Old Brown and The Weather.

The river runs deep through many parts,
One lower whole from numerous highers starts,
Its story is a long one and its' meaning is a strong one,
the moral being tell it well and never tell the wrong one.

Well told, drops that from the eyes begin,
whose paths might lead from cheek to chin,
a feeling brought from them within,
will fall and feed the flow below.

Their meaning spent now lost beneath,
Another source may never hold,
Trails dried up and tales forgot,
Should not the story more be told.

A soul these silent tears refill,
Their pathways joined and old tracks broken,
While the babblings of the brook
Become the reasons for them softly spoken.

The reservoir my heart contains,
If sluiced would swell the current strong,
When empty, rain from mists that form
Will help to wash the stream along.

In key my melody is wrong,
Yet still I wish to sing with throng,
No care in world, a sweet duet,
In harmony with Summer's song,

To flirt a twirl, as Old Brown flicks
A swirling comment from his tale,
As if to ask, in solemn tone,
Why he is stuck in liquid dale,

Meandering, and forced bereft
To navigate this lonely cleft,
Of female fold and mountain male,
'tween handsome hill and tempting vale.

The changing air as fast this night
Would surely sway a Hawk in flight,
A chance maybe to catch a Fly,
I may procure a lucky bite,

The Storm as mighty as it is,
Few fishermen would risk its plight,
I sense it come, Thor sounds a clap,
He'll cast his net this very night.

Beneath the level's skin in stillness,
Old Browns' empty belly rumbled,
Leaves were scattering above,
Large twigs flew and branches tumbled,

About the panick-stricken herd,
Young Bucks kicked in haste and stumbled,
Other members slipped and slid,
And on the banks for footing fumbled.

The howling wind, like lonesome Wolf
Could scare the bravest of the Deer,
But kept in Loch and trapped in wier,
No fork would spear Brown's shallow fear,

A legless Stag, says he, gains time to feed
When chance denies the sturdy Steer.
His practiced strike, he knew full well,
and Lo, approaching, Mjolnir.

No blow could shake his steady nerve,
Nor lightening strike reveal his lair,
Whilst dark and bubbling build of cloud,
No peer to challenge Him would dare.

"Deity shall beat me not! -
'a spell' so life to me endears...
So too, gives title, fort and tools,
That I may reign o'er land for years."

"Then break this shell",
He uttered meekly,
Old Brown being no magician.
"Lord above, with your permission,
I'd need to ease my souls attrition."

The book of time his dear plea heard
Its markings read from whence were written,
Records made of every turn,
Of saddest day and times when smitten,

With rising tide and Weather weeping,
Water splashed in final flail,
Thunder from the Heavens woken
Answered to a flash of scale,

Caught on wave with weary roll,
His old tails' tiredness more than doubled,
The galeing front now having passed,
And Old Brown too, no longer troubled.

By the time my spirit flies,
My body left between two states,
My heart will have apologised
For all of my unjust mistakes.

On lifes' journey much I tasted,
Oft' I took a welcome sip,
Shot the rapid to the pool
And swam through folded dark green lip,

Above my head were lovers boating,
Blossom breeze and Sea birds floating,
When I rise no more to sink,
I'll learn to swim where lovers think,

In all the places left in wake
Where Angels sailed on mirrored lake,
Tuning natures' bow we'll sing,
Eumenides and Seraphim.

A vast black cavern in Old's vision,
Opened out into the sky,
Shocked Old Brown did not have time
Or sense to reason how or why.

It's hugeness lit with starry map
Of Constellations bright and bold,
A like sight Brown had never seen,
Nor neither did before behold,

His coloured name, now Fawn was young,
It's history not yet been told,
A fin or gill he could not feel,
Her temperature not hot nor cold.

Set in motion to a tune
The orchestra now did revolve
And turning slowly like a wheel
The stars like fish, in shapes were shoaled.

Wakeing twixt found startled self,
In valley lush with fallow field,
In night air standing, glancing up,
Alive! and by its' Mother, cold.

Coat with spots like stars reminding,
Magically, her heir serene,
Of skies she'd watched when she'd been young
With half blue moon through veil unseen.

Reflecting now, on a branching past,
Under old tree's canopy,
A mother, of her life, at end,
What ever would become of She?

To sky of foal she wished if doe,
For darkened pools in deep brown eyes,
For antlers tall, and proud if Stag
Dramatic scenes to realise.

Bowing head to drink with grace,
She in the water dreamt a face,
Thinking that a fish, like deer,
Needs water to survive in here,

In mind again, this time with birds,
In flight, by glancing on the land,
Would giving notice, know her words,
Not that the fish would understand.










The Silversmith and the Coin

 Sunbeam fell on fingered inch the silversmith did work within,
On pewter gift-coin held in hand in clean white glove of fine linen,

When he with care the coin did hold it slowly turned from Tin to Gold,
Without a buff with duster, if he kindly felt, increased in lustre,

The coin with precious golden glint, changed back again from Gold to Tin,
It's shine removed by bad intent, much duller when he'd thought a sin,

The rare round coin he kept in secret, in a case once used for snuff,
 Late at night he took it out to see if it was worth enough,

Sat the coin in empty palm, in judgement of his deeds,
Measuring his moral value for benevolence or greeds,

To queen on side by lamplight, each night he confessed away,
His possession beautiful or ugly in accordance with his day,

Intense was her attention whether good or bad the tales,
To judge since last his actions, she would show him heads or tails,

The coin when flipped would land the same however many tries,
And if he tossed too many, she looked angry in her eyes,

One night as evil deeds he planned the dirty piece began to shrink,
 In size which he'd not seen, too late, through fingers fell his tail side fate, "

Forgive me! please, don't disappear" unusually he shed a tear,
Which landed on the coin below so causing it again to grow,

"Yes Yes, I see it now again" The claim had changed from One to Ten,
At his cry "If rich I or I poor" it's value read as number four,

"I know now how my life to spend, of you and I it is the end,
I'll hand you on to some poor fool who sees his life in terms of Gold",

Him saying this the coin then vanished, paying him in fair return,
A new expression to his face so signifying what he'd earned,

Turning head, his interest lost, a frown of loss his facial cost,
That held upon him for a while, soon substituted for a smile.









