My Muse Of The Soft Brown Hair

How I wish that I were there

where laughter reigns through dark and light

with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Long are the kisses we would share

in torrid day or star strewn night.

Oh, how I wish that I were there!

Rich are the joys for those who’d dare

to spread their wings in love’s swift flight

with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Her smile can make the storm seem fair;

Her lips bring joy that’s lightening bright.

Oh, how I wish that I were there!

In life’s grey paths of aching care

my thoughts soar skyward, height on height

with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Grey are these days with dark despair

and pains that grow like a creeping blight.

Oh, how I wish that I were there

With my muse of the soft brown hair!

The Lovers' Calendar

I kissed her lips on that frost-rimmed day
when the lake lay still in an ice bound sleep.
Cold were her lips but promising fire
as the snowdrop brings hope of bright roses.

I kissed her lips on that sun-swept day
while young clouds moved slow on paths of blue.
How soft were those lips and warmed by love
as her face met mine in a butterfly touch.

I kissed her lips on that autumn day
as dead leaves swept by in a dance of red.
How sweet those lips in the chastening wind,
stilling false fears in the day’s drear dusk.

I kissed her lips in that storm’s grim heart
while ragged clouds closed the sun’s pale eye.
A swift year has passed into remembrance.

But each stored kiss shall hasten the spring.

Love Renewed

The world has turned about its fire

With the seasons’ cycle forged anew,

Sweeping back in its endless gyre

A hemisphere clothed in wintry hue.

The world has turned: the buds await

The call to bloom in the springtime sun;

Orion stands guard on Evening’s gate:

His trembling hounds now strain to run.

The world has turned: and you and I

Face our rebirth hand in hand

Our love reaching for the sheltering sky,

Our roots deep in the warming land.

In School

A smell of fresh ink

and I instantly think

of warm days in school:

Those dim leaden skies,

that buzz of small flies;

I hear children’s yells in school.

A harsh bell rings out,

an eager loud shout

and dinner ends in school.

“Now turn to page Four.”

- But Euclid I abhor!

But this is life, in school.

A quick glance to my right

- Yes, she’s still there all right.

But she sees me not, in school.

If I had that new bike

perhaps me she’d like:

But I’m just weak weed, in school.

It’s biology now

and our determined vow

is not to snigger in school.

But with “womb”and “sperm”

It’s not like “The Worm”!

(And some girls still blush in school.)

And then the bell rings

and my tired hand sings:

No more writing in school!

And then out we pour;

A big crush at the door

and we swear – which we don’t do in school.

And as on the loud bus we go

we slander teachers we know

and swop our adventures in school:

“We had fun with those cows

I had my hand down her blouse!”

Yes, there’s lots of excitement in school.

But now there’s homework for me

Instead of TV

For I must hand it over in school.

Then it’s out we go;

Follow females we know

and forget all our troubles in school.

But it all slips away

with a new-minted day

and it’s back to the textbooks in school.

Cornflakes and a fuss;

Chase after the bus

and then dodge all those prefects in school.

Yes, it all sweeps back like a wave

as I wander on to my grave.

The tumult, the joy in school.

And as I work amidst grime

I remember the time

when the world was clean – in school