There's nowhere left to go,
The ballroom, your last resting place,
Fit for my ancient foe! '
They rushed the doors, they found the wall,
They tried each window pane,
They looked for any exit but
Their search was quite in vain,
The ballroom was a prison with
No doors, and yet no bars,
They milled around the empty room
And stared up at the stars.
'And now for you, a final treat, '
The baron bellowed down,
'My Lord of Donegal, I hear
You thought to wear the crown,
I have some things to crown you with,
Suspended in this sheet...'
He tugged a cord, it opened up
And billowed at his feet.
The cockroaches that he had bred
In dungeons, dark and warm,
Were loosed from that suspended sheet
And fell there, in a swarm, ,
A million crawling roaches that
Festooned the ladies hair,
Crawled in and out of bodices
To screams of pure despair.
And then the lights went down, and they
Were screaming in their need,
As all those crawling roaches found
New places they could breed,
And Baron John FitzHugh went out
And thought to come back late,
The screams he'd heard were more than
Quite enough, to feed his hate.
* * * * * * *
A week went by, he took an axe
And smashed that masonry,
Remorse had come upon him and
He thought of Alice Leigh,
'If only God has spared her, I'll repent, '
He prayed aloud,
But all was silent in that room,
Each corpse would need a shroud.
And then the slightest movement by
The pillars in the hall,
Had caught his eye, he gave a sigh
And felt that he might fall,
For Alice Leigh was propped upright
And stared and stared at him,
'I love you still, ' he groaned, 'my dear,
Why did you go with him? '
He waited for her answer, she
Had still not made a move,
She stood there in the darkness, like
Some beauty from the Louvre,
But then her lips had parted and
His heart stopped, in despair,
As roaches poured from her eyes and mouth
And crawled all through her hair!
12 January 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Castle Walls
She ventured out from her castle walls
In hopes of meeting me,
I said: ‘we’ll flee to the furthest shores,
We’ll run to the far countree,
We’ll sit in bliss on a grassy slope
To see our love returned; ’
I looked again at the moat and saw
That all the boats were burned.
‘How shall I leave my castle walls
And all that keeps me free,
I fear the step that you wish to take
Could spell the end for me,
I wish to come, if I only dared, ’
She said in a sad reply,
The moat was still and the air was chill
And the moon was riding high.
I stood alone by the castle moat
As she turned to seek the warm;
‘The roads of life are a trap, ’ I cried,
‘But so is a thunderstorm,
So are the walls of a castle when
The mortar turns to dust,
So are the bolts on a castle gate
When the hinges start to rust.’
‘You weary me, I must be free, ’
The tower echoed, black,
‘As free as the castle walls allow, ’
I called in sadness back.
‘It’s not too late for the grassy slope
To see our love returned -’
I looked again at the moat and saw
That all the boats were burned.
12 July 1973
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Castle in the Marsh
The Castle out in the marshes ruled
The serfs with an iron rod,
The yeomen, hidden in cottages,
Were careful where they trod,
The soldiers poured from the Castle walls
And rode the peasants down,
They stole the women they caught abroad
And returned to the Castle grounds.
There was only a single causeway that
Was guarded, night and day,
Many a father came to grief
When crossing the moat, to pay,
To save his daughter from certain shame,
A fate that, worse than death,
Was tearing the heart from Amber Vale
As the mothers mourned, distressed.
The Baron, Ralph Fitzherbert held
His acres from the King,
(That William, known as Rufus, who
Would hunt most anything) ,
He was known as ‘Baron Slaughter'
For he murdered them at will,
He burdened them all with taxes,
Raped and pillaged, and then he'd kill.
The women held in the Castle Keep
Were set to work, and raped,
They scrubbed in the kitchen galley, cooked
The food, and cleaned the grate,
Two of their number were trusted to
Go out in the misty marsh,
Collecting the herbs and mushrooms for
The Captain of the Guard.
But Aethelflaed had been pregnant with
Fitzherbert's only son,
She came to term in the August and
She hated everyone:
‘The boy's as good as a Norman, I'm
The wife of a Saxon squire, '
She wept, and then she had strangled it,
Throwing it in the fire!
Fitzherbert ranted all day long,
Lamenting what she'd done,
‘I should have known that a Saxon whore's
Not fit to bear my son! '
He stripped and flayed ‘til the flesh had peeled,
‘Til he thought that his arm would tire,
Then dragged her over the hearth, and placed
Her hands in the blazing fire!
They hung her naked from a tree
As the villagers came to wail,
Then rode and murdered her husband there
In the village of Amber Vale,
The women held in the Castle wept
At the Normans' cruelty,
They'd whisper: ‘That was Aethelflaed,
But it might as well be me! '
The Baron held a feast that night
And they drank of their Norman wine,
From casks brought in from Normandy
But opened before they dined,
By midnight they were vomiting
Were helpless, caught in a trance,
From the berries of deadly nightshade squeezed
As the women began to dance.
They lopped off every soldier's head
As they lay, none thought it harsh,
Then they bound and carried the Baron out
And thrust him into the marsh,
With an apple jammed in his gaping jaw
And his glaring eyes so big,
He sank ‘til his head was all they saw
Like the head of a slaughtered pig.
The trees at Amber Vale were hung
With a strange but exotic fruit,
The heads of the soldiers hanging there
With their coats of mail, to suit,
They stormed the Castle and burnt it down
The ruins would make you quail,
For Belladonna is nurtured there
By the village of Amber Vale!
2 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lady in the Tower
Some years long since, though best forgot
I travelled to a country squire,
I'd not seen him since Grammar School
We'd shared those years of learning, dire!
But as young men we'd grown apart
For he had titles, grounds to claim
While I was just a journeyman,
My friend, his name was Daniel Crane.
He owned most of the Bailiwick
And lived alone in quiet content,
His home was known as Motte House
The moat as dry as tongues in Lent,
The carriage took me to his step
Where he had waited long for me,
And we had laughed in merriment
Old friends, to see how changed were we.
The house, a rambling Tudor style
Had more rooms than a grand hotel,
He showed me to a guest room, then
Went down and rang the dinner bell.
I laughed to see the platter laid
By his own hand, the cook had left,
We dined on beef, potatoes mashed,
And drenched down with some vinaigrette.
For wine, he favoured Hock at first
Then claret, we disposed of that,
So when the plates were empty, he
Went down to fetch the Port, a vat!
We tapped it off, grew merrier
Stormed up and down the ancient hall
Reciting verse, our favourite
'Childe Harold' was the first recalled.
For Byron was in London then,
A lion, there at Holland House,
With Lady Caro William
His scandals multiplied so fast,
We roared at passages of verse
Assailing poor virginity,
And drank his health, that he'd be worse
We felt our consanguinity.
'You have not married yet, I see, '
I mentioned to my friend at last,
He shook his head, looked moody,
And I hastened then to fill his glass.
By midnight, with a looser tongue
He told me what had caused his pain
And I grew troubled as he spoke
His darkness then, did Daniel Crane.
Up on the hill a castle stood
With crenellated towers and keep,
We looked up from the balcony
To see it grim, and dark and bleak,
A light shone in the topmost tower
A faint but flickered candlelight,
'It's there the girl that once I loved
Is locked and chained, kept out of sight.'
I held my breath at this, and saw
A glint of tear at either eye,
He turned to go inside, his face
Averted, though I heard him sigh;
'The Baron Fitzwulf mutters there,
As crazy as a lord may be,
He has the syphilis, I heard,
His line, back to infinity.'
'His daughter Joan, I played with once
When still a child, ' - (I barely stirred) ,
'Played 'catch' out in the summer months
Among the butterflies, and birds;
She'd laugh and chase me for a kiss,
A forward wench, she led the play,
Got down and lent her body there
We'd tumble in the new mown hay.'
'But she was just turned seventeen
Her mother died, brought on her cares,
They say the Baron pushed her there,
She tumbled down a flight of stairs.
Her neck was broken, instant death,
And Joan distraught beyond belief,
I showed up at the funeral,
And once they'd gone, I laid a wreath.'
'I never saw my Joan again,
They said she raved, had gone insane,
Some doctor they had brought for her
Said it was humours of the brain.
He locked her in that dingy tower
The one they call the Battle Keep,
I often hear her cry out loud
On nights I find it hard to sleep.'
I'd been there just a week, and then
I heard a piercing cry one night
Like all the demons fled from hell
Pursued her in the candlelight,
'You can't go on like this, ' I said,
As Daniel tore his hair, and cried;
'My God, I can't! ' he said, and then
'I'll free her first, make her my bride! '
One night the moon went in behind
A stormcloud, and the rain came down,
We donned our coats, and took some tools
And walked across the rolling down.
The Castle stood, its shadow formed
An inky blackness, lost to sight,
And there we found the servants' door
And gained admittance in the night.
The stairway was of rotted stone,
One foot askance and we were lost,
We mounted slowly up the keep
The prize above would pay the cost;
The door was triple locked and barred,
We cut the chain and burst the lock,
When from within we heard a growl
Like some dread beast, chained to a rock.
