THE NATION OF THE DOWNCAST EYE

(A dedication to subject people nations)

We are the nation of the downcast eye,

And we guard our thoughts and tongue.

Ours is the gruff and the sullen tribe,

For we know that the trap is sprung.

-

And we know full well though we dare not tell,

That we live by the rulers' creed;

He will dull the blade and relax the rein,

But he'll curb and will mix our seed.

-

We are the folk who are penned by law;

It's the curb for the men who would -

But we always note that the sweet refrain,

Will be claimed for the common good?

-

Ours is the lot that may come and go,

We are free - so our rulers say.

And they may be just but it's not the same;

We are men and our feet are clay.

-

You may hear our laugh but it's not like yours;

It is dulled by the cynic thought.

And the smile is not in the eyes you see;

It is fixed by the victor's court.

-

We are the men who have ceased to rule,

Both the young and the young at heart;

We are the folk of the shifty eye,

And we speak of the fraud as art.

-

We are the tribe of the fettered tongue,

And our mirror-minds will tell;

Of the rulers' view that it's good for you -

And we find that they pay us well.

-

So the young who spring from the loins of men,

Of the nation of the downcast eye;

Are the slaves to another’s thought and whim

- But they live only when they die.

Granted just their childhood and a taste of youth, but nay -

No bitter-sweet of love to greet the breaking of the day;

The sun set on their morning and the twilight hid from view,

The young men and their better deeds that they might never do.

-

And now the rafters of the inn will never hear the banter;

Of soldier lads in berets and the scarlet Tam O'Shanter.

-

Granted just a promise of a life fulfilled, but nay -

No children in their likeness and no bloom of age for they;

For grey haired men of yesterday, of lessons learned not one,

Did carry out the reaper's work and scythed till work was done.

-

And unborn children never know the sound of caring tread,

A father's footsteps on the stair when safely tucked in bed.

-

Granted mellow wisdom that was yet to come, but nay -

Till men whose life was over took the young men all away;

Their youthful zeal (and innocence) was shrouded in a lie,

And that's the reason why, sir, only young men go to die.

THE WHITE FEATHER

I'm British and I'm proud of it; I'm British to the core,

And that is why I'll never send our young men off to war.

Perhaps if we were threatened, but the 'threat of thirty-nine';

Was far from being equaled by the threat of ninety-nine.

-

A trade war! Well, they were the words that Winston Churchill said,

In forty-seven, after all our brave young men had bled:

But now we've gone and joined them; if you cannot beat them join them,

And still the lies are spoken and still the lies are fed.

-

I'm British, patriotic, so the feather white I wear,

And you can bet your Brussels sprouts, it's arms I'll never bear.

No doubt I would for Liverpool, for Pontypridd or Poole,

But Poland's stolen borders, nay; I'll never be a fool.

-

The lies, the feast of victors, who stand on mounds of dead,

But tell the truth and off to gaol is what the victors said:

So now we've gone to join them; if you cannot beat them join them,

For you are also silenced, aye, you're silenced like the dead.

THE VALKYRIES

The soldier's face grew ashen and his comrade seemed asleep,

He knelt beside the stricken youth beside the upturned jeep;

The moon forever fickle twixt the cloud and starry sky,

Remained unmoved, uncaring both of death and comrades' cry.

-

The mud forever giving 'neath the soldiers' boots and steel,

Embalmed the dying youngster of the broken limbs and weal;

His comrade grieved and broken, with gentle whispered prayer,

Ran muddied fingers softly through his comrade's tousled hair.

-

The scene that set was ghastly - of broken trees and mud;

A curse, a cry and shell fire; the broken bones and blood.

The dying youth's eyes opened and with almost lifeless stare,

With weary smile he greeted his sad comrade kneeling there.

-

'The valkyries, they're coming. They ride beyond the moon.

I see their steeds; the maidens. They're coming for me soon.'

Hope filed the dying soldier as his comrade hid to weep;

The Nordic gods had summoned their young hero to the keep.

