A Lengthy Absence…

Haven’t posted anything for a good long while. Mainly because I had a baby girl back in June and I’m too busy in love 🙂

I’m sure she’ll inspire a new era for my poetry… watch this space!

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A Lengthy Absence…

On the Harvest

van gogh wheat field with crows

A song for the harvest, based on an old tale of folklore… (Painting by van Gogh – Wheat Field with Crows)

In early spring, young dreamer, Silas Crow
Did so lament ‘is status as a farmer..
Nah full o’ fortune, rather full o’ woe:
When came ta growin’ wheat, ‘e were nah charmer…

Crow was ‘is name ’cause ‘e was friend o’ birds.
Nah chased ’em off ‘is field, at cost o’ yield.
The crows ‘e favoured, by ‘is very words,
‘is admiration truly ‘ad been sealed.

One day, while ‘e was fightin’ wi’ some weeds,
(Who seemed to laugh at ‘im – this farmin’ joke)
Young Silas tumbled back, scatterin’ ‘is seeds…
‘e banged ‘is ‘ead… ’til sunset nah awoke.

An’ when ‘is eyes did open, lookin’ down,
There was a friendly crow who opened beak…
Unsure if t’was the injury to ‘is crown,
Young Silas jumped as it began ta speak:

“Farmer…” it started, in a raspy tone,
“Ye wish a noted harvest for the year?”
Silas did nod. “Then seeds are to be sown –
Don’t waste yer time a-sittin’ on yer rear.”

The man got to ‘is feet an’ Crow did spake:
“I’ll ‘elp yer to a rich an’ fruitful yield…
If ye do as I say, wi’ nah mistake,
Yer’ll ‘ave the fullest bounty o’ yer field.”

And with that, Crow did ask of the young man
For half ‘is seed ta feed ‘is birdy friends..
Silas agreed, open to any plan
That might result in any fruitful ends.

So as the year rolled onwards, Summer-bound,
The crops did flourish well, nah pecked an’ small.
Silas came out for battle wi’ the ground,
The ritual pullin’ o’ the weeds so tall…

But suddenly, alighted ‘is friend Crow,
Who merely stood an’ slowly shook ‘is head.
Young Silas stopped an’ leaned upon ‘is hoe
To listen to what Crow came forth an’ said:

“Pull up the weeds, but leave them not to die.
Instead, replant ’em, borderin’ the field.”
Silas, ‘e frowned, an’ questioned Crow: “But.. why?”
Crow laughed: “Ye’ll find a fuller crop so sealed.”

So Silas did ‘is biddin’… an’ come time
Ta reap the fruits o’ harvest fer the year,
‘E did indeed each farmer’s yield outshine.
‘E gathered crops an’ grinned from ear to ear.

After the grand harvest celebration,
When Silas took the crown fer best o’ show,
The bird flew down an’ by ‘im took ‘is station.
Silas did thank an’ praise that wily crow.

The crow explained: “Plants are like earthly balance…
Each brother needs ‘is siblin’ to be close.
A man can have a lifetime full o’ talents,
But listen to this Crow, so well verbose…”

“Without the vicious weed, there is no flower.
Without the lengthened nights, no rest for sun.
For now, ivy takes oak within its power…
The tapestry o’ nature here be spun.”

On the Harvest

Moon

Oh moon, so creamy, face so fat,

Ye cheeks a-ripe for pinches…

Let me give ’em a little pat –

Orion’s belt grows inches…
 

‘Tis nah so shy this happy moon,

Uncovered by the night.

And rarely does ‘e come too soon,

Ta cause a heavenly fight.
 

And so, to heated eve’s heartbeat,

Let moon shudder wi’ bliss…

And scatter stars across night’s sheet

Before the mornin’s kiss.

full-moon-in-night-sky-over-water

Moon

Them Good Folk

There’s a lot o’ good people in the wasteland

Amongst the bastards on their lofty thrones.

Behind the screens we sit, an’ form a band

An’ dare ’em all ta break our thinnin’ bones.
 

I’ll ne’er see ye, not eye to eye, but read

The tappin’s on yer desk at witchin’ hours

An’ mark the words of anguish an’ of need

Ta find some form o’ touch that topples towers.
 

Exit the dungeon. Matters nah the likes

An’ loves forced at this time o’ the morn.

Support for fightin’ ghosts, or rousin’ strikes

Ta voice the discontent that feeds the scorn.
 

They’s out there, in the wasteland, them good folk –

Don’t shrivel back an’ silent shrink away.

Above the turret poke, an’ drop yer cloak,

Eyes open, smilin’ – join our happy play…

Them Good Folk