The door flew wide, and in he went
His arms outstretched to claim his love,
I caught a glimpse of her, untamed,
She flew at him, arms raised above,
But then she slashed and tore at him
And screamed her hatred in his face,
'If not for you, my mother dear
Would still be living in this place! '
She ripped his throat wide open then,
He fell, and bled all on the floor,
I caught and bound her in the chain
We'd taken from the prison door;
The Baron came, and tore his hair
'I thought that it might come to this!
I saved her from the hangman when
She pushed her mother down the stairs.'
There was no saving her again,
The magistrates took her away
I stood and watched at Newgate when
They launched her to eternity;
Her mother had forbade the match,
Joan pushed her then, in rage and pain,
And blamed him then; he never knew,
My friend who loved her, Daniel Crane.
5 May 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fast rode the knight
Fast rode the knight
With spurs, hot and reeking,
Ever waving an eager sword,
"To save my lady!"
Fast rode the knight,
And leaped from saddle to war.
Men of steel flickered and gleamed
Like riot of silver lights,
And the gold of the knight's good banner
Still waved on a castle wall.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
A horse,
Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,
Forgotten at foot of castle wall.
A horse
Dead at foot of castle wall.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Castle of Thought
Cold stone bricks,
A Castle of thought,
Holding feelings of myself
A cold starving prisoner.
A frigid chill
Seeps through cracks,
Cold are the thoughts of man,
Freezing the dark center.
Depraved of light
under Depression’s rule
Darkness surrounds the cell.
Walls with no windows
A castle of thought
Which keeps the soul hidden
In the icy domain
Of the Baron Depression.
Then comes an invasion on the wall
Threatening the peace of pity
And its lord Depression.
A siege of poetry
And self esteem
Its champion: Love.
Worry the dwellings
Of the castle of thought.
Bombardments rock
my small dark cell
visions of being crushed
during the confusion of battle
Frightens my starving spirit.
A war of virtue
At odds since the beginning
oppose each other on the
Fields of forever,
Neither ready to surrender,
Armies willing to perish
For control over my human soul.
An internal battle
taking its toll
On Baron’s castle of thought.
Warriors of ideals
Wasted on bloody moors
Ghastly Scavengers flock
On black wings
To pick their bones clean.
The ravens are at the wall
Eating what remains of
Depression’s dark armies.
The sovereign leader of
Darkness and dread
Escapes to devise
A tactic for another day
Love’s warm light filters through
Small splits rend in the bricks
And my cage flies open.
I am free to bathe in the sun’s
Hot golden rays.
I celebrate in feast and dance
around the fire of joy
kindled in the center
Of what is left of the castle of thought.
Love has released me
from bondage and chains,
Into the arms of my Queen,
Jubilation.
We plan a new home
her and I
with daisies and roses,
white picket fences
And all that is beautiful to view
We call it our Cottage of hope.
so all that remains is
loves blazing light
Forever there until
Future dark days.
poem by Heath Harrington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From A Castle Wall
Standing on the top of the castle wall,
surveying all that I could see
I wondered how the previous owners felt
on down through the centuries
when thy looked out from the battlements
into the horizon miles away
knowing all the land they saw
was theirs until their dying day.
19 September 2008
Authors Note:
This poem was written at the top of Carisbrooke Castle wall on the Isle of Wight.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Day That Time Would Stop!
The passageway was longer than he thought
He would have said,
It seemed to go forever,
But the words stayed in his head.
That drumming in his ears was surely
Just the lack of sound,
And could it be, he floated,
With his feet just off the ground?
The ambulance had called for him at just
On half past three,
He'd told his wife: ‘Don't bother,
It will go away, you'll see! '
His wife was more determined than she'd
Ever been before,
She dialled up on her mobile
And she waved him, at the door.
‘It's all just fuss and bother, this, ' he thought,
And flushed quite red,
The fellow in the ambulance
Looked grim, and shook his head.
He tried to give him oxygen, then
Called out to his mate:
‘You'd better put your foot down,
Or we might be there too late! '
He felt the lurch of speed, and heard the
Sirens start to wail,
He only felt embarrassment,
‘Such fuss! Beyond the pale! '
But then the light had faded in the
Middle of the day,
And that was when he found himself
Deep in that passageway!
The light became much brighter, at the end
He saw a door,
It slowly started opening,
He couldn't see much more,
But then he floated through it, standing
Stark within this room
Filled wall to wall with flowers that
Had just begun to bloom!
He stood there for a moment, he could not
Believe his eyes,
A crowd of happy people jumped
On out, and yelled: ‘Surprise! '
Then streamers and balloons appeared
And tangled round his feet,
He stared at them in wonder as
His heart had ceased to beat!
His father stood there grinning, he had died
Before his time
While his mother wiped a tear away,
She'd left when he was nine,
And all the aunts and uncles from
His distant memories,
Now stood and charged a glass to him,
And smiled, and shouted: ‘Cheers! '
‘He doesn't know what's happened, give him time, '
Said Uncle Ron,
‘We're just so glad to see you - My!