-

His soldier friend was grieving and so filled with Christian care,

Raised his eyes to follow the young dying soldier's stare.

Of myths the sky was naked; no valkyries nor steeds;

The ancient gods were vanquished, as were their old time deeds.

-

But he was still yet living and so the truth denied,

For fallen heroes only are called upon to ride.

The dying youth saw clearly the maidens in the sky;

Upon their brave white stallions - borne to those who die.

-

Borne to brave young mortals whose life rewards forego;

Who give their life, their everything, 'gainst nation's common foe.

The soldier's eyes grew brighter as the valkyries drew near;

Flaxen maids of beauty with their shields and silver spear.

-

A green-eyed maid dismounted with her weapons laid aside;

He melted in her warm embrace, endeared to new found bride.

With tender care she lifted the young soldier born to die,

And in her arms upon the steed they journeyed through the sky.

-

They sometime reached Valhalla and the hall of Odin's reign;

Thatched with shields and walls of spears to house the mighty slain.

With fond farewell the maiden bid the fallen youth goodbye;

And carried on her quest of love across the starlit sky.

-

Filled with renewed vigor and his body whole again,

He stepped inside the mighty hall; the home of all the slain.

In comradeship partaken and with milk from goat Heidrun;

Valhalla and God Odin, had gained another son.

-

And daily they did battle for Ragnarok to train -

For in the Armageddon, the victors are the slain.

The world of mortal combat still raged its deathly course;

Where beside a broken body, and steeped in deep remorse,

-

A soldier wept heartbroken as with crucifix of wood,

He stood it by the open grave and silently he stood.

He stooped to pick the helmet that was worn by his great loss;

And wiped it free of grass and mud, and hung it on the cross.

THE HORSEMAN OF THE SKIES

With horse as black as Satan, he rode the midnight skies;

An ardent gleam of passion in the horseman's cold black eyes.

The horse's mane was flowing and its head was high and proud,

And from its flaring nostrils, its breath appeared as cloud.

-

Swiftly on they gallop and how the sparks will fly;

From rampant hoof they seem as stars across black velvet sky.

And as through clouded vales they ride, the hooves that clatter so,

Seem as distant thunder to the mortals far below.

-

With flashing sword he rode below the deepest darkest cloud;

To rend with blade as cold as ice the billows of its shroud;

And in their wake the thunders roar, the mighty clouds are breached;

The flashing sword, the torrents free, the rains have been unleashed.

-

Horse and rider gallop on; they make an awesome sight.

Behind them lightning crackles and the heavens burn so bright.

With flashing sword he strikes the stars which hurtle through the sky;

They make a fiery arc and then burn out and quickly die.

-

The rider's hair is streaming as they hurtle on their course.

His sword and will are hard as steel, dark eyes without remorse.

He is the slave of nature and the servant of its might;

The Pagan of the laws of man who gallops through the night.

THE TUMBLE WORDS

Two tailors came to town one day,

And one was overheard to say -

That soon the king would be a claimant,

To the most luxuriant raiment:

Denied to others - what a thought!

So fine a cloth could not be bought.

-

They set to work, the word went round,

Miracles would soon be bound -

Towards the palace and their king;

Oh, hark! Just hear those shuttles sing.

The weft and warp was quite refined;

The subtle colours were defined.

-

At last! At last! The clothes were made;

Before the king the raiment laid;

The tailors' hangers stark and bare,

Upon their ends was hooked thin air.

This fine, gossamer filigree;

So pure that only kings can see.

-

No mortal eyes of common breeds,

May see its wove; delightful beads.

The king afraid to lesser be,

Decided it was best to see,

The non-existent robes and gown;

He smiled away the briefest frown.

-

The population lined the streets;

The king was there - and both the cheats.

And others too would wise appear,

To praise the tailors and their gear;

Until an unpretentious child . . . .

You know the type, who's brought up wild;

-

A dissident who knows no rules,

Who separates wise men from fools.

"I say!" the child was heard to cry.

"You're wearing now't - it's all a lie!"

"Oh, hush my child, don't say a word;

"You'll make us all look quite absurd.

