FLORAL:

Tulips pink in her pretty cheeks & jasmine in her hair,

Clover-green her precious eyes & poppy lips in prayer,

Lilacs, lupins & lavenders are painted on her little toes,

Within her smile, I see the flash of the sultry blood-red rose.

The pretty bloom dances, petaled amid the heathered hills,

Where the clustered emerald ivy droops, tumbles and spills,

Softly and gently waving gaily, with frilled arms of cyan blue,

Kissing the sunny daffodils with joyous love and sunrise dew.

Garbed in pretty printed petticoats of proteas and peonies,

She spins and twirls and flies away on floral scented breeze,

As soft as dandelions and as sweet as berries of red and blue,

The colours of the angel’s rainbows, reflected in every hue.

In spring she prances in snowdrop´s virginal, bridal white,

Summering in gowns of warm, caressing and dappled light,

In velvet autumn rust and gold, she waltzes to her sleepy bed,

And in wintering ice, she dresses in holly´s festive Yule red.

Floral lady, earth´s Queen of nature´s fickle fashion,

Pretty maiden of pastels and dame of unbridled passion,

Woman for all seasons, maid, mother and eternal crone,

Hail to you sweet flower, upon your petaled floral throne.

GLOVES:

He wore a torn dingy shirt with the cuffs turned in,

Hiding the patches, the stains & the wearing thin,

The shrunken, dun coloured vest that he daily wore,

Was knitted by kind ladies in the house of the whore,

They made dun coloured vests for little kids like him,

Kids fabricated from old cold bones and motley skin.

He´d sit all alone, on the icy stones of unending time,

Silently waiting for the school bell to beckon and chime,

He was new, poor, knew no one and had not one friend,

Feigning nonchalance he´d sit alone, trying to pretend,

All but him had colourful jerseys, looking warm as a rug,

Thick socks and boots, shiny polished, fitting tight & snug.

Boys with round bellies full and oiled hair brushed bright,

Mouths filled with smiles, not cold teeth, rigid and tight,

They were lucky having no mauve knees, bleeding & grazed,

No lost little eyes that were old, tired and unloving glazed,

They all went laughing, pushing, running and passed him by,

But there was only one thing that he envied & made him sigh.

What this little lad envied most, of all those well-to-do boys,

Were not the packed lunches, nor the rich and shining toys,

But garments they wore on their hands, soft & fluffily fingered,

That left warm wooly caresses that loved and softly lingered,

To him, they looked as soft as the under-wings of grey doves,

Little five-fingered garments, that the other kids called gloves.

WHEN I´M DEAD AND GONE:

Don´t lock me in a niche behind the key,

Don´t inter me where the blind worms be,

Don’t keen, wail, moan, nor sadly mourn,

Don´t kneel at vigil, in death´s grey dawn.

Feel me within the breeze upon your cheek,

Hear me in the voices of the birds that speak,

See me in dawn´s & dusk´s lilac and rosy hues,

You need no churches and no sad hard pews.

No need for preacher´s words of right and wrong,

No sad tears, no committed sin, no dull-dirged song,

No widowed-weeds, no ashes, no sinner´s black sack,

Nothing is wrong, don´t cry, to home, I´m going back.

 Touch me daily upon the velvet flower´s petal,

See me on the shore, where the soft waves settle,

Sense me wherever you see the sweet child´s smile,

I am in everything around you, I´ve not gone a mile.

So when I´m dead and gone away, back to my home,

I don´t want you to mourn, nor feel sad and all alone,

Rejoice my life with a Smile and a laugh & sing, sing, sing,

And know that I´m here with you in every little thing.

ONLY A MOTHER´S LOVE:

He was born one cold and murky dawn,

Whilst Lugh struggled to crack the morn,

And from his mother´s womb was torn,

She crying, “At last, to me a son is born”,

And as she lay spent on birth´s damp lawn,

Looking upon her bloody creature, scorned,

“Oh God, tell me, what´s it that I´ve spawned?

Is he of earthly man or of the forest´s fawn?”

The creature grew in silence, life´s stoic pawn,

Skulking limp, heavy skull & tiny stump of horn,

 Mono-browed, thickset, of meaty heavy brawn,

For his mother, he´d gladly sow & reap the corn,

And not rest till all the winter wood was sawn,

Yule night, still young, he died with silent yawn,

Only his mother, who loved him, came to weep & mourn.

PROTECT ME:

Protect me from this world, my old dear love,

Enfold me in your arms like the wings of a dove,

I don´t want your hard-earned wads of money,

I don´t want your golden, sweet & exotic honey,

I don´t taste nectar in your diamonds & jewels,

Just protect me from this world, so cold & cruel.

Hide me from the icy floes of people´s acid tongues,

By humming lullabies of our childhood, sweetly sung,

Protect me from those monsters of the deepest night,

 Protect my delicate, vulnerable & frightened plight,

Keep me warm & safe in the murky, dark, frosty morns,

And keep me from society´s nasty, evil & fickle horns.

Please protect me & love me, my sweet dear man,

Be my caring shepherd & I´ll be your loving lamb,

Let those folk around us, mockingly & slyly smile,

And under your soft wing, I´ll gladly walk life´s mile,

Let me hear upon your tongue, my own small name,

And in asking for your protection, I feel no shame.