The Changeling

On moonlit night a changeling looked at stars from humble quarters,
While Ursa and the smaller bear made talk of seven daughters,
Alone still as perhaps should stay- the question of the hour,
Orion looking downward at the changeling in her tower.

Come out, come out and do not cry, the night is truly playful,
Myself have too known troubled times, in truth I lived a lifeful,
If you like tears remain inside my friends will only sigh,
And stars like us won't shine as bright to light the darkened sky,

The moon as lovely on this night gives shining in her fullest,
It is of our belief that she too really has to cry,
That her like us and other folk feel solace in their waiting,
And loneliness, and joy and fear, and also can be shy,

But feeling blue and fearing cold the night seemed less appealing,
To one who's turning head on pillow shirked a saddened feeling,
Invitations from the stars to come and be their lovers,
Was turned down in favour of warm sheets and kindly cuddled covers.







The Auction

The courage plucked to take first step,
With tear on cheek and bag in hand,
She breaks a threshold in her life,
Now woke from dream whilst under knife.

The day were cold wi' windys frosty,
Heaven knows how much they've cost me,
Thought the lass "In feelings costly,
Lord I'm glad to have 'em off me.

Inspecting with an expert eye,
The valuer held the thing up high,
And peering through the strange preserve,
He judged the lass for what she were.

He saw she'd seen more troubled times,
than one as nice as her deserved,
I must admit girl you've got nerve,
It be a pleasure Miss to serve.

Hailing them the perfect gift,
You might as well make money Miss,
Nowt I've come across can top it,
from the sale you'll no doubt profit.

"In sympathy, It's value Ma'am,
Would barely make a Cock's reserve",
That moment humour touched them both,
In sectret both minds turned to love.

"Moving to your other items",
By this time she'd caught his fancy,
"Nothing here is quite as chancy",
Risking face she begged "Romance me".

By the Auction room in queue,
An item, Vendor, known by few,
Looked lastly at her balls from far,
With "Prick an' all" in plain glass jar.

In no set way was entrance gained,
To watchers poor or punters flush,
For some a jostle and a strain,
All in, the house became a crush.

Inside house the room was packed,
The seller missed not what she lacked,
She stood and stared in stunned relief,
That viewed by most Beyond belief.

It sat on shelf in pride of place,
In "dead posh" presentation case,
A pretty bow tied round it's lid,
Her nickname for it "Hissing Syd".

It came complete with semen sample,
A quantity that should be ample,
Puzzling her though was it's size,
Much smaller than she recognised.

Humour came when bidding started,
One man in the crowd had farted,
Stating of it "He were proud",
And how "That one weren't very loud".

An odour strong hung thick and queer,
unpleasant while it lingered there,
"Will someone get him out of here!
And leave door open to help it clear".

O'er the room fell calm again,
"I think we'll start the bidding then,
Will anybody bid me Ten?
Oh come now need I ask again?".

From rear of hall a timid voice,
Was heard to penetrate the noise,
"What can I do for you then Sir?"
"I'll bid thee Ten for t'parts of her".

Like precious stones or coats of fur,
Some interest raised the odd murmur,
The jewels that once belonged to her,
Had caused the auction room to stir.

When asked if Ten New Pounds be plenty,
From the front came bid of Twenty!,
Now the mood in room grew haughty,
"Beggar that! I'll give you Forty!".

A shoddy looking Gent felt thrifty,
"What the heck I offer Fifty!",
Then a suit with nervous laugh,
Whos stood on chair said "I not half!",

Then spoke out one who were bent,
"That'll never pay the rent",
At silent pause he felt he'd blundered,
..Man in Top hat bids a Hundred.

Then a woman on her own,
Caused the Top hat man to groan,
"Two Ton Sir, no need to moan,
A second bid would change that tone".

"Two it is then, Have I three?",
The Auctioneer said, mind on fee,
"Two it is then going soon..."
People looked around the room.

"Going.. going.. go.." "Hold on!,
A bidder on the phone has one,
The offer now's a Hundred Grand,
To take this treasured prize in hand."

After gasps came from the floor,
The Auctioneer quizzed "Any moe?",
No one spoke, "Who'd be so bold?",
Said Auctioneer... "Well then It's sold.".

By the Auction room in t' queue,
An item vendor known by few,
Her happy future overdue,
Looked up as partner met her view.

Although they were not married yet,
Her tender glance so kindly met,
At last was easily enough,
To prove their friendship and their love.









This is my castle

This is my castle
Where dreams are set alive
Where maidens fair with golden hair
In dreams now sleep (their love to keep)
In turrets at the side

Knights of bold
Fire stories told
Of torch alighted, joust unfit
Where skin bugs too reside

Of all the world that showed a life
Of all the places being
For all it's noise and cattle clatter
All it's sights now seeing

From all his travelled visions
All it's ventured pathways
The longness of a starry night
The fullness of a day

Communities in conflict
All the world agreed
Prisoner imprisoned
All the kingdom freed

Softest feather pillow
Roughest pillow sack
The smallness of a bed shank
The detail of a stonework crack

This from where I see
This is where I'll be
This is my castle
It belongs to me.







(c) 2008 John Cook. All rights reserved.