-

The poet grinned to see such fun;

"I'll tumble words - ah, there it's done -

So simple, now no work to do;

How smart, how clever. Watch the queue."

The artist and his sculptor friend,

Decided they would ape the trend,

And turn out falsehoods by the ton;

It paid so well, and easy done.

NOVEMBER

I lay the earth to rest beneath,

The tranquil harvest moon,

And shroud it in the Autumn mist,

From Yorkshire Dale to comb;

From buoy bells - Ah, their mournful toll,

To chapel in the dell

Wherever forest faeries and

The past will cast their spell.

THE POLITICIAN

I peeked inside the Book of Fate,

But couldn't find my name;

I thought that I had perished,

And had missed my claim to fame.

But I am a politician,

And we're sub-divided well;

Apart from all the rest of you -

You'll find us under 'hell'.

A FAREWELL TO CHARMS

(For all children parted from their childhood)

There's a little patch of green

Underneath the cherry tree,

Where there used to be a little patch of brown;

And a rusty little ring, once it held the garden swing,

As it soared to heaven, then came rushing down.

There's a shiver in the blossom

Of that ageing cherry tree,

Does it tremble 'fore the heavy tread of time?

Or in echo of the laughter of a summer day thereafter,

Known to only fonder thoughts of past sublime?

-

There's a blush of cherry pink,

O'er the evening sky of blue,

Where there used to be the silver light of dawn,

Now a branch or two are bare and they stab the autumn air -

And the ageing hearts of parents left to mourn -

-

O'er that soft-blown patch of green,

Now the grave grass of the laughter,

Of the little boys who rose beyond the swing;

On the pendulum of time, past the reason and the rhyme,

Of the hopes that fly to join them on the wing.

ACROSS THE VOID

Stalk the words of Kipling, and close your eyes awhile,

And see the sights he saw, and smelled; some sweet and some reviled.

Now walk into anothers realm, of men like you and I;

And then, my son; my wondrous son, you'll walk where men did die.

-

You'll feel the heat of Samarkand and freeze at Bering's strait;

And you will know the world of old, before it's all too late.

You'll walk with men, a steady breed who fought and often fell;

To yellow fever, all the rest; and to the shot and shell.

-

Your back will break, your heart will ache, from ox-cart's endless grind;

As men like you, the fellow folk would spread about your kind.

An endless Diaspora on the banjo and the drum;

The soldier-men, the preachers fall behind the kettle drum.

-

Walk the pages over, go beyond the printers' ink;

Beyond the thoughts that put them there; to memories that link.

Their past with all your future; the shot, the cry - the steel:

And link your hands across the void dividing men who feel.

-

Defy the death and cross the void, the bridge to private thought;

And say to those who gave their all; their giving came to nought.

But hope for better future where the bitter tears will run;

When tangled webs are seen at last; and better be they spun.

MY AUBURN MA VOURNEEN

Do you remember, ma vourneen,

A hill where once we dreamed,

Beneath the pines of summer where,

The shafts of sunlight gleamed.

How they sparkled on the hummock,

How they dappled all the green.

Do you remember how you felt,

My auburn, ma vourneen?

-

I remember, ma vourneen,

Your skin of burnished gold;

The fire that raged within my heart,

When we paused upon the wold.

Your eyes as brown as autumn leaves,

That sprinkle woodland dene.

Do you remember as I do,

My auburn ma vourneen?

-

Ma vourneen is Gaelic for ‘my darling’.

THE KISS OF THE WIND

The kiss of the wind that I love best,

Has the tang of the open sea;

Oh, the warm moist air that breathes the west;

Is the wind that sets me free.

Where a man may go to the farthest shore,

Yet return by a different route,

Where the wheel may turn neither north nor south,

As he sails to the siren's lute.

Aye, the west wind's drift brings the ocean lift,

With its mournful siren sigh.

Let my spirit free on the western sea,

When it's time for the last goodbye.

-

But the eastern breeze sings the soldier song,

Where a man may yet be king;

Though it blows so cold from the open steppe,

And it mourns for the Arctic ring.

