Anthracite

An example of the simplest of relationships

the bird perched within a tree

and oh how we wish

it was that easy

for all them

and especially

me

A Gnome was not terribly happy with his height

its true he was rather short and more than stocky

and at times he was pushed around and had to fight

so being vertically impaired made life somewhat rocky

He was ancient by anyone’s account and hooned round on a trolley

and rather virile for a Gnome a bit over a thousand by just a tad

for that and other things, (mainly raspberry buns) he was mostly jolly

so counting his friends and Gnomey powers being short wasn’t that bad.

There is nothing left now

of the humanity that was us

not even tears satisfy anymore

all that is left is to cast a stone

and hope i am the one left

to stand and claim victory

and teach children the same

Bullets sing songs of righteousness

in the name of some God

claiming the land in his name

it is their right it is said

my fathers, fathers, father

and beyond, have lived here

feeding strangers and telling stories

But now there are guns in our faces

demanding the space where we stand

we listen to chants of our ignorance

the dust of their God in our mouths

bowing to this arrogant wave

and their guns in the light of day

then in the night we come back

To take what’s ours back again

A bright moon burned behind dark puffy clouds
The highwayman astride his horse, serious and proud
A white face at the end of his blade will pay the fee
For hanging his partner and love at Tyburn tree
It happened not far from the races at Barnstead Downs
A rich fat gentleman with matching purse and a frown
With duress and much puffing he climbed down from the coach
This overdressed buffoon proud to show a bright pink broach
With wide eyes his love stepped forward to admire the stone
The fat rich bastard drove a dagger in him down to the bone
His love didn’t die but begged him to go as others appeared
So he turned on his word and at his back the fat bastard cheered
These are times of God and slaves, time it is, an eye for an eye
Months he’d been waiting to hear this fat bastards death sigh
And enjoy it he’d would, yes, savouring it like cooked salted meat
As he remembered his love on a rope, choking and jerking his feet
“Take my purse and be gone highwayman!” the fat bastard swore
Softly he whispered “This is no stand and deliver you bastard whore”
The ghost of his love held his hand as he stepped in and stabbed
Tears flowed, relief of revenge as the bastard gurgled and grabbed
Stepping back and wiping his blade, the moon shone highlighting the trophy
The relief overwhelming as he swung onto his horse, pulling his cloak in closely
Turning south to Bletchingley, his tricorne pulled down and shadowing his face
They would never catch Swift Stephen, highwayman, now a man with no place
A bright moon burned behind a cloud, hidden but revealing
And a highwayman astride on a horse, relieved but grieving