Ravenheart

A musing written for lily age 9 and her cat Sean who's got terribly fat of late getting himself stuck in his own cat flap due to having been neutered and putting on rather a bit too much timber . A new front door was also fitted without taking his correct cross whiskered measurements . Narrated in a Yorkshire accent due to Sean being born and raised in Harrogate .

A poem for the king of rock and roll he was born into extreme poverty raised in a shotgun shack but managed not only to break out of that but also to attack the apartheid of America he was one of the first to start singing the black man's blues , he went from busking as a bum on Beale Street to having the world worshipping at his feet .

Treachery and treason never go out of season the gunpowder plot was the spy master's crowning piece of glory he'd managed to use the plot to catapult James the 1st from being a doomed king guaranteed to be assassinated into a national hero who united both Scotland and England into the union of Crowns a feat never before thought possible all by engineering a plot that was in its early stages and failing untill as an agent provocateur he coaxed it into a piece of political theatre using his mediaeval Machiavellian genius , Robert Cecil 1st earl of Salisbury was known by Elizabeth as the pygmy and by James the ist as his little beagle ,he also thwarted the Pope's attempts at a Catholic conversion .

The femme fatale overrides all of our rationale her swan song is the sound we hear as our love boat runs aground, the final pheromone is a scent of sulphur we smell as we slowly drowned .

The ghost in our mortal machine is like a spiritual symbiotic twin that collaborative companion that shares our secular sin so silently from within accompanying us from a womb to the tomb an then ultimately giving evidence in our final doom .

What was once a stamp for the tramp or cut of a criminal class its now adorning faces and physique of aristocrat royalty and even the supermodel chic .

Back in the 60's heavy industry was extremely hard work the way the men eased their burden was with non-stop humour, today its seen as some social deride like a malignant tumor and has been so badly beaten by our political correctness untill it's become all but a reminiscing rumour amongst the elderly.

A poem for Katy on reception who drives ever man crazy by giving them a glimpse of the promised land only then to watch gleefully as they walk towards her straight into a paradise of quicksand .

The high functioning alcoholic starts his day with a liberal libation of liquid sin, beneath their Celtic cream coloured skin once beat the heart of Gunga Din .

This is a musing I wrote after listening to my father who'd been conscripted into the British army during the second world war you can quite easily see why by year twenty three most members of the military have gone completely mad with OCD its perhaps due to the cour d'esprit of the British army which has a relentless marching rhythm beating to the sweet spot tempo of 120 , from day one your heart soul body and mind are recalibrated and realined to the measured metronome of the military kind in order for you to keep in perfect tune whilst playing together in the theatre of war with the other synchronised members of your platoon .

Two haiku poems , TEAR DROP shows how a Tsunami can start from the slightest ripple. REVOLTING, a poem on how if you distact someone with something revolting it can avert a revolution ie Rome's Colosseum or today's violent multimedia , keep the sapien sedated by letting them slake on sadism .

Buying power tools at the hardware store? well you truly may as well  arm yourself with a weapon of war and become yet another do it yourself casualty score , blood and gore body counts are much higher than in most modern theatres of war ! .

This is a poem I wrote for an innocent looking girl called Alice who when tempered up turns into a hell's angel of malice she resembles a fairytale princess fresh from a folkloric palace yet soon as she opens her mouth you think she's been drinking from the poisoned chalice with her hands in the air she stands about four feet tall but after a rise through with alcohol she turns into a native neanderthal, forget all about etiquette and protocol this little tomboy is more likely to be found scrapping on the terraces at an away game of football.

Our green  karma Queen casts her svelt shadows over the obstinate boulder brained beast lighting her alternative pathway towards a spiritual sentient sanctuary .

Blue September skies signals the end of Summer's lease the autumn equinox in one day changes everything tilting time and tugging tide , it's as though our season of life has suddenly just died .

A poem i wrote for the fire and brimstone preacher who baptised me in an ice water stone trough a wild religious Celt with raven hair alabaster skin and husky dog blue eyes a true blood line of the ancient Bretagne .

Looking at some tramps in cider park I felt sorry for the poor starving pets as their masters swill down cider and they shivered in the cold , the musing is seen or spoken through a dog .

God Google. A short poem I wrote about the neo omnipresent computer algorithm that seems almost all controlling and God like in its invisible presence .

A poem written for my father who was born in 1926 and now similar to an old model T ford he needs constant tinkering and maintenance to keep him running also I've done my best to copy his gasping Yorkshire speech ; born in the days of the horse and cart he started work at the age of twelve down in the mills on the east side of a steel river , he mentioned that not only were the steel dreys pulled by the huge shire horses but during the second world war they also used the might of the elephants borrowed from a nearby zoo due to the lack of trucks and the rationing of fuel , he told me for a boy of twelve it was a terrifying experience walking past these huge rumbling beasts that were stabled under the railway arches so that each time a train grumbled over the viaduct the massive mammals would bellow out their deafening roars.

A prick of our precious pride is all that's needed to derail and deride our sensibility into taking a walk back to its wild side.