Filled to the brim, heavy baskets of seed
Cruel the taskmaster fuelling my need
my eyes search the heavens for a promise of rain
but the sun scoffs and taunts in haughty disdain.

Years of drought, cracked soil holding seed
Dreams of life dying slowly in the heat and the glow
Only crumbs on the plate, little wine in my cup
And slowly, but surely, filled with doubt, I give up.

The fields remain barren no reward for my toil
I feel my strength waning my courage has gone
till finally I shout loud : I’ve had it, ENOUGH!
then fling forth the baskets, scatter seeds in the air
on wings of hot wind they fall everywhere.

A rumble above precedes something wet
I wipe at my tears then realize its rain
torrents of water to soften the soil
fresh smell in the air, my soul is refreshed
so strange that it came now, just as I gave up.

Not long and the seeds I flung forth in my doubt
Start growing and yield a bountiful crop
“One second it took for God to change all
Don’t look at the sun rather watch the seed fall”.

Dos cerveza por favour in De K’ffe,
Cold bite of the first beer refreshes.
Una mas and workday fades to dull,
The night feels bright and hopeful,
The Palitos de pollo satisfies hunger.
Conversation flows to Cepas de Altura,
Three bottles later the stories repeat,
Groundhog day of interesting lives,
With eternal friendship in every bottle.
Six corks line up like truth bullets,
In an aggression of arguments,
Maybe he has just said too much,
Friendship of an unremembered hug,
Next day sorry and failings forgotten.

“There’s nothing in the store today,
The Indus rose and washed away
The grain we might have gathered in
Had we been pure and free from sin.”

“Why would you think like that, my son?
You’re but a child, and how could one
So small and innocent as you
Imagine such a thing is true?”

“Because our God is very good
And would not steal the children’s food,
It follows that I must be bad
To be deprived of all I had.”

“Not you my child, but all mankind
Has nature’s bounty so maligned,
And the poison that is dripping in
Is certainly a kind of sin –

But not one you could understand,
The rape and pillage of the land,
The exploitation of resources,
The tampering with nature’s forces.

But the harvest that is washed away
Or burnt, or parched or rotted may
Yet be a warning we can heed,
To stem the tide of endless greed.”

When I’m an elder and old,
I’ll be mighty dang bold.
I’ll walk with a cane with a tip
That pops out a sword;
Don’t mess with me. I’m old.

I won’t care what I wear
anywhere.

If my body is a shame I’ll just say,
“So turn away.”
When I sleep on the plane, I’ll drool and I’ll snore,
and others can blot my fuzzy chin.
I’ll drink when I like and eat what I want.
But it’s politicians I’ll taunt.

I’ll talk loud and pretend deafness,
Ignore useless drivel from those who bore.
I’ll be like a Queen, elegant and royal
but I’ll still be me, like I’ve always been.
Just More SO.

Third Autumn

Equinox and summers ended
Mist now hides the hunting Owl
Stooks and bails, sheaves and stacks
Landscape puts on winter’s cloak
Shorn sheep move to hills from levels
Fruit of field and vineyard gathered
Bramleys, Coxes, Quince and Grape
Quilted hedgerows, rosehip bramble
Bottled pickled jammed and chutneyed,
all preserved and winter stored.

Then on St. Michael and All Angels
Comes the meeting of the year
Spiced ginger pumpkin pies are counted
Extra large Third Autumn pie
For village folk will be rewarded
At the coming feast of feasts
From the hamlets from the farmsteads
Burcott Godney Worth and Yarley
From the village from the Parish
Wookey Bleadney Panborough Coxley

So with baskets brimming over
Up the Callow hill they climb
All to join in celebration
At Great Henton Harvest Supper Time.

The people who were wise, vivid and tall,
Who cared for me and taught me how to live,
Now vulnerable appear (how frail and small!)
And need from me today all I can give.
Those heroes of my childhood years decline,
Fall by the way, as weary voyagers must;
Ripe fruit of years hangs heavy on their vine.
Now I their love repay, return their trust.
Their nurturing was given without cost:
I drank all that their wise hearts could contain.
I was a thirsty child and winter’s frost
Had yet to cool my glass of spring champagne.
How powerful is love, how generous,
That we respond to those who cherished us

between the seasons
silence sings

winds waltz streets
twirl dried leaves
past wooden skeletons
of summery canvas walls.

long shadows inch vacant
streets, meander trails on empty
beaches, waves ebb halcyon days.

whispers tease behind the veil
illusions lace one another

stiff foam rides the breeze
refuse the swept back to sea,
memories spin
on fragile layers,
elusive edges.

nature sings our hymns
air comforts water
water baptizes earth
earth embraces fiery spirit
times fade to distant shores.

She counts the pebbles on the shore
while mothers rest to tend their young.
She gathers wishes from the waves,
and holds a shell to hear its song

while mothers rest to tend their young.
The woman calls each pup by name
as golden shadows steal the light:
they ride the surf and skim the foam.

She gathers wishes from the waves
and stores them in a mermaid’s purse,
beneath the glowing harvest moon.
The woman sighs, then checks her tears

and holds a shell to hear its song:
the creatures stretch their flippered fur.
They twitch, then slip and slide away:
she counts the pebbles on the shore.

Now once again country roads are calling and my old boots are full of holes
And I have carved a secret green symbol behind a sign on the East Lancs Road
I’m leaving Salford, I’ll head for Bootle, forgotten now winter’s hungry days
I’ll sharpen knives or I’ll edge your scissors I’ll polish sunshine to pay my way

Where did my youth go? I can’t recall it but it was glorious each day that passed
I slept in flowerbeds along the roadside or in the arms of a pretty lass
With her it was my delight to dally the scent of Spring in her lap it lay
I only sharpened her knives and scissors but I got sunshine, and paid my way

For I was only a crazy tinker. without a home or a resting place, A petty thief, or a puppy stealer and farmers slammed their gate in my face
So self-important, they knew their roots were planted in rich and fertile earth
I sharpened knives and I sharpened scissors I polished sunshine and knew my worth

At that time poteen belonged to all men, ‘twas cheap and cheerful, and bitter, too!
The plants to spice it grew at the roadside they gave some colour to every brew
Oh, drinking brothers, Oh late night singers you drank yourselves to an early grave
But I kept sharpening knives and scissors and plucked absinthe on Midsummer’s Day

Those who work daily will always judge me, a roving tinker who travels light,
But I’m a poet, and I’m a dreamer, and I’m a part of the summer nights
There are so many much better poets, compared with them, I’m not worth a thing
But I can sharpen their knives and scissors and thank them kindly to let me sing

Where are you now all those whom I once knew? Each pretty girl, every alehouse mug?
Half of you ended in Institutions the rest died, drowned by the bottle’s glug
But I am still hale and fresh and hearty!! My hair’s turned white, and my nose is red!
While I still sharpen my knives and scissors and polish sunshine to earn my bread

Juicy fat grapes swing from the vine
Waiting and waiting, please turn me to wine
Only the best are picked for you
The rejects litter the ground, my shoe
Red ones, purple ones, white ones as well
Which to choose from the choice is swell
Finally plucked and squashed right down
Juices extracted, at the skins we frown
Bottled and capped and sent to you and I
To be drunk and drunk under an Autumn sky
Whatever your tipple, you may agree
Wine is what makes people feel free.