<The Millpond Years>

The Suffering of The Stream

There is a place where she would always be,
Where the blossom snows between the cankered trees;
Holding his sour breath,
He knows she's there
Watching the torrent as it flows.

Watching her soft white dress, it flows
In the innocent breezes
Smoothing the stones,
Watching her cold white dress, it floats.

He could see his love like a long forgotten dream,
He could see his love veiled beneath the stream,
He could see his love grow pallid and suffer as he weeps,
His tears fall around her in oil-rainbow streaks,
He could see his own reflection cloud the stones.

There is a place where she will always be,
Where the blossom floats above her through the reeds;
Were cling the willow roots,
His fingers reach
Searching for her lost arms to seize.

Watching her soft white dress, it flows
In the innocent breezes
Smoothing the stones,
Watching her cold white dress it floats.

Simple Tom And The Ghost of Jenny Bailey
The day flees the town with a drunkards yell,,
Silence from the slaughterhouse
And the midnight bell
Shudders down Shambles alley
Slamming shutters-
And the market litter flies,
Newspaper acrobats, straw and rags
Whirl up to Tom's window...
And away.

Simple Tom looks out across the town,
'Come into my shipwreck room,'
Creaking beams and tilting shadows
And the tallow-sticks burn
High above athe cobble streets.
'Come into my shipwreck room
Jenny Bailey.'

We can see Tom's hand only,
Pulling horse-fair from the chair.
The candle splutters,
His pupil shrinks, his pupil grows.
'You are my ghost Jenny Bailey,
Come and dance with me
While the whole town sleeps.'

Simple Tom looks out across the town,
'Walk across the scaly roofs
Look into my open window,
Oh, my rooftop girl
Rats-tail hair and milky skin
Glinting in the weather-vanes...
Jenny Bailey.'

The House of The Heart
You stand beneath the racing sky
You don't know why you came to
The house of the heart

You sit amongst the withered flowers
By the dry fountains
You look at the barren world around
The house of the heart

The lichen covered courtyard lions
Stand restlessly beside you
The great door it swings
The house of the heart

"Remote and scarlet"
Say the clouds
Vivid visions shatter down the spiral stairs
Promises and perfection
Solitude and despair

You hear the tempest beauty sigh
You don't know how you came to
The house of the heart

This Ship In Trouble
The sails are torn
We know only darkness and fear.

Lost eyes are searching...
Searching still...
Oh, this endless dawn.

Count Jefferey
For he is Count Jefferey.
For he is the servant of no man.
For he casts the shadow of fear,
For he is everywhere.
For he rides
For he kicks
For he takes
For he leaves,
For he strides down the lime groves
But sees only the road in front of him.
For he has done his duty,
You have done your duty
Count Jefferey.

For he destroys
For he gains
For he takes
For he hates,
And for he is the hated.
And for when he takes his prey,
He takes the lord's touch,
He counteracts the powers of darkness
For he counteracts the devil
Who rides so briskly about his life.

But Jefferey you lack in spirit,
Hey Jefferey you are lacking in spirit.
Count Jefferey

For he lies
For he waits,
Open eyed and granite faced...
But what holds you from your sleep?
Is it the gold clocks
Or the nightingales you cannot hear,
Or the famine wolves outside your walls?
Count Jefferey.

The Portrait gallery is laughing...
Or is it the village babies crying
At the nightmare of life come true.
Where did you go
That brought you screaming with the cockerels?
Count Jefferey.

On the blue-green rising falling tide,
Breathing in the pebbles
Sighing out the salt breeze,
Chaff is blowing from the stubble fields
Leaving the dried earth land it threads the gate...
Tunnel hedges...
Old mans beard,
Sticking to the wild plums
Old mans beard.
And follows the pot-holed tracks
That lead to Shaletown.

The ox-mans soul forever turns around
And ploughs the stubble field,
Caught in the lonely mile
Between the roads to Shaletown.
He watches the chaff leave his dry brown eye
And swing over rose-hip stile
To Shaletown.

Under bronze-red sunset, cobweb clouds,
Dipping to the shadows
Dancing through the dead trees,
Over carts that struggle up the hills
Sticking into the sweat and blistered hands...
Nailed sacks flap
From blackened walls
Flailing arms to welcome
From blackened walls
Into the groaning heart of Shaletown.

The ox-man turns and walks into the wind
Towards the ceaseless sea,
Ploughing the lonely mile
As chaff settles in Shaletown.
The machines they groan
And the hammers they pound
As night falls on Shaletown
The chaff settles in Shaletown.

The Sandstone Man
The sandstone man,
I feel my head fall to the ground
Gaping mouth and broken crown,
The sandstone man,
Through the bramble snakes
That scratched away my face,
I see the clouds like blossom round the moon.
The sandstone man,
Nobody knows where I am
I could utter my name to you
From my nettle grave,
The sandstone man.

The rain erodes my crest,
My hands into my chest.
The sandstone man
Nobody knows who I am
But you know I am close to you
I watched a tree grow tall and fall,,
I saw you riding down the rainy lanes,
In November.
The sandstone man
And the headless woman,
You have forgotten who I am.

The honey suckle twists across my breast
And I am happy,
I see the stunted willows by the frozen stream
And the frost as far as the eye can see.
But you have forgotten who I am.

Sometimes the sky is full of birds
But mostly it is empty.

The Millpond Years
As a voice beneath the millpond sings
From her past the lost June days are woken
And wind across the gorse slopes call
Through years, where the darkness roars
Until with whirl-pool panic heart she looks
Out of the looking-glass
And sees her standing by her side
Closes her soft grey eyes.

Blurred hurried bliss
And the smell of space,
Vanish through fires.
Oh save me from the softness of your skin,.
I can see you in the millpond years
Quietly singing.

And her voice across the millpond sings...
Slow falling days and afternoons
Watching each other in the quiet looking-glass,
While the geese ripple above the storms.
The leaves turned and vanished with the storms.,
Falling through each others eyes,
This tortured paradise.

Her emerald dress
And the ivory sheets,
Like delicate muscles
Sleep-walking through shapes that razor blind,
But I can still see you in the millpond years
Quietly singing,
I can see you there.

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