Ophelia.
Madness and violets,
Flowers for the dead,
Rosemary from a girl
With lilies for a bed,
Who lay down in the water to sleep,
Always to remember, always to keep,
Scars for remembrance,
Lost tears to forget,
Gods to forgive us
And souls to regret,
Broken dreams to haunt day light,
A beautiful ghost to guard the night.
Valkyrie
The Valkyrie
Who waits for thee
Tires not of that
Mead soaked orgy
She calls Peace,
She needn’t cease
Waiting your release,
When mortal fate,
Leads to that gate,
You call Death,
The Valkyrie
Who waits for thee,
She who can see
Much more than we
Through icy eye
Like winter skies
Colder than lies,
Yet shining bright,
To banish the night
You call Death
The Valkyrie
Who waits for thee
Kens well infinity
Knows and loves eternity,
Her father’s hall
Has room for all
Who hear His call
To meet in slaughter
With His daughter
You call Death
Remember.
Remember the gallows kind grasp,
And the sickly sweet smell,
That heralds the musket ball,
And the moment that ends it all,
The endless, endless glory
And the dancing in the street,
And the times when again we meet.
The Men in the Blue Coats Have Taken My Molly From Me.
Molly should have stayed in England
In our larl town on the hill,
But she wanted to see the world,
And she wanted to see men kill,
Though Molly was not my wife,
But The Duke said he knew that,
And would still guard her with his life,
So she marched with me in Portugal
She marched beside me in Spain
She shared the food and the hunger,
She shared the glory and the pain,
I gave her half of all I could steal,
And I wept half of her tears,
Some days she carried my musket,
Some days she carried my fears,
Then The Good Lord and The Duke,
Marched us to the edge of France
To meet the fleeing Frenchman,
In one more, great, bloody dance,
I kissed my Molly one last time,
And marched right out of Spain
But as we marched off to battle,
They attacked our baggage train,
The Blue Coats came behind us,
They plundered our baggage train,
They took out food, our shot, our stock,
And our women; they were slain,
So I found my lovely Molly,
As beautiful as though in sleep,
But my Molly would not waken,
The sleep; it was too deep,
That is how the men in blue coats,
Took my darling Molly away,
But they could not take her memory,
Which I hold, still dear, this day.
Beaudica’s Drums.
Have you heard Beaudica’s drum,
At the setting of the sun,
When the black crow flies,
And our nation’s freedom dies?
Have you heard her drums beat,
When destiny, you must meet,
Heard her drums through wood and fell,
Through Earth, Heaven and through Hell?
Heard the drums, the cries, the horn,
At night, at day, at early morn,
Heard the sound of clashing spears,
Felt Britain
Have you heard Beaudica’s drum?
Do you know the time has come?
Uniting Britain
Then stand- Stand firm, stand fast.
The Dream That Is Dying.
You know what is wrong
And you know what is right,
When you dance with Death,
In the morning light,
When in a voice so clear,
The Reaper whispers in your ear,
‘Death is a truth
That is lying,
Life is a dream
That is dying’.
The Tragedy of Moths.
Moth, why do you fly to candle light,
Or dance against the window bright,
When you wander through the night?
Why batter your pretty wings in vain,
Or end you short life in burning pain?
If you love the light, enough to die,
Why do you fly,
In the inky night?
And not the daylight sky.
Vampyre Eyes.
Stare defiantly at the day,
Look wistfully at the night,
And curse The Hand of God,
Which shows Itself in light,
Sit comfortably on the tomb,
Dreaming of long gone days,
Of endless, endless nights
Spent in hellish ways,
See beauty in a slender neck,
And lust for joy in blood,
Taste the grave in every bite,
Which would steal you if it could.
To Freya,
A Lady I once saw in the sky,
Who the Glorious Fallen
See when, on sword, they die,
Who is seen in Venus light,
In blood on water sunset,
And gentle heath-fire bright,
In the warmth of summer rain,
On pure snow of mountain top,
And passion of battle pain,
On ship across the Northern sea,
When wind lashes salt and spray,
The Whale Road carries part of me,
Onwards, always, to the day,
When She might take me away,
When blood flows in the night,
And foes for their dishonour pay,
The blade’s Moon reflected light,
Promises, always, of the day,
Her hand may lead me away,
Goddess of Death and Mystic Might-
Freya- of Love, and Verse, and Night.
Faery Queen.
Drink yourself unto the joyous sight
Of Faery Queen with chalice bright,
And endless beauty and endless might,
Who dances against creatures of the night,
And uses song and wine to fight
Those fiends of dread, woe and fright,
Rise with Her to dizzy height and
See through a madness that is slight-
And an error that is some how right-
How She turns darkness into light.
Our World
This world of ours,
With its ceaseless beauty
And its constant cruelty,
Where endless love and lust,
And pain, and rage,
And honour, justice, trust,
And wisdom and madness,
And joy and fear and sadness
All dance hand in hand,
In coils without end,
Is not the work of a
Distant, perfect God,
To whom we are in thrall,
But of the spirit in us all.
Have had poetry published in Rubies in the Darkness (Precious Pearle Press), Pheonix New Life (The Universal Alliance), Pinhole Camera: Exposure, and Jess Inman's Maidens and Men. Would recommend all of these publications.
