RAVENHEART

When children acquire their first language they sing like a fresh fledgling on the first day of spring with that easy natural swing which to them is a brand new play thing without any restraining ring , their simple melodic crooning needs no interference or fine tuning but unfortunately school comes along with its lexicon Lego box tongue "dislexicating " what was once a beautiful song leaving that innocent syllable swing broken as a veritable birds wing the kids then become too frightened to fly and drag their dislocated diction around in a sling untill eventually as teenagers they at last cut loose from the apron string and once again begin to sing.

a musing about an artist girlfriend and her crazy cultural crew, their works of art or gestation periods of genius seem to take as long as those of a real pregnancy .

This is a poem i wrote about the catastrophic creations cause through having too much cosmetic surgery leaving so many a patient in the perpetual state of a reconstructive purgatory the surgeons are called the picasso's of the plastique, well they certainly end up with a foot an mouth or a tongue-in-cheek , they sculpture and scalpel at something that once started out as the face of the fantastic but by the final phase come cut you're left with a gargoyled freak.

A poem i wrote for the fire and brimstone preacher who baptised me in an ice water stone trough a wild religious Celt with raven hair alabaster skin and husky dog blue eyes a true blood line of the ancient Bretagne .

A musing about a greasy spoon girl Nigella from the Favela , If cook's could kill then this greasa girl is definitely licensed to grill !! she's always standing by ever ready to kill your stomach acid with a peppermint pill.

Blue September skies signals the end of Summer's lease the autumn equinox in one day changes everything tilting time and tugging tide , it's as though our season of life has suddenly just died .

A preacher man told to me that all of us come pre packaged with the seven shades of sin which are basically our primitive seven instincts of survival that we needed whilst hunter gathering on the savage African Savannah through evolution and ecclesiastical endeavours we have been trying to adapt our mammalian species to a more sacred sentient state of being ever since .

A poem written for my father who was born in 1926 and now similar to an old model T ford he needs constant tinkering and maintenance to keep him running also I've done my best to copy his gasping Yorkshire speech ; born in the days of the horse and cart he started work at the age of twelve down in the mills on the east side of a steel river , he mentioned that not only were the steel dreys pulled by the huge shire horses but during the second world war they also used the might of the elephants borrowed from a nearby zoo due to the lack of trucks and the rationing of fuel , he told me for a boy of twelve it was a terrifying experience walking past these huge rumbling beasts that were stabled under the railway arches so that each time a train grumbled over the viaduct the massive mammals would bellow out their deafening roars.

When you get to fifty something plus tax seemingly a sexy silver fox sporting those ashtray coloured locks you may want to forget about the fifty shades of grey and perhaps think of putting your sex pistols away .

Looking at some tramps in cider park I felt sorry for the poor starving pets as their masters swill down cider and they shivered in the cold , the musing is seen or spoken through a dog .