It's a league or more to the farm next door,

Where the life be weather run,

But a man may sleep by a ten league moat,

Till his life's complete and done.

And the east wind dear has a message clear,

That a roving man will heed,

For its crisp cold song with the message strong,

Is a pledge for the land you need.

-

The southern wind is the plunder wind,

And the spoils of war are sloth;

It's a hammock wind and the watch is charged,

With a care worn eye and oath.

For the warm wind blows from a southern clime,

Where the pirate rover, priest,

With his enterprise and their bible lies,

Win the hearts of the men they fleece.

Oh, the Southern wind is a warm sweet wind,

With a perfume filled with spice;

And it beckons me to the coral sea,

And the lure of Paradise.

But the northern wind is a cold, cold wind,

And it flirts with the Arctic waste;

Where the days are short and are bitter cold,

Till the sun sinks down in haste.

And a man may go to his rendezvous,

With defeat and a frozen death;

"I have searched for myself not an earthly end."

Is the curse on his dying breath.

So give me the kiss of the warmer wind,

And the tang of the open sea;

Oh, the soft moist air that breathes the west,

Is the wind that sets me free.

THE FISHERMEN'S FIELDS

My fields are green and the hedge that runs,

Is a thousand miles or more;

To the north and south and a league below,

By the cliff or the rocky shore.

-

My fields are green and the plough bites deep,

As the trawlers sail on by;

Where the dolphins leaps and the gulls will sweep,

For the fish as they plunge and fly.

-

My fields are green and the winds that blow,

Bring a bloom to the curling crest;

And the rainbow spray throws a last bouquet,

O'er the catch with which we're blest.

-

My fields are green and their blooms are white,

By the speckled spume and spray,

And the green is light or the green is dark,

By the light and the time of day.

THE DRUM AND THE GUN

She looked beyond the broken wood,

That marked the place where he had stood,

And saw the soldier once her son -

Who left his home to wed the gun.

-

The tears that burned for her great loss,

That lay beneath the rugged cross,

Now trickled down her aged face,

Upon his final resting place.

-

He'd heard the beating of the drum,

Then laughed at groundless fears of mum,

With eyes that filled he called goodbye -

Perturbed to see his mother cry.

-

He disappeared inside the throng,

Of gallant young men now in song;

One last wave and he was gone,

A man! A boy! A mother's son.

-

Beside his grave his mother wept;

Within her hand a toy she'd kept.

This one last link with her lost boy;

The precious years he had brought her joy.

-

The life she knew now seemed unreal;

For grief alone was hers to feel.

No more to feel a mother's joy,

In bringing up her only boy.

-

Upon the cenotaph at home,

His memory lies etched in stone.

And every year the folk recall,

The boys of theirs who gave their all.

-

But mother spends her sleepless nights,

Dwelling on the sweet delights,

Of hearing once again her son -

Before he wed the drum and gun.

A SAILOR'S REGRET

We mocked you when the stones you threw,

Bounced off our plates of steel,

For after all the plates had stood,

The wild Atlantic reel.

-

Till we sailed the River Weser,

Your river, but our shame,

Your towns and fields a moonscape,

I searched for whom to blame.

-

I have mellowed and the bulwarks,

That withstood Atlantic reel,

Now feel the blows of anger

From the masthead to the keel.

-

So pause awhile and I'll alight,

And let me join with you,

That I may be behind the thought,

Of every stone you threw.

DEATH AND TRANSFIGURATION

From earth to birth, from birth to earth,

From womb to tomb - thereafter;

Through tears and grief beyond belief,

Yet I recall the laughter.

-

Darkness swirled for death unfurled, as curtain folds it fell;

While far away beyond the veil the tolling of the bell.

T’was time to go, I seemed to know, a bright star bid the way.

A lonely light in darkest night; come home, it seemed to say.

-

Transfiguration drew its cloak to guard against the cold,

And turned its face to Paradise, as death increased its hold.

