I wish there were no numbers and no dates I forget them all , yet memory is like glue With counting, with remembrance, with lost mate
There’s our sorrow and its seas to navigate
The waves rise up and drop, so old so new I wish there were no numbers and no dates
Why are modern hearts so separate?
The seas of knowledge, all are one in truth With counting, with remembrance, with no trace
Oh,universe, why do you have such space
With patterns in the stars, that might us soothe If there were no numbers and no dates?
Why are we self labelled as a race?
Slowly, surely we will dig up truths With anguish, with remembrance, oh, lost face
When will grace remake a soul so bruised
Struggling with the time scale, still bemused I wish there were no numbers and no dates No counting, no remembrance, no lost face
Oh happy were we crossing Salisbury plain
On the way to Dorset once again
The isle of Purbeck, butterflies and birds
he lark near Swanage waiting to be heard.
Once the plain was home to peace
The Cold War brought the Army and their shells.
Now there’s War again,a thought to mull.
Do men want peace when War is all the rage?
Look on Facebook,Mr Putin’s page.
One cruel man kills children in the streets.
There is no warfield,like there are no sheep.
There is no safety now for
As Russia plays with evil and the Beast
I have walked the silent paths of grief
Sunless, dreary, cold and all alone.
I have slept on beds of winter leaves
Oh death you are a cruel, mysterious thief.
Although my heart weeps, and my joy has gone,
I have never felt I was deceived.
I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned by sorrow we’re undone.
I have sifted earth and what’s beneath.
I have felt the dark emotions seethe
While I’m mocked by glaring, savage sun.
I have learned the geography of grief.
I wait in patience for my life to ease.
Will I know when my Last Supper’s come?
Will my tale be written on a leaf?
Unconsoled grief can make us dumb
Into our hearts, we drag the ice that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves
Does Carrie feed Boris with cake
Or does she not know how to bake?
Off with their heads
When they rise from the dead.
Or all that we saw will be fake
There is a cook called Jack Monroe
Who helps the poor battle their foes.
The Tory’s don’t care
If the poor go out bare.
Starving from head down to toes
But if you have an electric car going through water surely that’s dangerous
That leaves you with a donkey you hired on a beach.Cleethorpes maybe.
I wish I had a donkey
I really don’t know who you are are
Sitting there with your guitar
I don’t know if the feeling’s real
We never even sat down for a meal.
I don’t like to quarrel or fight
Hallelujah,I am always right.
I don’t want another man who shouts.
I wonder why I think you are alright
Would I let you share my bed?
Should I get a cat instead?
My imagination dressed you to suit
The way you look is handsome and cute .
The sunlight’s lemonade,the trees are dark
Oh beautiful the feelings of my heart.
I remember Silverdale with joy.
The small green lanes,the meadows, girls and boys.
Arnside Knott the sheep the glimpse of sea
My heart is longing to be there with you
The train runs on the viaduct to Grange
The sea and river mix is rich and strange.
Self improvement ends when we depart On the final train ride of our life Silent is that little clock, our heart
When we lose our teeth that is the start When we have no man to make us wife Self improvement ends when we depart
When we reach the edges of all charts Unknown oceans, crossed by unknown lines Silenced is that little clock, our heart
Can we be improved by self regard? Can self help kick us up till we’re divine? Either way it ends when we depart
No more tricks as we play our last card All that I possessed, no longer mine Silenced is that little clock, our heart
How peaceful is the dust, it does not strives Nor agitate itself about soul stained Self improvement ends, we die, depart Silent are the speeches of our heart