... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
Muscled, black with steel - green eye
Swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie
Tail balancing at half-mast.
... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***
lying in the cherry tree
Savage bed food-warmer
of priest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
*** He's the all-nighi working cat
Eats but one in every ten ***
leaves the others on the mat.
... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town-crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ***
Licensed to mutilate.
From warm milk on a lasy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate
... No, The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock
Warm-blooded night on a cold tie.
Acres Wild
I'll make love to you
in all good places
under black mountains
in open spaces.
By beep brown rivers
that slither darkly
through far marches
where the blue hare races.
Come with me to the Wingled Isle ***
Nothern father's Western child
Where the dance of ages is playing still
trough far marches of Acres Wild
I'll make love to you
in narrow side streets
with shuttered windows,
crambling chimneys ***
By red bricks pointed
with cement fingers
Falking damply from sagging shoulders.
Come with me to the meary town ***
Discos silent undertiles
that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
on concrete marches of Acres Wild.
No Lullaby
Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears -
rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
There's a lock on the window; there's a chain on the door:
a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
to snatch you fall.
So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.
Thrust and parry. Light
a match to catch the devil's eye. Bring
a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief
from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life.
Do battle with ghosts at play.
Gather your toys at the call-to-arms
and swing your big bear down
Upon uor necks when we come to set
you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie
to chase the face that cries ***
And little birds can't fly
so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
Moths
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first Moths of summer
suicidal came
And a new breese chattered
in its May-bud tenderness ***
Sending water-lilies sailing
as she turned to get undressed.
And the long night awakened
and we soared on powdered wings ***
Circling our tomorrows
in the wary month of Spring.
Chasing shadows slipping
in a magic lantern slide ***
Creatures of the candle
on a night-light-ride.
Dipping and wearing *** flutter
through golden needle's eye
in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking
on a Spring-tide high.
Life's too long (as the Lemming said)
as the candle burned and the Moths were wed.
And we'll all burn together as the wick grows higher ***
before the candle's dead.
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first moths of summer
suicidal came
to join in worship
of the light that never dies
in a moment's reflection
of two Moths spinning in her eyes.
Journeyman
Spine-tinging railway sleepers
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams devide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the waking warm.
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments ***
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.
In late night commuter madness
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor
like a faithfull dog with master
sleeping in thn draught beside the carriage door.
To each Journeyman his own home-coming
Cold supper nearing with each station stop
Frostly flaked on empty platforms
Fireside slippers waiting - Flip. Flop.
Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantastic
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross
and hear the soft choes on the footbridge shuffle
as the wheels turn bitting on the midnight frost.
On the late commuter special
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die
Howling into hollow blackness
Duscy diesel shudders in full cry
Down redundant morning papers
Abandon crosswords with a cough.
Stationmaster in his wisdom
told the guard to turn the heating off.
SIDE TWO
Rover
I chase your every footstep
and I follow every whim.
When you call the tune I'm ready
to strike up the battle hymn.
My lady of the meadows ***
My comber of the beach ***
You've through the stick for your dog's trick
but it's floating out of reach.
The long road is a rainbow and the pot of gold lies here.
So slip the chain and I'm off again ***
You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.
As the robin craves the summer
to hide his smock of red,
I need the pailow of your hair
in which to hide my head.
I'm simple in my sadness;
resourcefool in remorse.
Then I'm down straining at the lead ***
holdin on a windward course.
Strip me from the bundle
of balloons at every fair:
colourfull and carefree ***
designed to make you stare.
And I'm lost and I'm losing
the thread that hold me down.
And I'm up hot and rising
in the lights of every town.
One Brown Mouse
Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile.
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.
Twich your whiskers. Feel that you're realy real.
Another tea-time *** another day older.
Puff worm breath on your tiny hands.
You wish you were a man
who every day can turn another page.
Behind your glass you sit and look
at my ever-open book ***
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Do you wonder if I realy care for you ***
Am I just the company you keep ***
Which one of us excercises on the old treadmill ***
Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?
Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile
And every day we'll turn another page.
Behind our glass we'll seet and look
at our ever-open book ***
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Heavy Horses
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening.
