Keys to the kingdom

The inner world I know so well
Yet not at all, tho’ there I dwell
Has many paths, I skip or run,
Or crawl in terrors and in fun.
The sky can change from grey to green
And back again though I may dream.
This landscape meets my every need
Though horrors I may seek indeed.
I find therein, my peace, my all,
Yet nothing’s really there at all.
My kingdom fair in my mind’s eye
Can make me laugh and make me cry.
It heals me of my passing woe,
And changes my opinion, though
I rarely see, within those lands,
A single evidence of man.

Nightmares and daydreams

Inside my mind I dare not wander
Save for in the realm of slumber
Waking dreams are terrors real
And things I’d sooner never feel
I find within when dare I must
And venture forth before the dusk.

If you should ever find yourself
In daylight hours, beside yourself
Beware what beckons you with grin
And urges you to enter in
To what contains all manner of
Strange adventures, even love.

For what you meet inside your head
May drive you mad, or kill you dead.

A little bitty ditty of a journey to the city

A girl got on a train, tra la!
She soon would go insane, tra la!
For service there was none,
And tickets bought for fun.

The girl sat down to wait, tra la!
Hoping she’d not be late, tra la!
But vain were all her hopes,
For Virgin trains are jokes.

The girl was on her knees, tra la!
A bunch of tourists teased, tra la!
Not knowing she could speak
Their lingo, tongue in cheek.

The girl was far too tired, tra la!
So she just sat and smiled, tra la!
And tried to read her book
While Europe cocked a snook.

The girl was now ashamed, tra la!
Of people not so strange, tra la!
She felt she ought to speak;
Too tired, bit her cheek.

The girl wanted her bed, tra la!
To hell with all things red, tra la!
But this was not her night.
The tannoy put her right.

The girl was now pissed off, tra la!
At snotty woman’s cough, tra la!
But trained to be polite,
She kept her mouth shut tight.

The girl got on a train, tra la!
To take her home again, tra la!
She needs a good night’s sleep.
To help her through the week.

A Dedication

To those who flirt in quiet carriage
Never realizing the marriage
Witless, stupid, sally forth
Stumbling like pigs in trough
Blind to what we watchers know.
Deaf to sense and subtext-slow,
They chatter on, they fail to hear
The silent screams of these two ears.

Quiet Coach Motormouth

It drives me mad how some do chat
Chewing over this and that
Without a thought for others round
Those forced to listen to their sound.
The noise that issues from their mouth
Enough to drive you North to South
And send you round the bend I’d say,
Just hearing how they prate all day.
And yet one simply can’t request
Some peace and quiet, not e’en in jest!
For fear of tyranny, you see:
All those who chat oppressing me.

Claustrophobia

In cramped conditions do I note
The noose that tightens ’round my throat,
The stifling air of company
I fear is overcoming me.
Then I must find inside my head
A breathing space, a strength, a bed
To rest a while, and find my feet
Instead of crying in the street
Away, you dogs, and let me be!
I want no people hounding me.
For sleep I must, and don’t require
A watchdog, handcuffs, or a wire –
It’s not your business, what I think
And no, I don’t require a drink,
No numbing drug to cloud my brain
And chatter now drives me insane.
In short, you people, let me be!
I do not wish your company.

Internal Landscapes

Try as I might, I cannot find
A better way to ease my mind.
The butterflies I chase through pasture
Do not die, but share my laughter.
Always summer, there’s no rain
I tumble down, but feel no pain.
I fall a thousand feet and swim
Up waterfalls, then dive back in.
I climb tall trees, and play at life,
It’s fun there and I’m no one’s wife.
Yes, who needs Prozac? Who indeed?
No pills could give me what I need.
This land I love, I always find
In time of need, within my mind.

And if you seek to share with me,
To ease your sorrow, misery?
You’re welcome stranger, come on in,
Enjoy this place of joyful din.
For peace and solitude in there
Are plentiful for all to share.

Ode to a well-spent youth

I miss my youth, I spent it ill,
I every duty did fulfil.
Honoured my father and my mother,
Was a model for my brother.
Such example gave to all,
I had no fun, no, none at all!

And now I find me looking sad
When others pass by, young and glad.
I didn’t see, how could I know
How soon I’d lose my youthful glow?
And when the time would come for me
To bear responsibility.

I’m not yet old, I’ll say that now,
But gone’s the age I still could vow
To love some fool to end of time
Without a reason or a rhyme.

I miss my youth, yes that I do,
But fear if I were young anew
I’d do just as I did before
And end the same. Tho’ I deplore
The rash behaviour of the young
Both then and now, I’ll choose the fun.
And try to build, each day that’s passed
Some crazy mem’ries that will last.

On the inconsiderate spreading of disease

The cogs are turning in my belfry
Hours may strike ere I feel healthy.
Public transport equals germs
People share so we take turns.
If they’d only use a hanky
I might never feel so manky,
But that takes intelligence, and
Britons seem to have no sense.
Rather than a week in bed,
I’d much prefer a clearer head,
But thanks to those who choose to sneeze
I’ve no choice but to take my ease.
It’s not my fault I’ll be off work,
Due to some stupid, thoughtless jerk.
So I can’t help but feel incensed
By others’ vicious, pinching pence.
I’d buy you all a handkerchief
If I had funds – to save me grief!
But as I’m rather short this year
Instead, I’ll make one thing quite clear:

All those who spray me with their germs,
I’ll wish you many ill returns!

The Saga of my Youth

I kissed a shadow for too long
Then woke to find him dead and gone
Yet I was sure, in him did trust
That what we’d shared was more than lust.
Imagine my dismay to find
I was the last thing on his mind.
His photograph to me was true
But not his self, for he had new
Loves lining up around the block.
When I returned it was a shock
To find my friends had all succumbed
To charms I long had thought my own.
Deceit, I feel, to tell the truth
Was part the product of my youth;
They feed to us those pretty lies
Of love so strong it never dies.
Though for a while I felt a fool,
I wonder was it me the crueller
Of the couple – for my doubt
In his sincerity throughout?
Or am I blameless in the role
Of wronged maid by real arsehole?
Perhaps the simplest and most true:
I fell in love, but not with you.
For my love was a fervent flame
That you felt not, so who’s to blame?
I cannot answer this, my duck,
But miss your kisses daily, fuck,
I crave your scent dear, even now.
And do not dare to question how
I feel your touch upon my skin
And still I must not, can’t give in.
For you are with another. She
Deserves not what you gave to me.