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Wednesbury Town
Man and boy I've trod these
streets it's character standing still,
But tradition bears an
infinite bond for that is the people's will,
And gone are the
days of industry where chains and nails were made,
And in it's
place foundations built 21st century laid,
The pubs and clubs
that have stayed intact and have stood the test of time,
Spill
many a tale of drinking men and many a tale of crime,
The buildings,
streets, the market place, are dressed to look the part,
But
underneath that dressing up still lies the very heart,
Of a town
that has grown from coal to steel but alas these ran their course,
Because
progress ruins the simple man and the clever are the force,
Here,
your birthplace is your cradle, as your tombstone is your bed,
So
know your roots and know you are, Black Country born and bred.
The Dream
Have you ever seen your tombstone in a dream,
Have you ever been chased but could not move,
Have you ever cried and heard the scream,
I have, in my dream.
Have you ever re-lived again your childhood plight,
Have you ever felt your ghost upon your back,
Have you fought but could not fight,
I have, in my dream.
Have you ever clung to life on a silo’s edge,
Have you ever lay in your mother’s arms,
Have you made an oath and broke that pledge,
I have, in my dream.
And this dream was a dream, for the nightmare is life,
Where my fate has been sealed by the hand of a wife,
Have you ever sensed your spirit at night, I have.
The Waster
Here was a man with a tale to tell, where a tear
lay in every word, it was a long sentence,
At times he lay to dwell and his thoughts would turn bitter sweet, it made no
sense.
He often dreamed of a new tomorrow, but the oncoming day was as before
unchanged.
By his own admission he had the knowledge to conquer, but he had almost given
up hope of achieving anything.
His will faded like a crop in winter, the dying fragments of life scattered and
surviving, but had no direction.
It was as if on an iceberg floating nowhere with no course to sail, and his
fate left to the untamed sea.
He had a smile in his eyes where the girls bought his lies, but his price had
spiralled to an all time low,
The female form became a barrier, a chalice ridden cheating machine that
catered for it’s own needs, where the consequence meant nothing.
It’s surprising how the dirty talk of the waster excited the more refined
intellectual woman, who would hide her sexual needs beneath her lust filled
halo,
Where he would spit in her eye and watch her true colours explode, then rape
her with his submissive intentions and watch her take the bait.
That bar room atmosphere had a personality all of it’s own, the laughter of the
drunken man became the waster’s own echo, his mirror image that drifted into
insanity whenever the need be, it was his own special heaven.
His songs were his friends and time and again these played, for he knew that
his songs could never die and that in itself was some compensation.
People would look and know his time was overdue, but it was to no avail,
It was as if snared with no escape, for all his guile and cunning the waster
lived with a burden with the wound too big to heal, the time went slow.
Even in his unconscious state he would cry and feel alone surrounded by fear,
there was no way out,
Pretence was his only salvation, if only he had his time again, but it was too
late for wishful thinking.
He yearned religion, but what was it, how could he believe when he couldn’t
believe in himself and responsibility had become a thing of the past.
Ultimately the love of a woman is needed for the relaxation of the inner peace
of mind, but unconsciously, not there staring you in the face,
And this he had had and lost, it was a large price to pay, a big part in his
downfall.
On reflection his epitaph will always be incomplete, what he should have
achieve and what he should have been there for all to see,
But sadly it ended with the words that came to hand at this time,
”That he drank to forget what he was missing”.
2186
Would you like to live forever,
To watch the world go up in flames,
The day will come when death is never,
Computered minds to play their games,
2186 will bear this out,
I’ve listened and so I’ll tell,
When man will bear no children,
And this earth will come a hell.
A Cry In The
Wind
See me, but sense my anger that erodes my well being,
Hold me, and let my despair be quashed by your grasp,
Love me, and my knees will scar at your mercy,
Feed me, and your fear will burden me forever,
Think of me, and I will be at peace in death,
Forget me, and I am no more.
The English Riviera
I sensed and felt the oceans welcoming,
I trod the sands and heard it whisper hello,
As the broth of sea swept around my feet,
Eternal thoughts were encased with every wave,
Birds at home sounded out their territory,
As feeding them, fed me,
For their needs was my pleasure in one moment in time,
Shells, yells, I studied innocence explore every remnant of the oceans wealth,
For it’s own repetition brings love, harmony and joy, to the most burdened of
beings,
Trawlers on the horizon dropped anchor as nets filled,
For a fisherman’s chores are his life and living,
Sail on and let the entertainer sing his local anthems,
To commandeer on opportunities to break his labour,
For industry has no friends here,
It’s purifying air cleanses the mind, and it’s beauty leaves a lasting
impression of gratitude,
And I think of when I cease to be what these views to engross,
Will still remain to relish, and when new odes will spill from a new
generation,
And as I walk away from these shores, I ogle one more time at friends I leave
behind,
So until I return Devon, farewell, and may you stay calm and content at
nature’s will.
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