The River Wensum

The Wensum river,
A thing of wonder,
Hither, tither,
My soul asunder.

In dusk-light beauty,
That burns like fire,
And strikes a duty,
To admire.

To shake the mind,
From trivial sway,
And be unblind,
By nature’s way.

And be un-deafened,
By silent scapes,
There’s profound lessons,
In water’s shapes.

Down at Wensum River.

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Oh No.

I see,
In your eyes,
No light,
Oh no.

Baby,
I tried,
Nearly killed me,
Oh no.

It’s too much,
Heartbreak,
To take,
Oh no.

Why won’t,
Your mind,
Decide,
Oh no.

If you don’t,
Love me,
Make it easy,
And just go.

Cause it’s too much,
Heartbreak,
To take,
Oh no.

What is Love?

What is love?
A thing I think so often of.
I must confess,
I am somewhat obsessed,
By what is love.

A prickling of the skin,
Suggests a mystery within.
Or something less,
A happy accidental mess,
Of neurons firing?

I cannot tell,
The origins of this wicked spell,
Or what it means.
Like trickery, at once it seems,
Such heaven and then hell.

Lost

To know your kiss,
Should hide no doubt.

If they still haunt,
I’ll cast them out.

No darkened clouds,
Or beckoning ghosts.

I’m sure it’s this,
That I miss most.

To gently lay,
Right next to me.

And not to try,
But just to be.

And know my smile,
it hides no tears.

I’m sure you miss,
this most my dear.

Please say the words,
Let’s start anew.

With all my heart,
I’d promise you.

No matter what,
At any cost.

I’d find the love,
That we both lost.

Above My Bed

I know I’ve been a fool,
I say too much I shouldn’t do.

Well I’ve misunderstood,
Your stoic face – it tricked me good.

I give away too much,
But sometimes you don’t give enough.

I hear the words you said,
Your smile still hangs above my bed.

I’m sorry that I said those thing,
They hurt you.

It’s just sometimes I think,
I don’t deserve you.

Old Brown Coat

Understated,
In your old brown coat.
Guitar on your shoulders,
Wherever you go.

You want for nothing,
‘Cause there’s not much you want.
Reposed at the desk,
Quietly writing your songs.

Your shirts all have holes,
And you couldn’t care less.
Skin worn down from the strings,
Your blonde locks are a mess.

Life is simple and honest,
Here enjoying the view.
As the waves stroke the shore,
Just below your bedroom.

Elan Valley

Percy Shelley’s house hid under the lake
And I quoted a line or two about sleeping lions
Stood looking out on the bridge
With you and your friends

Across fields we rambled
Looking for mushrooms with magical properties
I felt a deep and healthy fear
Looking at the vastness of the land

They ran chanting like Indians
Through the pine trees and down a slope
I couldn’t keep up
And for a moment you all disappeared

We stopped to fill a water bottle
At the stream I took a moment to think
That everybody should live
Quiet and simply, just like this

Talking about getting older
At last we walked through the heart of Elan Valley
And you said that Leonard Cohen captured how it felt
To be twenty-seven

Whilst looking silently at your face
I knew that I would never forget these days shared
And that this was one of the happiest moments
Of my life