Kensington High Street

 Dove under a cucumber tree

Dove under a cucumber tree

Ah! there a dove

under a cucumber tree

covered with leaves that shade you

nestling there, waiting to see

your flocking is usually with strangers

ever it seems passing through

this time you came with a message

a truth that will not now come true.

*

Troubled in a time of peace

by beauty you were distracted

and put yourself under subjection

but duty called and you should have acted.

not now in dissappointment but ire,

yet you had gentled your way

midst dwellers fierce but they had listened

to all that you had to say.

*

Ah! there a dove

under your cucumber tree

your heart is glad that you came

though your mind simply cannot agree

gentle feathers have been ruffled,

you had sighed to be on the wing

away then to your dovecote

away to where softlier voices sing. 

 

Kensington High Street

 You spoke me a word, I listened

and weighed what was left unsaid

I wrote that down in my diary

where more gentle feet may tread

but if you blow on a trumpet

it will act as a siren

the people will come running

as to a house which has a fire in.

*

When you did love me, in your eyes

you saw me as your peace bringer

you walked like a king in the crowd

how you loved to make their eyes linger,

 we drank the juice of pomegranates

we kissed outdoors, no-one despised

your arms were ever around me

all your dreams were realised.

*

The flutes of evening are playing

softly ends the day

all the trees are sighing

for the children who were at play

there’s a dove on a distant oak tree

he is pensive in his call

why doesn’t his lover come home

to be ready for the nightfall.

*

Show me your face in a mirror

I will share with you my reflection

a muddy puddle is sure to give

a portrait in introspection.

Oh! the butterfly has wings

so does a moth

one is a perfect delight to your eyes

the other will spoil your cloth.

*

My true love has a garden

on the nearside of the mountain

nut orchards and date trees fair

watered by a crystal clear fountain,

I want to see his face again

to look into his eyes

and wallow me in his passion

he never troubles to disguise.

*

Come into my garden fair 

where my little sister plays

when she has breasts we will have to consider

who comes to court her, who stays.

If you sit alone in the candlelight

dying embers will not keep you warm

trying to wrap in a blanket

that barely stretches from arm to arm,

*

knowledge is only wisdom

when other people share

the insight you have been given

is a chance to show  you care.

When you are going through a bad patch

be careful who you tell

people remark upon a storm at sea

when they are not in the swell.

*

Walking in the city crowds

up Kensington High Street

picking out which footsteps are mine

that’s my staccato beat,

I’m marching to my own rhythm

dancing to my own tune

strangers will pick up the harmony

we will together make it our wrune.  

 

1 Comment(s)

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI