See Below:  Over Stones, A Little Night Music, A Summer in Spain, The Victim, My Spare Tyre and The Guinea Pig Song

Over Stones

The morning mist retreated leaving green hills bright with dew.
The sunlight dried the water drops, the grass thinned out anew.
Brown stains spread                                                                              grass-stone
Blood shone red
In splatters over stones.
Here lay the dead
Shot with lead
And carrion bared their bones.

The land retains our history enclosed in its rich earth;
Our crops feed off the wealth of dead and give us our rebirth.
New blooms spread
Petals shine red
In patterns over stones.
Rich flower bed
With love’s care fed
For our past sins atones.

The ground is hallowed where we walk in every country village.
Its history holds the sins of war, of death and rape and pillage.
Yet we forget
We’re sinning yet
We fight wars overseas.
New death is met
New grievance set
And we harvest bitter tears.

The land retains our history enclosed in its rich earth
Our crops feed off the wealth of dead and give us our rebirth

A Little Night Music, or someone told me tonic water is good for an insect bite

In the still of the night the mosquito bites blare
They’ve arrived all at once but you don’t know from where.
On ankle, on elbow, on shoulder, on thigh
The cacophony rises to yet a new high
In unison they trill, a cicada drill
And they won’t be ignored, though strong is the will.
Just one scratch on the foot for a moment’s relief
And another on elbow but that just gives grief
There’s an itch you can’t find so you chase it around
Now they’ve been disturbed and you’ve got a new sound
A discordant jazz band, out of tune, out of rhyme
Different notes taking turns to call out of time
You’re desperate for peace from the night’s itching din
So you pour over tonic and knock back the gin.

A Summer in Spain

There’s a gecko in the garden                                     image002
And a cicada in the tree.
A locust sunbathes on the path
Where ants march so orderly.

Plant leaves rustle with the breeze,
Petals pink and red free fall
Then dance in the golden sunlight
Chasing shadows by the wall.

All rests in peace and quiet
In the afternoon’s heat haze.
It’s siesta, we are sleeping
Through the sauna of the day.

No sound of people calling,
No splashing in the pool,
No sizzle on the plancha
Til with sundown we feel cool.

Then the gecko in the garden
Will hide beneath the sage and thyme.
The locust will be long gone
And the cicada out of rhyme.

Now we parade in candles’ glow,
And greet the darkening of the day,
Raise a glass of foaming shandy,
Breathe the citronella spray.

The night is ours, let’s claim it,
Send our voices through the air,
Borne on song and laughter
This sweet summer time to share.

The Victim

Dark is the storm coming in on the tide
Dark as my memories, the place where you hide.

When love was young I lived in the light,
I thought I saw clearly what should be held tight.
With arms spread out wide for all coming my way
I’d bring all my dreams to the plain sight of day.

I thought I had choice and I thought I knew best,
Some things I’d discard, some clutch to my chest.
But some people stick fast and won’t let you go
And some fly away though you’re calling out no.

I thought I’d be stronger for all I’ve been through,
I’d put it behind, what happened with you.
But I’m still that person who suffered for love
Scars aren’t buried deep, they are here up above.

I may smile at the world but it still calls me sad;
I may look after myself but it still whispers mad.
I make choices each day, but they are a small thing.
I can no longer choose to let my heart sing.

Dark is the storm coming in on the tide
Dark as my memories, the place where you hide.

My Spare Tyre

Life in the gym has been rather grim
With exercise morning and late.
The food I consume is largely legume,
That green stuff we all love to hate.

Is all this worth a reduction in girth
Just so I can get a good mate?
I can say that’s not it, I’m not such a tit,
I suffered all this for my sake.

I might enjoy a boy that’s a toy,
But when before the mirror I’m sat
I want the day to be here when I say with a cheer
That my spare tyre is flat!

The Guinea Pig Song

IMG_5671What does a cute guinea pig mean to you?
A small children’s pet or the meat for a stew?
It depends if you come from Leeds or Peru.
Where you start gives a different point of view.

For some people hot curry is something to fear.
If you’re Indian dairy smells worse than queer.
In Japan raw fish is a reason to cheer,
But in Kingston on Hull you’d rather steer clear.

Some people eat insects, some keep them as pets,
Some farm then like bees, encaged in stiff nets.
Some curse, cry and swat them, won’t take any bets
Since not bitten to death is as good as it gets.

Some people drink whiskey, some people drink rum,
If you’re Russian a vodka is more like a chum.
Lots of wine makes a young girl fall on her bum –
Whatever you drink, too much ain’t much fun.

For us eating a guinea pig seems like a sin,
For a Hindu a cow is a sacred thing.
Some birds are for roasting, some sing on the wing
It’s pot luck what is cooking on the hob’s ring.

So we’re facing each other and we’re on the brink
Of letting our backgrounds make us miss the link.
We all need to eat and we all need to drink –
We’ve got more in common than we might at first think.

heather farndale yorks

Heather in Farndale, North Yorkshire