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the rlough
Salt on a deep chest seasoning.
Last of the line at an honest day's toil
Turning the deep sod under.
Flint at the fetlock, chasting the bone
Flies at the nostris plunder.
The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Persheron vie
with the Shire on his feather floating
Hauting soft timber into the dusk
to bed on a warm straw coating.
Heavy Horses, wore the land under me
Behind the plough gliding *** sliping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The traktor's on it's way.
Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
To keep the old line going.
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the wood
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
and you eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
and the nights are seen to draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
your noble grace and your bearing
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
in the wake of the deep ploug, sharing.
Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In still battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing.
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A Heavy Horses and a tumbing sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
across these acres glistening
like dew on a carpet lawn.
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
as the Heavy Horses thunder by
to wake the dying city
with the living horseman's cry
At once the old hands quicken ***
bring pick and wisp and curry comb ***
thrill to the sound of all
the Heavy Horses comming home.
Weathercock
Good morning Weathercock: how did you fare last night
Did the cold wind bite you, did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October and whip around your tail
Did you snake from the blast, did you shiver through the gale?
Give us direction; the best of goodwill ***
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing us to softly, hum evening's song ***
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.
Do you simply reflect changes in the pattern of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather needs the twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter; do you hold snowflakes at bay,
Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields and help him on his way?
Good morning Weathercock: make this day bright.
Put us on touch with your fair winds.
Sing us softly, hum evening's songs
Point the way to better days we can share with you.
Muscled, black with steel - green eye
Swishing through the rye grass
with thoughts of mouse-and-apple pie
Tail balancing at half-mast.
... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***
lying in the cherry tree
Savage bed food-warmer
of priest feline ancestry.
Look out, little furry folk!
*** He's the all-nighi working cat
Eats but one in every ten ***
leaves the others on the mat.
... And The Mouse Police Never Sleeps ***
waiting by the cellar door.
Window-box town-crier;
birth and death registrar.
With claws that rake a furrow red ***
Licensed to mutilate.
From warm milk on a lasy day
to dawn patrol on hungry hate
... No, The Mouse Police Never Sleeps
climbing on the ivy.
Windy roof-top weathercock
Warm-blooded night on a cold tie.
Acres Wild
I'll make love to you
in all good places
under black mountains
in open spaces.
By beep brown rivers
that slither darkly
through far marches
where the blue hare races.
Come with me to the Wingled Isle ***
Nothern father's Western child
Where the dance of ages is playing still
trough far marches of Acres Wild
I'll make love to you
in narrow side streets
with shuttered windows,
crambling chimneys ***
By red bricks pointed
with cement fingers
Falking damply from sagging shoulders.
Come with me to the meary town ***
Discos silent undertiles
that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
on concrete marches of Acres Wild.
No Lullaby
Keep your eyes open and prick up your ears -
rehearse your loudest cry.
There's folk out there who would do you harm
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
There's a lock on the window; there's a chain on the door:
a big dog in the hall.
But there's dragons and beasties out there in the night
to snatch you fall.
So come out fighting with your rattle in hand.
Thrust and parry. Light
a match to catch the devil's eye. Bring
a cross of fire to the fight.
And let no sleep bring false relief
from the tension of the fray.
Come wake the dead with the scream of life.
Do battle with ghosts at play.
Gather your toys at the call-to-arms
and swing your big bear down
Upon uor necks when we come to set
you sleeping safe and sound.
It's as well we tell no lie
to chase the face that cries ***
And little birds can't fly
so keep an open eye.
It's as well we tell no lie
so I'll sing you no lullaby.
Moths
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first Moths of summer
suicidal came
And a new breese chattered
in its May-bud tenderness ***
Sending water-lilies sailing
as she turned to get undressed.
And the long night awakened
and we soared on powdered wings ***
Circling our tomorrows
in the wary month of Spring.
Chasing shadows slipping
in a magic lantern slide ***
Creatures of the candle
on a night-light-ride.
Dipping and wearing *** flutter
through golden needle's eye
in our haystack madness. Butterfly-stroking
on a Spring-tide high.
Life's too long (as the Lemming said)
as the candle burned and the Moths were wed.
