The unquiet grave.

The cracked plaster and crumbling brick

Were jaded in decay

The Howling Gale and the drumming rain

Summed up, a perfect day

The empty hand, the vacant heart

The bleeding, tear filled eyes

Bring twisted dreams and endless hurt

And a sun that is never to rise

Blackened skies and long, long nights

The music of despair

The savage truth of all there is

As fate, hangs in the air

But hark, is that a footstep

A moaning from the grave

Be quick, be soon, bring truth, bring light

While there’s someone left to save.

Nothing now matters.

The question of faith, blows over your grave

But how can it be thus so

And seek though you will, the roads are all closed

And there’s nowhere else now to go

Belief it has no dimension

And belief it has no weight

While the winds of change, blow heavy and cold

Mean the answers, all come too late

The signs are there to be read now

A cross in paint on the door

My mind and my thoughts, torn asunder

There’s a Blood Red Rose on the floor

Don’t speak to me in tongues now

And don’t quote From the Book of the Dead

There is little more, to be written here

And sadly even less to be said.

Thought for the day. No.25y.

Don’t take regrets to the grave

All you achieve is to make the coffin heavier to carry.

Pere Lachaise.

In the world of the paper dragons

Where the bird of paradise dwells

A robin comes a-calling

To the chiming of the bells

I was riding back from Paris

With the gypsy in my thoughts

Wondering if in Sacre Couer

I’d found answers that I sought

I’d seen a grave in Pere Lachaise

Writ in English, on the stone

‘In the arms of the Angels’

‘Gone, but not alone’

I sat there with the robin

‘Neath a winter sky of blue

And thought about the gravestone

And thought a lot of you

Little Joyce Archambeau ,barely six years old

Died in eighteen eighty seven

And now lies here in the cold

I went to buy some flowers

Then laid them with Little Joyce

I hoped that she could see them still

And maybe hear my voice

I sat the while and spoke to her

Of the Paris that she knew

I told her of the dragonflies

And talked to her of you

But now I’m back in Angleterre

In my garden, on a bench

And in the tree, beside me

A robin sings to me, in French.

Putin’s War.

She was dressed in her unicorn pyjamas

The best thing that she’d ever owned

When a Russian shell came down from Hell

And took the flesh from her bones

There are no more hugs for her Mammy

No squeals of childish delight

No dreams or smiles will light her face

Because death rolled in with the night

May God damn you Vladimir Putin

I curse every breath that you breathe

And when your time of dying comes

I will spit on your grave, as you leave.

God bless her little six year old soul. The world will remember her.

An unquiet grave. (Let it be.)

I was the only mourner

As I buried my heart today

Mine were the tears that fell in the grave

As I left my love in the clay

In the background, someone played music

A Beatles set, so it seemed

Came drifting out from the Cavern

As you danced in my arms, in a dream

I buried my heart without coffin

And I drowned my soul in the rain

I wrote my tears in a poem

And set if afloat on the Seine

What price, what cost is a memory

For a memory is just the seed

From the seed there grows a dagger

That cuts me once more to bleed

I was the only mourner

As I shed my tears today

Mine is the heart, lies deep in the grave

And all hope lies lost in the clay.

All Hallows Eve.

Shush, can you hear

In the middle of the darkest night

In the Blackness, in the Darkness

There are whispers out of sight

There are murmurs, that are growing

Disquiet amongst the dead

There are spirits, who are listening

They make notes of all you’ve said

In the graveyards, they assemble

To cast judgements, writ in blood

And the Ghouls, stand there watching

No face inside their hood

On the gravestones, that are waiting

One there, bears your name

But in the moonlight, In the blacklight

The stones all look the same

So, in the dark night, in the moonlight

If you hear the whispers creep

Lie quiet and stay silent

And pretend you are asleep.