The weight that you've put on!
You must have seen it coming, all
That pain before you drop;
It's common to us all, you know,
The Day that Time would Stop! '
He paused to think about his wife, and
Wondered if she cried,
Or simply shrugged her shoulders when
She heard that he had died,
The heart that he no longer had
He knew would never mend;
He stood erect and dignified -
A funeral to attend!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daughters Of The Queen
The coach stands
Waiting just outside
Just in case the queen
Should want to take a ride
But she stays
Safely locked away
She knows the world outside
Can be so cold and grey
Daughters of the queen
Come outside and play
Slip into the nighttime
Before it slips away
Her castle
Looms into the sky
Behind those walls
Youll never see
A fear fall from her eye
She seems content
To live her life all alone
But locked inside
Those castle walls
Her heart has turned to stone
Daughters of the queen
Come outside and play
Slip into the nighttime
Before it slips away
Daughters of the queen
Come let me hold your hand
Isnt it about time
You need to feel a man
Today her majesty has gone
In deaths repose
Its much too late
She lies there all alone
Alas the dreams
Inside her heart
Sleep forever silent
Imprisoned by the dead
Daughters of the queen
Come outside and play
Slip into the nighttime
Before it gets too late
song performed by by Pantera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jus Primae Noctis
(In medieval times, the right of the
Lord of the Manor to spend the first night
with a peasant's bride) .
John and Jayne at the altar stood,
To put up their wedding banns,
In the Church at Haversham, Holy Cross
On Sir Robert de Courcy's lands,
When a clatter of hooves on the cobblestones
Brought dread to the open door,
As the Lord of the Manor came striding in
And planted his feet on the floor.
He looked at the two with a great disdain,
His hand on his scabbard sword,
His knights stood silent across the nave,
Not one would utter a word.
His voice rang out in that hallowed place
As Jayne cowered down, distress'd,
'I come to claim the Lord's First Right
By the power jus primae noctis.'
He strolled so arrogant down the aisle,
Of the Hereford Village Kirk,
Then drew his sword with a wicked smile,
With the tip of it, lifted her skirt,
'Her legs are fine, I can tell you that, '
He said to John with a sneer,
But John had averted his eyes to the floor
As his eyes were beginning to tear.
De Courcy turned, and he walked away
Up the aisle to the Norman doors,
Then turned at last with a final command
That would end their short discourse,
'You'll place yourself at my mercy, then,
And leave your husband denied,
You'll make your way to the castle gate
On the night that the knot is tied! '
John had cursed as they rode away,
The priest was more reserved,
'You should think it an honour, young man, ' he said,
That your bride will be well served.
With luck, you may get a blue-blood son,
And honours will come his way,
Sir Robert has twenty or more in the town
That are blessed in the usual way.'
Jayne knew, of course, it would come to this,
She had seen with her sister Jone,
Carried away to the castle gate,
And weep all the way back home.
She'd watched her belly grow big with child
While her man had cursed and sworn,
'Til the day she lay on a bale of hay
As the child arrived, still-born.
Meanwhile, in Bristol, came a ship
That had sailed from Gascony,
Dropping a sickening sailor there
With its wines and its armoury,
The sailor staggered up streets outside,
And fell in the tavern door,
Infected all that were drinking there,
As the pestilence came ashore.
It spread at the rate of a raging fire
That nothing could halt or douse,
The abscesses in the armpits made
Their way from house to house,
The plague ran on through the countryside
And arrived at Haversham,
On the day of the wedding of John and Jayne
Though they didn't know it then.
There was just one victim on that day,
A woman who stayed at home,
She watched as her flesh grew puffy, as
The boils grew down below,
She sent a note to her sister, said
'I'll not be there at the feast,
But I have a gift I'll give to you,
It's the least I can do... the least! '
That evening, out by the castle gate
A woman was led inside,
De Courcy sat in the dark, and watched
As she knelt by the Lord's bedside,
She knelt in shadows, and then she wept
And he watched as she disrobed,
Then stood quite naked beside his bed
For the lord to touch and probe.
He pulled her onto the bed and grasped her
Close to his body there,
And then she laughed, it was not the laugh
Of a bride caught in despair,
The moon shone bright through the chamber then
And he shrank from the woman's moan,
She was covered in blood and pustules, said:
'Not Jayne - but her sister Jone! '
He screamed for his knights, who pulled her off,
Then spilt her blood on the floor,
Cut off her head, then shrank in dread
At the sight of her festering sores,
The plague ran right through the castle then,
Spared not one knight or horse,
While John and Jayne in the forest lay
Til the plague had run its course.