She brushed my fingers lightly; a touch no more, not seen;

So light it might have been a thought; a dream that might have been.

-

The pious apparition wedded wisdom to her youth;

A purity of innocence that knew no more than truth.

With patience infinitum and a love that knew no bound;

The angel knew that mortal life was yet to be uncrowned.

A shadow as a memory so vague defies recall;

Promised peace, fulfillment far beyond the mortal thrall.

Like half forgotten dreams that tease in slumber's dark beyond,

Gossamer threads twixt life and death; the ever fickle bond.

-

To gaze beyond the edge of time, the span was almost passed;

As mortal life slipped by to sense - to know the die was cast.

To see the wraith, behold the eye, be warmer by her breath;

The mist unraveled to reveal the Nation State of Death.

-

A fellow for the higher road, a journey bold and new,

Where all is what you wish to be, and all the things you do.

Where love is breath and truth is bread, the words you dream are said;

A higher place of love and light, where all that passed is dead.

-

It's time to go she whispered though I never heard her voice.

Her love was neither carnal nor was of this earthly place.

Still sleeps the comprehension when the time runs past the sand;

And shakes the mortal fetters free to greet the better land.

-

I drifted midst the life behind to lives that lay ahead;

The place I knew as living to the place I know as dead.

Beheld the phantom travelers and past lives on the go;

Who wandered silent to their goal; each one I seemed to know -

That we had shared the stepping stones, and they had seen a few;

The stepping stones of endless trek as we were passing through.

-

And then I see in you and this a link I can't define,

When you shared other lives with me, when life was yours and mine.

I searched through life and death again to see a missing face;

Companion of a former life who may have missed a pace.

-

Oh, spirit though a fleeting thought that knows no time or place;

You drift through ages past and fore yet keep a steady pace.

To weigh my heart with sadness on the paths that will unwind;

The stepping stones that bear the souls of those who fall behind.

-

The light was not of morning and of shadows there were none,

While all the heavens shimmered to the never setting sun.

Eternal youth she promised though I heard not of her tongue;

Death to life, it beckons where you'll be forever young.

-

Come the spirit whispered as a mother unto child.

Hers was the light that never set, whose love was undefiled.

Let go! Let go! She whispered; let go my precious son -

Reach out unto the stepping stones; your life on earth is done.

TO LIVE IN THE HEARTS OF THOSE YOU LEAVE BEHIND

- IS NOT TO DIE

Deep in thought the wisdom words flowed from a secret source;

A mystery to acolytes, yet to the seer perforce.

He pondered and considered till his words were rich with truth;

Considered words dispelling thoughts, dividing age from youth.

From men who stand upon the edge of Love and Life itself;

A discourse that would plumb the soul; fine words that came with stealth.

With deep anticipation he foresaw the words that bind;

For words of truth of ages past light fires in the mind.

His chin it bore no beard and his head was fully clothed;

His noble words cast light on dark and to this truth betrothed.

The lessons of the ages past spread truth across the cant,

Of modern man, the charlatan, their empty games of chance.

The temple of his teachings was an altar based on Love

Esoteric direction for those who speak with gods above.

Bringing truthful compass to uncharted diverse seas;

To guide great men who come to them with parables and dreams.

The seer to pay his penance for the errors of the earth;

Perhaps indeed to judge all men by deed, for what they're worth.

Equated Love with forms of art, where e'r its lay line lay;

He spoke of Love so deep, benign, for which there is no pay.

And shallow love that heeds the tune for payment to entice;

Two forms of love - one heaven sent, and one that has its price.

Of artists, aye! and poets; writers, painters too;

Who sell their art just as you like; who sell their gift to you.

The poet who will bend the knee, the writer bend the pen,

To slant the line, twist words divine; corrupt the souls of men.

Of moneyed men in fashion's cause, unleashing frightful choice,

To fawn at feet of Mammon and who heed the master's voice.

-

Who sell their soul for silver, who will write the written lie;

Will twist the words of wiser men; speak ill of those who die.

A God forsaken heritage; their life-bed wood and nail;

Their sole reward applause of rogues, their hymns the dead who wail.

