VENOM:

Poison is spat from the serpent´s fang,

Upon war´s death-knell, the venom rang,

On winter´s cheek, icy winds did scratch,

Cyanided lonely, with no loving match,

Cold shoulders given to the poor & needy,

Freezing stare from the eyes, hard & beady,

Venom voiced from all the tongues of men,

Retracted by antidotes of repentant Amen,

From pebbled tongue & peppered breath,

Maligned curses of hate & imminent death,

The cruel school yard barb of youthful bully,

Fill hearts & mouths with hate, sad & wooly,

God, pray forgive all venom, spat & sprayed,

Wiped clean by virtue, when knelt & prayed.

DEAF BUT NOT DUMB:

Deaf & dumb, they said of her when she was born,

But she was so very pretty, never sad nor forlorn,                  

She danced through her childhood to a silent tune,

She smiled at the sun & she dreamt with the moon.

This little girl smiled at the world & laughed at the sky,

Quiet, she never said a word & she never would cry,

Although she never could sing & would never ever talk,

But her legs being strong, through the world she´d walk.

She would speak with hands & the flutter of her lashes,

She knew the language of rain & the waterfall´s splashes,

She read the flight of birds & the pattern of their plumes,

And she knew poetry by touching the soft petals of blooms.

Her world was silent, according to all those around her,

But she knew the lingo of hooves, feathers, claws & fur,

Nature touched her soul & on her heartstrings strummed,

To the world she´d always be deaf, but never ever dumb.

LADIES WHO LUNCH:

We are ladies, who lunch on champagne & oysters,

We collect for church roofs & bells for old cloisters,

Run fetes for good deeds, collect funds for the needy,

Old clothes for those who live where it´s dodgy & seedy.

Dressed up in finery, stockings, gloves & very high heels,

After delivering to the aged, cooked meals on fast wheels,

Cricket teas & creamed scones on hot summer afternoons,

Judging dog shows & choirs on warm days in late Junes.

When our duties are over & ended & all´s done & dusted,

When aprons are off, feet sore & we´re knackered & busted,

We don our posh frocks, hats, bags & red-daub our old lips,

Off we go to our lunch of oysters & cold champagne to sip.

But reality bites, were not really dames, it´s all just a dream,

We are just normal women doing our bit, not society Queens,

We get our hands dirty; do all the work, the village social slog,

Then we go to our homes, to cook dinner & take out the dog.

Oh yes, we are ladies who lunch, that much is really so true,

But it´s around my old farm table with faded cloth of old blue,

With strong hot tea in a mug & on warm toast we do munch,

Raising our mugs, we toast ourselves as true ladies who lunch.

MEMORIES:

The memory is that long lost & faraway place,

Where words of love disappear without trace,

Where tears of joy dissipate in strangled choke,

All I seek grasping, flies away in black sad smoke,

Memories are moths singed in flickering flames,

Where passions, by ancient time are sorely tamed.

Memories are eagles, dancing my dreams away,

To where candy-floss clouds gently rock & sway,

Wrapped in the ancient´s mantle of mists in dawn,

Enfolding in our gathering, old memories are born.

CHANTINGS:

Through the mists of forests & ancient time,

Resonating in corridors of my long lost mind,

I hear the haunting tones of warm liquid gold,

Echoing notes of ancient tales sung & so told.

Angelic old voices, caressing as silken soft moths,

Haunting in graves of Bards & cloisters of Goths,

From the habits of monks & Druid´s hood echoes,

Resound in heaven & beneath stones of old geckoes.

Incantations of ravens & bats add their own choirs,

Where Shamans & tribes dance rings around fires,

Those musical whispers from times ancient & old,

Banishing from souls, the lonely & uninvited dark cold.