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Him Dangle
Bentley said to craig let him have it chris
They still dont know today just what he meant by this
Craig fired the pistol, but was too young to swing
So the police took bentley and the very next thing
Let him dangle
Let him dangle
Bentley had surrendered, he was under arrest,
When he gave chris craig that fatal request
Craig shot sidney miles, he took bentleys word
The prosecution claimed as they charged them with murder
Let him dangle
Let him dangle
They say derek bentley was easily led
Well whats that to the woman that sidney miles wed
Though guilty was the verdict, and craig had shot him dead
The gallows were for bentley and still she never said
Let him dangle
Let him dangle
Well its hard to imagine its the times that have changed
When theres a murder in the kitchen that is brutal and strange
If killing anybody is a terrible crime
Why does this bloodthirsty chorus come round from time to time
Let him dangle
Not many people thought that bentley would hang
But the word never came, the phone never rang
Outside wandsworth prison there was horror and hate
As the hangman shook bentleys hand to calculate his weight
Let him dangle
From a welfare state to society murder
Bring back the noose is always heard
Whenever those swine are under attack
But it wont make you even
It wont bring him back
Let him dangle
Let him dangle (string him up)
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pearls of Verna Boone
I'd been alone for a year or so
Since Norma Jean had died,
I stayed in the house I'd bought for her
At the end of River Drive,
I'd felt her death as a fatal blow,
A crippling twist of fate,
For Norma Jean was my one true love,
Though I'd met her a little late!
I was past my prime when our eyes had met,
And she'd looked so young to me,
Her eyes had sparkled like diamonds set
As scarabs in sand and sea,
She saw the desert behind my eyes,
The emptiness in my life,
I stumbled over the words, but she
Said 'Yes! ' - She would be my wife!
I didn't know that she carried then
The seeds of a painful death,
Her face was flushed at the altar stone
And she seemed so short of breath,
I thought it merely a passing faint
That excitement had brought on,
As we stood in front of the Minister,
And joined our lives as one.
But then at home, she fell apart,
Collapsed on the kitchen floor,
I saw her lying, and coughing blood
Like I'd never seen before,
The doctor called, and he shook his head
As he left her there in the bed,
'I'm very sorry, ' the doctor sighed,
'But your lovely wife is dead! '
I cried and raged, and swore at fate
I smashed each wedding gift,
I wouldn't go to the funeral
But stayed at home and wept.
I cursed the heavens and thought that hell
Could never have been as bad
As a love that I'd waited a lifetime for,
A love that I'd never had!
The house next door was a rental place,
Stood empty for months that year,
But then a couple had moved on in,
I didn't see him, just her.
I thought that he was a traveller,
Was constantly on the road,
He came at night, and he left at dawn
In a battered and ancient Ford.
I had no reason to talk to them,
I sat at home with my grief,
I wandered out in the garden then
At one with each falling leaf,
But then one day, I heard her there
The other side of the fence,
Breaking her heart, as crying there
She sobbed with vehemence.
After a week of this, I climbed
The fence, and spoke to her,
'Why do you sigh, why do you cry? '
But she cried then all the more.
I walked around and sat with her
Quite late in the afternoon,
She smiled, and dried her eyes, and said,
'My name is Verna Boone! '
She said she'd only been married
Just a year this coming Spring,
But now that she knew the man he was,
Regretted everything,
He'd lost her money, just gambled it,
Had spent it on other girls,
And now they were left with nothing, he
Just wanted her mother's pearls!
'They're all I have to remember her, '
She sobbed, like a frightened child,
'They're worth a lot, but they're more to me, '
She looked at me, and smiled.
She took me inside and pulled them out
Three strings, they were very fine,
'He said that he's going to pawn them! '
Then she put her small hand in mine.
I was sad, alone and vulnerable,
I looked at her lovely curls,
She smiled at me, and she asked me then
If I'd care for her mother's pearls?
'I'll say they're lost, misplaced, I'll say,
He'll rant and rage, and more,
But he won't be able to pawn them now...'
Then she walked me to the door.
I took her home, and I placed the pearls
With the gems my wife had once:
'They'll be all right in the downstairs safe.'
It was then that she saw the gun.
She looked afraid, but she picked it up
And weighed it there in her hand,
I took it gently and locked it up
With the rest of my contraband.
'She must have watched as I spun the dial,
I know - I was such a fool! '
The sergeant sat and he stared at me,
And his stare was distant, cool.
He didn't believe a word I said
I could see that now, I'm done!
They put me back in a cell to wait
To be charged with Murder One!
She told them I had come over when
Her husband came home one night,
Waving a gun and ranting, then
Her husband put up a fight!
