JUDGE GEORGE JEFFREYS

At home they're treated with cool respect
his wife and children four,
but when he wears judicial wig
he's a gentleman no more.

Then he's the great Lord Chancellor,
the most brutal England has known,
as he reigns over the Bloody Assize
striking terror right to the bone.

Haughty and sadistic, he gazes down
from his throne-like bench on high,
anticipating the pleasure to come
as they lead the prisoner by.

But he cannot prove her alleged crime
so he bullies a petrified jury,
forcing them to acknowledge her guilt
or themselves bear the brunt of his fury.

So this frail old widow is condemned
through gross perversion of laws,
to be bound to the stake and burned alive.
How he relishes controlling death's jaws.

It makes him feel important, almighty,
to possess the power to slay.
I swear he believes himself a God,
but inside the devil holds sway.

I'm so grateful I wasn't alive
in the year of sixteen-eighty-five!

THE POET

He appears in your life
just as a glowing evening Sun
dips beyond western sea.
What is it about him
that captures and holds
your attention,
that you find so devastatingly irresistible?
His dark brooding good looks maybe?
No.
That's much too shallow a reason
for such overwhelming reactions.
No, it's more the way his
powerfully evocative words
translate into wild hedonistic caresses
that holds you spellbound.
Your senses are expanded,
razor sharp.
You're drawn into the slipstream
of a white-hot meteor
that rips apart the night sky
of inhibition, allowing
the full force of passion
to fly free.
He suspends time itself
for you.
There is only this moment,
you, he and utter bliss.

Golden dawn.
With a solitary
heart-stopping kiss,
the linguistic magician promises
Forever.
Then he's gone.

Six lonely months
have passed.
His face has begun to blur
in your memory now.
He could've been no more
than a collective female fantasy
inadvertently hacked into,
or even the cheating love rat
your friends believe him to be.
But it really doesn't matter
if others think
he lied about forever,
because you know the truth.

There are many interpretations
for that word
and his lies here,
on a single page
in his recently published
anthology, where
he's made you
IMMORTAL.

THE OATH

Checking the mirror
before leaving for the ceremony.
This other-worldly Priestess
gazes back
from where my reflection
should be.
Recognition probes
the outer reaches
of consciousness,
where Akashic Records
aren't quite closed.
And I ask,
'Are you seeing your future,
or I my past?
Who are we?'

I arrive at my destination.
Donning robe of forest green
brings a sense
of impending transfiguration.
Searching my palm
for clues
I find her lifeline,
a descent uninterrupted
down the Spiritual bloodline.
It maps the many times
I've been born
have lived and died
to bring me to
this monumental time
where I resume my function
amid Druidesses nine
upon this Hill of Avalon,
hallowed since Morgan's time.

Back home now.
Returning to the mirror.
Why is it no surprise
that she and I have synthesised?
A solemn oath abandoned
millennia ago
has been at last fulfilled.

SIGNS

A passing cloud
swirls itself momentarily
into your image.
A truck speeding by.
Your surname
emblazoned along its side
within a blood red heart
is reminiscent of mine
that so aches for you.
And I know
these are signs
that we are meant to be together.

Here it is again, your name,
embedded in a word search puzzle,
standing out
as if in relief.
I see your birth date
encoded in a till receipt
from this morning's shopping trip.
These, too, are signs
that I was born to be with you.

Alone
on a rain drenched beach,
storm battered.
Eyes downcast,
tightly screwed up
against a bitter wind.
I see a holey stone
and pick it up.
Aren't they reputed
to grant wishes?
I bet you can't imagine
what I'm wishing for
as I slip it onto my finger?
A Russian Doll,
you and I.

I'm watching you
deep in conversation
with someone I've never met.
Without a glance
in my direction,
your body language betrays
embryonic love for me.
Searching your face
for confirmation.
YES!!
It's unmistakably there
and I'm ecstatic,
aware of two futures on a collision course.
Our eyes meet - just for a second,
and a hint of a smile
plays around your lips.
Reassured that you want me
as much as I want you,
I am elated.

Flying high,
yet battling the Torments of Tantalus,
I approach my destiny.
But she arrives just in front of me,
throwing herself
into your waiting arms.
And I see that look in your eyes,
The look that melts my insides
is exclusively for her.
And I feel such a fool.

SPIRIT OF THE FOREST

You'll glimpse me in the wind-tossed leaves,

I'm the deeper green within.

You'll hear my voice in the rustling ferns

whispering your name.

You'll feel my touch in the gentle breeze

soothing your troubled brow.

My woody scent will draw your thoughts

beyond the mundane world,

where awareness expands and you feel the pain

of every trampled flower.

