I Used To Be A Dreamer - Lyndon Queripel

I used to be a dreamer
I had faith to keep
But now I just can’t sleep
The dawn will break
And I’m still awake
The Sun will rise in my eyes

I used to be a dreamer
And you know it’s true
That I had visions too
Now there’s a part
Deep in my heart
Where memories just freeze

I used to be a dreamer
Sowing seeds to reap
But now I just can’t sleep
The shadows fall
On the wall
On my bed and in my head

I used to be a dreamer
Lost in my own mind
But I’ve been left behind
The time has passed
Much too fast
Where did it go I don’t know.

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - LeandroDeCarvalho

Wren - Richard Fleming

See
the wren,
resplendent:
her clever eye,
her sweet essence. Deep, let her sleep be deep;
there, let the green hedge be her perfect bed;
the rye, the reed,
be her screen;
shelter
her.

Richard Fleming

Image : Pixabay - Nature-Pix

Veteran - Stephen A. Roberts

In the smoke and flattened fields
your comrades walked into oblivion;
you were left to face
a hundred years alone

Now you are fêted
and they ask you,
before you fade into history,
what was it like?

A tear comes,
it is for the fallen:
and for the
world still at war

Stephen A. Roberts

Remember, Remember… - Traditional

One of many versions of this traditional chant

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot.
We see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!

Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent
To blow up king and parliament.
Three score barrels were laid below
To prove old England's overthrow.

By god's mercy he was catch'd
With a darkened lantern and burning match.
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.

And what shall we do with him?
Burn him!

Traditional
Image : Pixabay - anncapictures

Old Mag - Oscar Milde

Old Mag the hag sat with her cat,
she in her chair, it on its mat.
She muttered intermittently
as so befits a retiree
but what she muttered was not kind
she had unpleasantness in mind.
From time to time she cast a spell
or brewed herbs with a pungent smell
to conjure up, a witches’ trick,
a demon or perhaps, Old Nick.
Instead, to her intense surprise,
she got a maiden with blue eyes,
long silver cloak, curls on her head.
I am your Good Fairy, she said.
Three wishes I am granting you.
Come on, be quick, it’s time I flew.
Oh give me money! Hag Mag cried.
A chest appeared with gold inside.
Next wish? Speak up and speak the truth.
Give me great beauty, please, and youth.
Then Mag was altered in a flash
so she had beauty, youth and cash.
One last wish, then I’ve got to go:
you’ve got the cash and beauty, so?
Mag cried, please turn my young cat, Vince,
into a sexy, handsome Prince.
When this was done, the Fairy went.
Mag told the “Prince” of her intent:
long nights of passion, love and lust
until they’d jolly well combust.
The “Prince”, her former cat, looked sad.
He said, now look here, don’t get mad.
I’ll do my best but you’ll regret
the day you took me to the vet.

Oscar Milde


Image : Pixabay - StockSnap