I'd shot him once through the head, she said,
Then taken her on the bed,
Stolen a fine pearl necklace,
Then beaten and left her for dead!
They found the gun on the floor, they said,
I knew that the gun was mine,
They found the pearls in my safe, they said,
It was only a question of time.
She sat at the back of the court while I
Was stood in the prisoner's dock,
And I noticed she wore her mother's pearls
With a nice new evening frock.
10 August 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kissing The Blarney Stone (Fun Poem 17)
Crane your neck back,
look up the castle wall,
which almost touches the sky
to see the platform there.
Your heart skips a beat,
when you see the narrow stairs.
Fingers crossed you begin your accent
up the narrow curving stairwell,
to the top of the castle wall.
The breeze ruffles your hair,
as you walk slowly around the fortifications there.
The worst is yet to come,
coat off, lay on your back,
to do the daftest thing of all.
You lean back through the narrow gap,
bend your head backwards,
and kiss a stone in the castle wall.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Troubadour
A troubadour he played
Without a castle wall,
Within, a hapless maid
Responded to his call.
"Oh, willow, woe is me!
Alack and well-a-day!
If I were only free
I'd hide me far away!"
Unknown her face and name,
But this he knew right well,
The maiden's wailing came
From out a dungeon cell.
A hapless woman lay
Within that dungeon grim -
That fact, I've heard him say,
Was quite enough for him.
"I will not sit or lie,
Or eat or drink, I vow,
Till thou art free as I,
Or I as pent as thou."
Her tears then ceased to flow,
Her wails no longer rang,
And tuneful in her woe
The prisoned maiden sang:
"Oh, stranger, as you play,
I recognize your touch;
And all that I can say
Is, thank you very much."
He seized his clarion straight,
And blew thereat, until
A warden oped the gate.
"Oh, what might be your will?"
"I've come, Sir Knave, to see
The master of these halls:
A maid unwillingly
Lies prisoned in their walls."'
With barely stifled sigh
That porter drooped his head,
With teardrops in his eye,
"A many, sir," he said.
He stayed to hear no more,
But pushed that porter by,
And shortly stood before
SIR HUGH DE PECKHAM RYE.
SIR HUGH he darkly frowned,
"What would you, sir, with me?"
The troubadour he downed
Upon his bended knee.
"I've come, DE PECKHAM RYE,
To do a Christian task;
You ask me what would I?
It is not much I ask.
"Release these maidens, sir,
Whom you dominion o'er -
Particularly her
Upon the second floor.
"And if you don't, my lord" -
He here stood bolt upright,
And tapped a tailor's sword -
"Come out, you cad, and fight!"
SIR HUGH he called - and ran
The warden from the gate:
"Go, show this gentleman
The maid in Forty-eight."
By many a cell they past,
And stopped at length before
A portal, bolted fast:
The man unlocked the door.
He called inside the gate
With coarse and brutal shout,
"Come, step it, Forty-eight!"
And Forty-eight stepped out.
"They gets it pretty hot,
The maidens what we cotch -
Two years this lady's got
For collaring a wotch."
"Oh, ah! - indeed - I see,"
The troubadour exclaimed -
"If I may make so free,
How is this castle named?
The warden's eyelids fill,
And sighing, he replied,
"Of gloomy Pentonville
This is the female side!"
The minstrel did not wait
The Warden stout to thank,
But recollected straight
He'd business at the Bank.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Prisoner
Im thanking you for opening my eyes so clear
And sweeping old illusions from my soul
But most of all for turning something simple and sincere
Into somethin jaded and as jive as rock n roll.
Chorus:
Aint you always looked at lovin like a four letter word
That I made up to make you ill at ease
I fought to free you from your castle of despair
til I saw the prison wall was me
See the soul who calls itself a prisoner
cause its still too frightened to be free
I feel so much older now, and wiser
Aint it sad how lonesome that can be.
Chorus:
Aint you always looked at lovin like a four letter word
That I made up to make you ill at ease
I fought to free you from your castle of despair
til I saw the prison wall was me
Chorus:
Aint you always looked at lovin like a four letter word
That I made up to make you ill at ease
I fought to free you from your castle of despair
til I saw the prison wall was me
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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St. John. 1647
'To the winds give our banner!
Bear homeward again!'
Cried the Lord of Acadia,
Cried Charles of Estienne;
From the prow of his shallop
He gazed, as the sun,
From its bed in the ocean,
Streamed up the St. John.
O'er the blue western waters
That shallop had passed,
Where the mists of Penobscot
Clung damp on her mast.
St. Saviour had looked
On the heretic sail,
As the songs of the Huguenot
Rose on the gale.
The pale, ghostly fathers
Remembered her well,
And had cursed her while passing,
With taper and bell;
But the men of Monhegan,
Of Papists abhorred,
Had welcomed and feasted
The heretic Lord.