And when you're tired and fall asleep

beneath the spreading Oak,

you'll dream my dreams then remembrance will come

that you and I have always been one.......

REBELLION

For Cordelia

Who are you to rule my life

And control my every move

From the stronghold of your cosy chairs

Like smug all-powerful autocrats?

You command me to be in at nine

Before the night is born,

Knowing my friends will ridicule

As you arrive to escort me home.

Yet petty laws imposed on me

Are all you care about

And in the ensuing battle,

Humiliation wins.

My boyfriends are never good enough,

They never stand a chance.

You're mortified by my 'slovenly lout'

And his heavy metal band.

What's even worse, his ultimate sin

Is to hail from a council estate.

But why should I worry if he's working class

When we're having such fun on a date?

Your petty spies are everywhere,

I have no privacy.

When we kissed as Jamie met me from school

I was grounded for a week,

For the Dunlop-Coopers spotted us

And couldn't wait to squeal.

They distorted the truth until you believed

We were shagging in the street!

Their daughter Melinda's iconic traits

Are paraded in front of me

'Why can't you be like her,'  you whine,

'And make us proud of you?

To a Member of Parliament she's engaged,

She's an elegant socialite,

And her legendary summer balls

Are an ostentatious delight!'

I'm forced to dress conservatively

When attending her afternoon teas

In shapeless brownish-greys

And tweeds to below the knees.

I'm feeling so dowdy and desperate

To dispense with etiquette

That deep inside a warhead seethes

Threatening to eject.

'Come and meet my cousin,' she croons,

'I'm certain he's just your type.'

Then patronisingly she adds,

'He'll make you a lady all right.

For he's descended from royalty you see,

On his father's side.

Just hope and pray he has a taste

For plainness in a bride!'

So I'm cornered behind a potted palm

By an arrogant stammering bore.

His foul breath and body odour

Make me feel quite faint.

'You must j-join me on my y-yacht,'

He mumbles as lecherous eyes

Fix their gaze on my firm young breasts

Until disgust I can no longer hide.

'I'd rather die!' I scream and smash

Their priceless saucer and cup.

As coffee oozes over marble floor,

Open-mouthed they gawp.

For the very first time, their attention is mine

And I really want to shock.

So slowly and deliberately I undress,

Discarding the loathed attire.

As ladies shriek and one or two swoon,

The men just ogle and stare.

It seems the sight of a red satin thong

Has hypocrisy laid bare!

Just before I walk away

I boldly return your stare,

'I'm sorry mother and father

If I disappoint you so,

But for your ideals I'll never care

So it's best if I just go.

All I wanted was a normal life

But you could never see

That all these years spent moulding me

Into who you believed I should be,

Has left no time to get to know

This person I call me!'



CHRISTOPHER

In Memoriam


I came across your bracelet today.
You know, the black leather one
embellished with pure white lizards?
I was tidying my cupboard
and there it was,
tucked away in a neglected corner,
still wrapped in its original
pouch of time-faded ivory silk.

And I thought of you.
Closing my eyes,
I could picture you clearly
on a movie screen inside my head.
You were smiling at me,
as you often did,
and I was moved to tears
by the desperate need
to see you again,
just one last time.

But I know that will never happen.
So I'm tortured by the notion
that you may wonder if  I've abandoned
all thoughts of you
since your emigration
to that not-so-distant land,
where insubstantial people live.
Although you would never believe that
if you only knew
how frequently my dreams hover
over that lonely red-brick cottage
where I lived with you
for the first seventeen years
of my life.
Nor would you believe it
if you could look inside my mind
and see how much I wish
I could rewind time
to those simple, carefree days
of bonfires in the orchard
and long walks across the common
with two happy, barking dogs.

And I'm so afraid you may be disappointed
that I no longer mention the place
where the most precious dust on Earth
nourishes the soil and spreading roots
of a beautiful red rose bush.
But the people you knew and loved
have long since moved on,
and I have allowed myself
to be pulled along with them
into the spiral of time,
that ceaseless torrent of moments
leading ever further
from your noble presence.

It isn't that you've become
an unimportant
and no longer necessary part of my life,
but because I have to keep
my grieving heart hidden.
I am so afraid they'd think me morbid
should I reveal the truth - that
all I wanted for a long, long time
after your departure
was to lie down on that soft earth
and let the dark force of nature
reunite us forever.
But I had to be strong - if only
for the sake of my other loved ones,
and try to carry on without you.

Yes, I have managed to survive
this devastating loss,
but please don't ever imagine
that I will forget the person
I owe my very existence to.
How could I?
Your legacy is me.
I am your creation,
your work of art.
You gave me form and substance.
You shaped this personality
and instilled these values.
You are someone I will never,
ever stop loving.

My Father.