TURNED:

What in heaven’s name has happened to me?

I´ve turned into that woman I didn´t want to be,

Of turned down mouth & droning voice of nag,

I peer into the mirror & all I see now, is the hag.

 

With turning of Luna, life rushed away so fast,

I´d left that young maiden, way back in the past,

That girl with the smile & the joyful light heart,

And I miss her so much, now that we are apart.

CAULDRON OF SINS:

Into the old cauldron of sins, softly bubbling,

I throw & toss all misdeeds, now so troubling,

All of yesterday´s news & old passing years,

All harsh said words & those ill-wept tears.

 

Into the cauldron of sins, now heated, burning,

I discard problems & sad blues, so bad churning,

All regrets & old lovers, now no longer needed,

All those past voices & vices, not now heeded.

 

Into the cauldron of sins, where embers are lying,

I watch as my sins, within ashes, lie cool & dying,

All of my past gone deeds, now going up in smoke,

And as I turn to the moon, my new life I´ll invoke.

RURAL RANTINGS:

Oh how I love all those rantings, of idyll rural life,

Of all those country sounds, removing stress & strife,

Ducks quacking, hens clucking & old roosters crowing,

Geese hissing, & in the fields, contented cattle lowing.

 

And with the new sun rising, donkeys loudly braying,

Turkeys gobbling, cows mooing & old horses neighing,

Milk-maids singing, farmers yelling, tin pails clanging,

Milk & water into buckets splashing, old gate banging.

 

Chicks peeping, birds chirping, old sheep softly bleating,

Yellow cream & soft butter, thickening in clotted beating,

Pigs grunting, all beasts snuffling, snorting, softly munching,

Chewing hay, grass, eternal cud, in all manner of crunching.

 

Crows sitting upon scarecrow´s arms, cheeky in laugh & chirps,

Rumbling fat bellies & tummies, of ruminants snorts & burps,

And suddenly, night falls silently, within its black tired sleeping,

Then the lean red fox skulks, in his terrible sly & quiet creeping.

JUST TALK GENTLY TO ME:

I don´t want from you, money & riches,

No gold, gem, nor raiment of rich stitches,

No feast of swine & fruit, on which to dine,

No goblet of thin crystal, to quaff fine wine,

Just talk gently to me.

 

I don´t want your raised voice & nasty word,

Just talk to me in voice of hills & breezy birds,

No ranting, yelling loud, nor blasphemous din,

No spitting spite, nor slapping to cheek or chin,

Just talk gently to me.

 

From me, you will get all the love in the world,

In the palm of your hand, my heart unfurled,

You´ll have my life, my soul & my very being,

You´ll have it all from me, can you not be seeing?

Just talk gently to me.

 

 

PATCHWORK:

So sublime is the patchwork quilt, of soft lying land,

Sewn in threads of grape & grain, all by human hand,

Cloth of silk, satin & velvet, spun by God´s given seed,

With loose cotton frayings, touched by errant weeds.

 

Fields separated, by beads of hedge & dew-kissed stone,

All coloured in rainbow´s hues, yet so very gently sewn,

Blanketed by passing clouds & all kissed by falling rain,

While sun´s voice serenades, the wooing growth of grain.

 

The squawking scarecrow guards the quilt of sustenance,

Beneath the lantern moon, in his dark & menacing stance,

Whist the Goddesses stitching fingers, never ever stops,

Bestowing upon her fruitful land, rich & harvested crops.