And we'll all burn together as the wick grows higher ***
before the candle's dead.
The leaded window opened
to move the dancing candle flame
And the first moths of summer
suicidal came
to join in worship
of the light that never dies
in a moment's reflection
of two Moths spinning in her eyes.
Journeyman
Spine-tinging railway sleepers
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm
Orange beams devide the darkness
Rumbling fit to turn the waking warm.
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments ***
Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.
In late night commuter madness
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor
like a faithfull dog with master
sleeping in thn draught beside the carriage door.
To each Journeyman his own home-coming
Cold supper nearing with each station stop
Frostly flaked on empty platforms
Fireside slippers waiting - Flip. Flop.
Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantastic
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross
and hear the soft choes on the footbridge shuffle
as the wheels turn bitting on the midnight frost.
On the late commuter special
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die
Howling into hollow blackness
Duscy diesel shudders in full cry
Down redundant morning papers
Abandon crosswords with a cough.
Stationmaster in his wisdom
told the guard to turn the heating off.
SIDE TWO
Rover
I chase your every footstep
and I follow every whim.
When you call the tune I'm ready
to strike up the battle hymn.
My lady of the meadows ***
My comber of the beach ***
You've through the stick for your dog's trick
but it's floating out of reach.
The long road is a rainbow and the pot of gold lies here.
So slip the chain and I'm off again ***
You'll find me everywhere. I'm a Rover.
As the robin craves the summer
to hide his smock of red,
I need the pailow of your hair
in which to hide my head.
I'm simple in my sadness;
resourcefool in remorse.
Then I'm down straining at the lead ***
holdin on a windward course.
Strip me from the bundle
of balloons at every fair:
colourfull and carefree ***
designed to make you stare.
And I'm lost and I'm losing
the thread that hold me down.
And I'm up hot and rising
in the lights of every town.
One Brown Mouse
Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile.
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder.
Twich your whiskers. Feel that you're realy real.
Another tea-time *** another day older.
Puff worm breath on your tiny hands.
You wish you were a man
who every day can turn another page.
Behind your glass you sit and look
at my ever-open book ***
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Do you wonder if I realy care for you ***
Am I just the company you keep ***
Which one of us excercises on the old treadmill ***
Who hides his head, pretending to sleep?
Smile your little smile *** take some tea with me awhile
And every day we'll turn another page.
Behind our glass we'll seet and look
at our ever-open book ***
One Brown Mouse sitting in a cage.
Heavy Horses
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening.
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the rlough
Salt on a deep chest seasoning.
Last of the line at an honest day's toil
Turning the deep sod under.
Flint at the fetlock, chasting the bone
Flies at the nostris plunder.
The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Persheron vie
with the Shire on his feather floating
Hauting soft timber into the dusk
to bed on a warm straw coating.
Heavy Horses, wore the land under me
Behind the plough gliding *** sliping and sliding free.
Now you're down to the few and there's no work to do
The traktor's on it's way.
Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
To keep the old line going.
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the wood
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
and you eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
and the nights are seen to draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
your noble grace and your bearing
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
in the wake of the deep ploug, sharing.
Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In still battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing.
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A Heavy Horses and a tumbing sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
across these acres glistening
like dew on a carpet lawn.
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
as the Heavy Horses thunder by
to wake the dying city
with the living horseman's cry
At once the old hands quicken ***
bring pick and wisp and curry comb ***
thrill to the sound of all
the Heavy Horses comming home.
Weathercock
Good morning Weathercock: how did you fare last night
Did the cold wind bite you, did you face up to the fright
When the leaves spin from October and whip around your tail
Did you snake from the blast, did you shiver through the gale?
Give us direction; the best of goodwill ***
Put us in touch with fair winds.
Sing us to softly, hum evening's song ***
Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.
Do you simply reflect changes in the pattern of the sky,
Or is it true to say the weather needs the twinkle in your eye?
Do you fight the rush of winter; do you hold snowflakes at bay,
Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields and help him on his way?
Good morning Weathercock: make this day bright.
Put us on touch with your fair winds.
Sing us softly, hum evening's songs
Point the way to better days we can share with you.