They had loaded his shallop
With dun-fish and ball,
With stores for his larder,
And steel for his wall.
Pemaquid, from her bastions
And turrets of stone,
Had welcomed his coming
With banner and gun.
And the prayers of the elders
Had followed his way,
As homeward he glided,
Down Pentecost Bay.
Oh, well sped La Tour
For, in peril and pain,
His lady kept watch,
For his coming again.
O'er the Isle of the Pheasant
The morning sun shone,
On the plane-trees which shaded
The shores of St. John.
'Now, why from yon battlements
Speaks not my love!
Why waves there no banner
My fortress above?'
Dark and wild, from his deck
St. Estienne gazed about,
On fire-wasted dwellings,
And silent redoubt;
From the low, shattered walls
Which the flame had o'errun,
There floated no banner,
There thundered no gun!
But beneath the low arch
Of its doorway there stood
A pale priest of Rome,
In his cloak and his hood.
With the bound of a lion,
La Tour sprang to land,
On the throat of the Papist
He fastened his hand.
'Speak, son of the Woman
Of scarlet and sin!
What wolf has been prowling
My castle within?'
From the grasp of the soldier
The Jesuit broke,
Half in scorn, half in sorrow,
He smiled as he spoke:
'No wolf, Lord of Estienne,
Has ravaged thy hall,
But thy red-handed rival,
With fire, steel, and ball!
On an errand of mercy
I hitherward came,
While the walls of thy castle
Yet spouted with flame.
'Pentagoet's dark vessels
Were moored in the bay,
Grim sea-lions, roaring
Aloud for their prey.'
'But what of my lady?'
Cried Charles of Estienne.
'On the shot-crumbled turret
Thy lady was seen:
'Half-veiled in the smoke-cloud,
Her hand grasped thy pennon,
While her dark tresses swayed
In the hot breath of cannon!
But woe to the heretic,
Evermore woe!
When the son of the church
And the cross is his foe!
'In the track of the shell,
In the path of the ball,
Pentagoet swept over
The breach of the wall!
Steel to steel, gun to gun,
One moment,-and then
Alone stood the victor,
Alone with his men!
'Of its sturdy defenders,
Thy lady alone
Saw the cross-blazoned banner
Float over St. John.'
'Let the dastard look to it!'
Cried fiery Estienne,
'Were D'Aulnay King Louis,
I'd free her again!'
'Alas for thy lady!
No service from thee
Is needed by her
Whom the Lord hath set free;
Nine days, in stern silence,
Her thraldom she bore,
But the tenth morning came,
And Death opened her door!'
As if suddenly smitten
La Tour staggered back;
His hand grasped his sword-hilt,
His forehead grew black.
He sprang on the deck
Of his shallop again.
'We cruise now for vengeance!
Give way!' cried Estienne.
'Massachusetts shall hear
Of the Huguenot's wrong,
And from island and creekside
Her fishers shall throng!
Pentagoet shall rue
What his Papists have done,
When his palisades echo
The Puritan's gun!'
Oh, the loveliest of heavens
Hung tenderly o'er him,
There were waves in the sunshine,
And green isles before him:
But a pale hand was beckoning
The Huguenot on;
And in blackness and ashes
Behind was St. John!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Stanley's Plight
When Stan came back
to work last Monday
his tool box
wasn’t to be found.
Look and look he surely did
but it wasn’t on the ground.
Yet poor old Stan - did search and search
around & round & round.
He was a little muddled
he probably would be still
if Zub he hadn’t seen
he would be raging still.
When all at once he heard a cry
his tools could be found up high.
He took a ladder and with haste
was up it like a race,
but when he next looked at that space -
the ladder was gone, without a trace.
Rant and rave he may as well
for Stan could only fume
yet it wasn’t long at all my friend
until he was on the moon.
For there at last his pride and joy
among the years of dust and gloom.
Now our man Ouggy was no mug
though capable of a fierce bear hug.
Swiftly he did grasp a length of rope
without it even he, was without hope.
Around his brown toolbox
he tied his knot;
and proceeded promptly to lower it down
till he had it safely, on the ground.
Yet alas, at this stage his luck went sour
it was not to be his finest hour.
Upon the scene appeared two goons
‘twas lecherous Lewis and his side-kick Craig
they were about to steal the stage
or should I say, the precious box?
Now Stan up high still was stuck
when they ran off with his hard-won luck.
Remembering back I can see it still
Stan roaring off like an Elephant Bull
chasing lecherous Lewis and sneaky Craig;
like a gleeless Elephant Mother
chasing off after her missing cow.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 2)
The great gates of the castle opened
and slowly he walked forward
not sure what to expect.
