When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
They paddle with staccato feet
In powder-pools of sunlight,
Small blue busybodies
Strutting like fat gentlemen
With hands clasped
Under their swallowtail coats;
And, as they stump about,
Their heads like tiny hammers
Tap at imaginary nails
In non-existent walls.
I do not ask for youth, nor for delay
in the rising of time's irreversible river
that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall
in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute,
all that I have and all I am always losing
as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.
I do not dream that you, young again,
might come to me darkly in love's green darkness
where the dust of the bracken spices the air
They sent me a salwar kameez
&nb sp; peacock-blue,
& nbsp; and another
glistening like an orange split open,
embossed slippers, gold and black
&nbs p; points curling.
Candy-striped glass bangles
&n bsp; snapped, drew blood.
Like at school, fashions changed
&n bsp; in Pakistan -
You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
A fresh green spread,
soaking up the orange hues.
Tiny roads that lead to the horizon,
small beautiful homes,
in the middle of green haven.
Low hanging, angry clouds
their knives sharpened,
fears the impending downpour,
Sleeping beauty has reawakened, and it is springtime again,
So like the younger days, when you skipped with Madeleine.
Purple hyacinths and daffodils, are fragrant in the meadows,
And the bush near the house, is colored with burgundy rose!
Wild hyacinths and dewy daffodils, usher in the sassy season,
Giving secret joy to many hearts, within the blooming region.
Birds sing in chartreuse fields, from morning until glitzy night,
When a day's flamenco dancers, are the rapture of moonlight!
Soaring Amidst Song
sudden chance meeting
of a cheetah and monkey
then green treetop flight
zebra on the plain
Eve of His Reign
facing the sunset
the lion king's on his hill
standing fierce and strong
Swans Drifting Away
a flock of mute swans
browsing green treetops
with a grace that comes from height ~
head up in the clouds