Lyrics to a Morris Dance.

FIL goes pictorial! Luvly photo of Morris Dancers in Coleford by TREV.


OK, Beggar trying to write something worthwhile! Here are my lyrics to an imaginary, male chauvinist, politically incorrect and mildly Pagan folk song, to accompany the British Morris Dance. [Does not necessarily reflect the viewpoint of the author or his personal secretary (Sally the Patterdale terrier)].

Lyrics to a Morris Dance.

Now, old King Green
Runs a merry old scene
Down deep within the forest.
He'll take you in
And save your skin
If you will dance the Morris.

You busy-ness men
Rise from your den,
Vacate that blighted office.
Make your concern
To come and learn
The meaning of the Morris.

Poor orphaned souls
Who have no goals
Beyond your poison follies,
Come prance with us
Romance with us,
Enhance life with the Morris!

All handsome maids
Of every age,
Each Agnes, Ruth and Doris,
Just let 'em bounce
Flounce every ounce
As we perform the Morris!

Sad pallid youths
With words uncouth
That make light of this chorus,
A knuckle crack (Smite sticks)
As we strike back (Smite sticks again)
And you'll respect our Morris.

Come drinking men
We'll sup again
Like none else did before us,
We'll bless-ed be.
Forego our tea
And blame it on the Morris!


FIL  26/04/09

Forest Stone Cottage

Forest Stone Cottage

The warm brown stones encourage kinship

As ivy clambers insistent and silent

Over mossy iron gutters,

Under split grey slates;

They never knew neglect 'til Old John died,

Leaving his Last Will and Argument:

Any friend welcome, but nature came first...

The substance returns to its land.

FIL  07/07/10

Moss-Green Silver Girl

A second poem on the subject of depression, though this may not be immediately obvious.

Moss-Green Silver Girl

I invent the moss-green silver girl

To sit with me,

Close and comforting.

She points to things and looks with wonder,

Wide eyed as a child...

Snuggles as a friend...

No more than that;

Lays her head upon my shoulder and......

Gently snores.

I smile...and drift asleep to be with her

Wherever...

FIL  28/03/10

Afterwards

How depression can feel. Trust me, I know! Smiles.

Afterwards

After years of earnest toil,

Sleepless nights of care,

Even nightmare on occasion,

Constant effort,

Hanging in there...

When it’s all gone by,

The weariness grows...

So easy,

So very easy to let go,

To not hang on;

So hard

To really live your life

And keep on trying,

When reasons hide away

In sad little corners.


FIL  11/04/10

Thinking, like……

I'm not feeling serious today, so here's a light hearted one. To be read in a very vaguely Cockney accent.

Thinking, like……

I was sat in the caff eating sausage and eggs

With chips and red ketchup and stuff,

A-wond'ring what our crazy world is about

And why all of our smooth comes with rough.

Like, why is the cap on the bottle before me

All gungey and bunged up with crud

When cleaning it wouldn't take more than a second?

It fair brings a heat to me blood!

And why did the chappy that served me just grunt

Instead of a cheery "Hello!"

Has his day been rotten as well as my own

And he's making damn sure that I know?

Is he really so gen'rous he thinks that I need

To partake of his misery too?

He can have some of mine if he feels so inclined

'cause I'm feeling a deep shade of blue!

It's valid when friends rally round to the cause

To make sure that you're feeling OK.

But inflicting on strangers is right out of line

And makes a right hash of your day.

Keep it to yourself, I wanted to tell him,

And leave me alone, if you please!

Your troubles are not a concern of my own -

So kindly keep serving your teas!

As I got up to leave, go back out in the rain

And sog on the slog to my gate,

The oik that had served me came up and said "Hey!

You look in a right two and eight! *

I hardly dared talk to you when you came in,

Your frown was a fright to behold!

I just have to say, though you've had a bad day,

Here's a smile to help keep out the cold."

 *Cockney rhyming slang for 'in a state'.


FIL 15/04/08 

A World of Her Own

I rediscovered a poem I did in Spring 2009, concerning a smashing little lady with Down's Syndrome who used to pop into my local pub every other week with her friends and carers. I was tempted to edit, but decided against.


A World of Her Own


The little lass with the sparkly mind
Plays the flashing fruit machine
That grins in the dark bar corner;
A winning fanfare bleeps and blasts
A grudging triumph of the reels.

The knowing smartly step aside,
Smile at the innocent abandon,
Guard hard earned golden pints
Gainst flailing limbs of joy.

She celebrates and shrieks,
Then skips back to the task,
Feeding all the coins back in
One by one by one
And another and another
And again
Until they're gone.

Grinning at wise advice
She says "Oh well!",
Smiles like the world were won twice over,
Waves and says "Goodbye!
See you next week!"

And leaves,
Happy as a sandgirl.


FIL  08/04/09

Bitter Sweet Memory

Bitter Sweet Memory

A lifetime or a blink has passed since then,

That dry Sunday when the rapture died.

I remember our stroll past faceless houses

Both wanting to say something, anything, to halt the tide.

Words would not flow,  the silent current roared between us.

You gave me a pine cone;

Its import was lost on me.

I missed your plea for understanding -

You would rather be alone.

FIL June 2008