A sort of waiting.





Magic and myth like nails r us,
the hill still there,
the dossers magic tossers,
as full of it as we were.

Still who cares?

And holy water that looks like a bath overflow,
tinkle bell well,
but you can always get a job as a cleaner,
at Millfields.

Pink and light green,
preparatory school kids are heaven,
giving skateboards away.

Thinkers are kind,
Jeff undoes the bind,
the gorgeous cats in the King William,
recognize a fellow Triumph,

The Norton, Villiers.

The roar of the Merlin's over the landing beach,
couples walk quietly,
new friends, come early.

"We are in Europe", she says,
as the brass Buddha,
sits like a throne, in the window.

The last swallows,
float around the Tor,
before the great journey,
back to the sun.

Have fun.

She's now on the run and frightened,
asylum's that do not hate, don't hesitate.

The good Samaritan.

Muck spreading week, just our luck.

A neat charmer,
at the town cross.
Said, " it is now London".

Kids climbing conquer trees,
a cosmic old freak,
shoes that leek,
happy and squeak.

Wishes me,
good luck and hello Dave,
hippy hitch hikes,
telling us, of the road.

All you need is love.

Thinking of a good pint of cider,
in the British Rail Inn,
dreaming giro lids,
a poem for the kids.


A Belgium healer,
sweet tarot reader,
gives us love,
fills her bath,
with healing time.

Fecund daughter,
make the star wheel turn,
sense and sensibility,
who do you love?

For inventing religions in your head,
is good fresh bread,
George Eliot,
the most beautiful moment,
in the land.

A French lady,
waited 'til she was 103,
to tell that Vincent was a tramp.

Sunflowers of the mind,
West Pennard is kind,
a good home grown full English,
to start the day.

Kind host, perfect toast,
chatter, farms and charms,
Lisa goes to Glastonbury,
the rain is warm and forgiving.

At last, I find that Fairy Swordfish,
at the Fleet Air Arm,
in Yeovilton.

After the musing morn,
I go for a break, in the museum cafe,
meet a 90 year old veteran,
with his good wife.

Roll out the barrel,
serving bowl life,
first a trooper, to Monty's gain,
then Normandy to Berlin,
finally, I am become mushroom,
lotus blossom Japan.

I thanked him as I always do.
"Someone didn't like you mate".
said I.

"Brother you came through".

The Tor sparkles in sunshine,
I drink a marines wine,
chatter, chatter chatter.

Getting the love crown,
in the Pilgrims.

And so back to Ashcombe farm.
Watching David Niven
and Lauren Bacall.

Getting ready for tea,
a very green place.

Gentle peace, the memory of homes.


Dreamed my Flair Cub,
through the Rifleman's,
met a man who flew helicopters,
the collective needs a club.

The bright red apples, on the trees
smashed kids, screaming at you,
after bumming a straight.

'twas me and thee.

Holy thorn,
waiting for the newborn,
no fear of flood,
the rainbow,
ducking apples, children as it should be .

Norman serves a pint,
to the vice captain, red duster,
"steady as she goes"... says the drinker,
asks him, to order three thousand Jags,
for the refugees.

For those that love Coventry,
are Phoenix.

Lisa got 3 free stones,
presents for friends
and travellers homes.

We went to Street,
looking gentle and neat,
so I went to pick her up,
after hearing, love and thanks,
George Fox, red cross ranks.

I asked the Friend,
of this world with no end,
about the poor and hazy,
mighty faze thee.

We have a drop in, for the drop outs, she green,
wander and stream.

The sun beamed through,
the clear glass window.

And thanked Pennsylvania.

~