Love is another country…
Love is another country,
seemingly leagues away.
The breeze in the trees,
and billowing clouds
with the invitation to stay.
Love is another country,
only a change of mind.
With warming shades
of merriment and a
gentle mood for being kind.
Love is another country,
transposed here.
A smiling face and
warm embrace.
With that ‘some one’, dear.
Kevin Bewley
Bubble Gum flavored Vaseline
It was an aspect,
given in a dream.
A home made recipe,
‘Bubble Gum Flavored Vaseline’.
The concept was of a high ideal,
was born from low self esteem.
Of anguish and pain,
and Fruity flavored Vaseline.
Long I burned the midnight oil,
moving away from the old regime.
Endlessly I walked the night,
all was not as it would seem.
Then I screamed ‘Eureka!’
My thoughts as one supreme…
With thoughts as a medico possessed,
no longer seemed obscene.
I assuaged my pile,
and lived off the dream.
Retired to pleasure seeking,
and Bubble Gum Flavored Vaseline.
Kevin Bewley
Calne
My town is a charming town,
much to see and walk around.
From Saxon times to urban sprawl
Calne has seen, been and done it all.
But now the shops are folding,
the shops are closing down
Folk will start to leave here,
go to better climes.
But this is just a chapter,
an episode in time.
Calne astride the River Marden,
famed for Dunstan, wool, pigs and things.
What goes around comes around,
we know of economic stings.
Again the Parish Church
will ring in the changes.
Healthier times will come again,
with subtle rearranging…
Yet some of the nicer things
hopefully,
will never need to change.
Kevin Bewley
She’s Only A Little Thing.
She is only a little thing,
yet something of an earner…
With regards to hair styles and stuff,
she will always be a permer…
Now she’s packing vitamins,
still ever the learner…
But comes those times,
you could really burn her!
Send her back!
Please return her!
Send her packing!
Multi tasking Mrs Turner!
Kevin Bewley
Travellers
An Angel stands by my shoulder,
whispering secrets, so calm.
So kind, so sure.
The chatter delightful
and convivial what is more.
Where do Angels go on vacation?
Why do they congregate here?
Do they do package tours or
earn air miles checking their
destination is clear?
Do they take a ‘Michellin’ to find their way?
Do they go with a friend on their journey?
Do they wear mufti and trainers?
And with whom do they stay?
Are they accredited?
Do they commute?
Do they do plastic?
Surely astute, and do
they take the scenic route?
Day returns and excursions,
time for relaxation to roam.
Then packing their wings behind them,
time to head home.
Kevin Bewley
The Ephemeral Company
There’s still small convictions beside me,
the bestest companions yet.
Let my conscience be my friend
and reason be my ally.
Who never deride me
nor lose insight, nor
the complexities that are set.
No rooms for hidden agenda,
nor veiled motive threats are here…
No lofty aspirations or castles
in the air…
We coexist quite peaceably,
neither in each other’s debt.
It took some while to find them,
through many stormy tears.
It takes a while to reconcile
all those phantom fears.
I let my conscience take the reins.
Now I heed and harken,
that wisdom comes with years
to dispel silly notions that
cloud and darken.
Kevin Bewley
Love knows no caution…
Those who love
show it,
Those who don’t,
won’t know it…
Those who won’t
end up in a pickle,
left on a dusty shelf.
Kevin Bewley
Go with me,
run with me.
Follow down, follow me.
All to the sounds
of the
bumbling
humble bee.
By hive or by hollow, on we all follow as though
she will perform her dance there were no tomorrow.
The morning summer dance.
The petals will fall, and the dance is near complete
but ever she wings discrete
around wood haunts.
Over the trees, to bypass the flowers
ever the mission to pollinate the flowers.
Where she is gone, where ever to go.
Spring and Summer are sure to fade.
All to remain the silence of the glade.
Kevin Bewley
Click thumb for original format.
Abberd Wood
We’ll go no more to Abberd Wood
with tiny tots and lemon pop.
Oh where has the cuckoo gone?
No more to tramping up the lane
with the gentle fall of Summer’s rain.
But oh, where has the cuckoo gone?
No more to pick the ripened berries
and hogweed ‘shooters’ all the merry.
Why has the cuckoo gone?
No more the girls in pretty dresses
with celandines in their tresses.
The cuckoo says she will return,
she will come back again.
So too, reflections and recollections
of a Summers’ Abberd Lane.
Kevin Bewley
(With apologies to A.E. Housman.)
Mrs Blum I loved you…
Mrs Rachael Blum, oh what did you do?
gladly I would have gone with you…
Rachael Blum had a pretty nose.
With a gracious air and raven hair
and ever with her favorite rose.
Rachael Blum I loved your nose.
And worshipped the ground beneath
those tiny toes.
Rachael dear, the feelings were clear
and as to go or what to wear...
Are certainly not now,
so neat nor clear…
Rach’ I loved you so, so very so.
No longer do the feelings flow.
Rachael Blum had a pretty air
and although I never knew her.
It was only then that I learned
to care in a poignant demi blur.
Kevin Bewley
Wet hands…
‘Come live with me…’
and assist with the washing up.
‘Old Meg was a gypsy…’
Did she do the washing up?
‘Had we but world enough…’
To Marvell over the washing up!
‘Go lovely rose…’
Please do the washing up!
‘The curfew tolls the knell away…’
And plates to put away!
‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan…’
Did he put the colander away?
When the boring jobs
become perverse.
I retreat behind my wall
of verse…
‘I sing of the body electric…’
I muse and mellow.
I am nearly there…
‘I stood on the bridge at midnight…’
Though I am glued to the sink instead!
It’s done.
Tis finished!
I’ll take off my chaps,
I’ll have a piece of bread.
Kevin Bewley