The artists guide their brush strokes away from lines of truth,

While poets pen their prose and verse to rhyme with lies uncouth.

Adorn themselves with vestment of the faith they cannot hold,

To cross their hearts and lift their pens intent that lies be told.

Their price is in the printing and of soldiers made of lead;

Twenty-six their number, before they're put to bed.

And when the lie is spoken and the cheque is on its way;

The liar painter, poets, the writers have their say:

I am the evolution, the word, the verse, the form.

We are the modern wisdom and to fashion we conform.

(Whilst truth will be the snowflake, that melts with seasons' drift);

For our rewards are earthly, they're pragmatic, humanist.

While yours - your words of wisdom and your truths will all persist.

Rewards bestowed by heaven where posterity deigns to bow,

To those who speak the truth, refuse to prostitute the now.

Their wage will be promissory and paid beyond the grave -

But they will live for ever for the earthly truths they gave.

BEFORE THE PAST, BEYOND THE FUTURE

Everything about you is on two levels; the physical and the spiritual;

And your life will be a struggle in which (like brothers) the levels will

sometimes be in conflict with each other.

-

The physical will have its attractions, and your desires will flirt to the borders

of the unthinkable.

But the intruder will be the voice inside you whispering that there is

in you, the beyond-man; the super man.

The god spirit whose horizon lies beyond desire, beyond the unknown.

With this inner spirit you will enjoy liaison with a teasing ungrasped

notion that there is something before birth and beyond the grave.

A thought that knew its beginnings before your earthly emergence.

A flickering flame to whisper, eternity.

And, your mortal life will be, a vain attempt at reconciliation,

between the subjective and the abstract.

-

The struggle inside you will pull like the winds of chance.

Which should rule your day?

Physical desire, sacrifice, indulgence; or the call of the spirit that ghost-like,

haunts your consciousness?

-

Clearly, there is no choice if you would be immortal;

for then you are to serve the immortal, and those who share your purpose.

-

You will forge a bond with Zarathustra,

And will descend unto the darkness of the earth and lead me to light -

For that is your purpose.

-

To share with god-like men the burden (though some may call it privilege),

Of detaching yourself from the umbilical cord of physical desire.

And seek.... Nay! Strive for the earthly quest of leading men

away from ape-like insensibility, to his rightful place.

-

With each earthly visitation a stepping stone across the Rubicon,

To a destiny where the rewards of men are equal,

Yet the means by which they serve are unequal.

To each his need, from each his means.

For true riches and salvation lie not in the receiving but in the giving;

Before, through - and after life.

All men feel the spiritual bond. Some more than others;

And this is the sum total of mans' visitation to earth.

Each has the choice, as do you.

No person can impose that choice on you; because you alone will answer for it.

God-like men have enough burdens to bear without sharing yours.

Make your decision, as did Zarathustra, to emerge from the plains of procrastination.

Your heart shall be the light, your soul the hope,

And your hand in the hand of your fellow man their guiding comfort.

Show him the light. Break the shackles of mortality and lead him to,

The sublime eternal light.

Do not allow your conscience to become the prisoner of the dictates of lesser men;

For to do so puts you in the thrall of other men's intellect.

Bend the knee only to the master inside you; never to the master who rules you.

For the mortal life is but a birth canal to the after life;

The spiritual life which is never ending.

It is the before and after without end.

-

Your purpose is to be the ladder for lesser men to climb.

To be the hand that shoulder-rests and brings comfort.

To give the word that reveals; breathes hope, gives strength;

The light towards which men grope through the darkness, and,

The heart that warms and encourages.

-

Such is your struggle.

To live for today, to live for evermore, or to divide your commitment?

Your answer lies in the supremacy of eternity over mortality.

And, lest we forget; the supremacy of the soul that lives beyond earthly bounds,

As it has lived before and beyond.

God speed, my son; as I am the forward link in the chain of godliness and as I travel far beyond the earth's bounds;

Love for you and duty to eternal light, be my spur.