Cheers rang out as he entered
trumpets blared a fanfare.
He stopped to take it all in,
everywhere he looked
people waved and smiled
as he moved slowly
across the large courtyard
and through the throngs of people
and into the castle itself.
“If you will follow me M’ Lord.”
A tall smartly dressed man said.
He followed the tall man
across the marble floor.
The man stopped by a door.
He opened it to reveal
a long table filled with food.
“We suspected you may be hungry,
please enter and help yourself.”
He had never seen so much food.
He entered, sat, and noticed he was alone.
“Eat as much as you like M’ Lord,
it is all for you.” The tall man said,
and then disappeared.
Not wishing to be greedy
he took a small portion of the food
and when he had eaten enough.
The tall man suddenly appeared again.
“A drink M’ Lord.” He said
and placed a glass in front of him
and filled it with water.
As he raised the glass to his lips and drank,
the tall man appeared again
“Your room is ready M’ Lord.”
He nodded and yawned
then followed the tall man
to what would be his room.
“I’ll wake you in time for supper M’ Lord.”
He climbed onto the large bed
wondering what was happening.
“Why do you look so worried laddie? ”
“Mr Owl where did you come from? ”
“The window was open
so I came to see how you were.”
“I am puzzled Mr Owl.”
“In what way laddie? ”
“Everyone is so kind to me
and I feel I don’t deserve it.”
“Oh poppycock! ” The owl replied.
“But I don’t deserve it.”
“Laddie, everyone deserves kindness
no matter who they are.”
“I am cursed by the witches curse.”
“Rubbish, there is no curse
and there are no witches,
but all will be explained later.”
“How much Later? ”
“When the time is right.
Now you must rest before supper.”
He nodded and rested back.
It was the first time
he ever slept on a pillow.
“Wake up! Wake up!
You will be late for supper.”
He opened his eyes
and looked around
to see who was talking.
He blinked as a set of clothes
walked over to him and said:
“We are what you are wearing
for supper tonight.”
“Clothes do not talk! ”
“Ah, but we do and so do we.”
All the clothes then danced
around the room.
Standing he looked amazed
and somewhat in disbelief
as the clothes flung themselves
at him and dressed him.
Once they had finished
he looked in the mirror at his reflection,
he looked like a prince.
The tall man suddenly appeared and announced.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes,
you must come along now.
There is no time to waste M’ Lord.”
He followed the tall man down the stairs
to the dinning room door.
To be continued.
17-18 April 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad Of Jingle Jangle Jim (Fun Poem 32)
This is the ballad of Jingle Jangle Jim,
the bravest man there has ever been.
Jingle Jangle was walking through a wooded jungle one day,
when from a bush he heard a maiden call out in distress.
‘Oooh there is a snake in the grass.’
Jingle Jangle being the brave sort,
just jumped over the bush to save the young lass.
He grabbed hold of the six-inch snake in the grass.
The biggest grass snake he ever saw.
He wrassled that snake here and there,
even got it in a scissor grip.
He grabbed it with both hands
and waved it about a bit more,
and then rolled repeatedly on the wooded jungle floor.
The poor little snake looked cross-eyed
at this Jingle Jangle twit.
‘Hey, you idiot, you could have killed me.
Now just what do you think you were doing? ’
Jingle Jangle looked at the snake for a minute.
‘Wait just a minute, snakes don’t talk.’
‘This one can and if you don’t put me down I’ll arrest you,
I‘m an undercover pygmy policeman you see.
I’m on a stake out to catch the thief
who has been stealing Farmer Giles,
beautiful, award winning blue-belles.
Now put me down you Jingle Jangle idiot,
or Ill arrest you for the said crime.’
Jingle Jangle dropped him right there.
The grass snake was as dizzy as hell.
He looked up at Jingle Jangle,
shook his little head.
’Farmer Giles can look after
his own precious bluebells
’cause I quite.
The story is not over just yet,
for Jingle Jangle Jim and the snake
did a moonlight flit
with all of Farmer Giles precious bluebells.
The moral of the story
is never ask a snake in the grass
to look after your precious bluebells.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Castle Walls
Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by dennis deyoung
Once in a dream
Far beyond these castle walls
Down by the bay where the
Moonlit water falls
I stood alone while the minstrel sang his song
So afraid Id lost my soul
There in the fog his song kept calling me
Leading me on with its haunting melody
Deep in my heart a voice kept echoing
I knew Id soon be wandering
Far beyond these castle walls
Where the distant harbour meets the sky
There the battle raged like hell
And every dove had lost its will to fly
Far beyond these castle walls
Where I thought I heard tiresias say
Life is never what it seems
And every man must meet his destiny
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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