Shadow over ancient valleys.
Sun long gone, deserted plains.
Fruits of life no longer growing.
No blowing wind, no falling rain.

Death’s hot wind, quick in coming.
And its fallout, long since gone.
A planet built of bareback mountains
and dried up seas without a sun.

Now spinning from its nucleus.
Breaking up, into the stars.
It’s final chapter, now begun.
The end of earth, and all its wars.

1973, November

Thunder In The Valley

There’s thunder in the valley.
More misery in the town.
No work for all the people.
The dole queue’s one big frown.

The sun, it isn’t shining.
The flowers, they will not bud.
The rain, it falls forever.
The streets are full of mud.

The dole queue’s getting longer.
More people out of work.
The mayor, he will not listen.
The weather, it’s getting worse.

Can’t live your life on whisky.
Can’t gamble all away.
The landlord’s getting fatter.
The bookie’s really made.

The mayor’s no longer smiling.
The rain keeps pouring down.
There’s thunder in the valley.
No work in this here town.

1973, April

The Storytellers

Turn the final page.
The chapter’s at an end.
Close the book forever.
Put it on the shelf.

Ask me no more questions.
I’ve told you all I know.
The wisdom in their story
tells you where to go.
It points to better living
and follows a chosen path
where we are just a legend,
the ancients of the past.

So take heed of their story.
For it’s not so often read.
It’s a gift bestowed upon you
which tells you where to tread.
They’ve laid a shiny altar
and offer all they know.
The future’s at your mercy
and they’re asking you to go.

1973, February

The New Messiah

In the sky a flash I saw.
Like the candle lit forever,
only truth and wisdom know.

You’ve been born to lead a mission.
Good deeds leave along your trail.
Give me strength and show me virtue
And I’ll follow each word you say.

Shine on life, forgive their errors,
as your people count their days.
Cross the rivers, climb the mountains.
With your hand, you’ll lead the way.

Pale blue skies are turning darker.
The moon, it shines a shade of grey.
You must stop this dark disaster,
You’re the new messiah, God’s your name.

1972, March

Country Girls

‘Come scrumping fat apples in Hatfield Peverel.’
Such an offer
From Sarah Parkinson-Aitkin.
‘Kiss my rosy red cheeks, ride my sturdy wide shoulders,
And see what delights
Are yours for the taking!’

‘Come tickling shy trout in Charlton Mackerell.’
Such a dextrous finger
Has Camilla Dickinson-Knight.
‘First I will tease it, then I will trap it.’
Oh! How you wriggle
My slippy little sprite!’

‘Come filching fine cake in Monkton Deverill.’
Such indulgent sin
With Amelia Robinson-Berry.
I lung at the tart, her cravings are fruity.
She licks off the cream.
I suck on the cherry.

‘Come poaching fair game in Frampton Cotterell.’
Such bushcraft skill
Has Olivia Murchison-Vicar.
A stag in her sights! ‘Streuth! Fit to be mounted!’
She caresses the butt
Then squeezes the trigger.

2011, April

Joe Robinson

‘How are you doing Joe Robinson?
Where are you going today?’
‘To the hills, to the mountains,
So far, far away.’

‘You’ll no hear from me.
No letters, no cards.
For my road is long
And is so very hard.’

‘I shall follow the sun
And go by the stars.
My mind is carefree.
I’ll fight no more wars.’

‘So I bid you good day sir,
For I am going away.
To the hills, to the mountains
So far, far away.’

1971, August