Tax on My Soul
He taxes your belt, including the Celts
Hold on to your heart, lest he takes it apart
Pay a price for your labour and one for your sabre
Give him his tithe, because that is his right
He labours all day, like man in the hay
Yet cannot be caged, as he looks at your age
Don't die in the straw, for the devil will call
Two coins on your eyes as you lay on the ice
Leave a penny for heaven and two for the preacher
As the money he takes is from him for your grave
Don't carry your coffin on backs that are cloaked
The tax man won't choke from the crippled and old
Lack of his gold; may render you cold.........
Yet he searches your soul, to seek out your goal
He hides in your 'will' and even your till
Escape him you must, but he catches your dust
Useful were you, to the church and the few
But he taxes your faith despite all the hate.
The psalms that he holds are from farms he has sold
Lest they call him to hell from palms that are broke
He seeks all the answers through time and debate
Yet when he is gone, others will come.
Pray to your God, and the ones you forgot
Lest you meet him in Hell with the souls he had bought
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
Janice Rose
Janice Rose, all proud and true
Comb your hair to ease the blues
Fragrant pastles blessed with hue
With shades of grey and blossomed days
Paint your face and mark your eyes
Slap the gel into your thighs
Rub the creams that others dream
Then slowly watch your lovers gleam
Janice Rose, now your old
Rub the ointments on your toes
Then roll your headscarf for the cold
Sunken eyes and wrinkled brow
Hospice tear drops without the frowns
As matrons sing and lovers cry.
Leave the letters on the floor
As dearest husbands await your call.
For debts to pay, they cannot wait
For now you are broke without a hope
Except your prayers for God and pope
Save your farthings for the dead
Trinket jewellery that fool your friends
Laid to waste on pendent flesh
Pray the doorman, be polite
Who shifts your body out of sight
Fidget more within the gloom
As people pray within your room
Lay a wreath for those who grief
That they be known by all their moans
How righteous be the ones that be
That lay a Rose for Janice Rose
Written By George
Janice Rose, all proud and true
Comb your hair to ease the blues
Fragrant pastles blessed with hue
With shades of grey and blossomed days
Paint your face and mark your eyes
Slap the gel into your thighs
Rub the creams that others dream
Then slowly watch your lovers gleam
Janice Rose, now your old
Rub the ointments on your toes
Then roll your headscarf for the cold
Sunken eyes and wrinkled brow
Hospice tear drops without the frowns
As matrons sing and lovers cry.
Leave the letters on the floor
As dearest husbands await your call.
For debts to pay, they cannot wait
For now you are broke without a hope
Except your prayers for God and pope
Save your farthings for the dead
Trinket jewellery that fool your friends
Laid to waste on pendent flesh
Pray the doorman, be polite
Who shifts your body out of sight
Fidget more within the gloom
As people pray within your room
Lay a wreath for those who grief
That they be known by all their moans
How righteous be the ones that be
That lay a Rose for Janice Rose
Written By George
A Lost Soul
A Lost Soul
Oh God of mercy, I have lost my way.
I have lost the book of my belief.
So I may read of God's great deeds.I have lost the book of my belief.
Not to slip and fall without your call.
Soothe my brow and bend my knee
And quench my tongue with words from thee.
Count the digits on my hand
My palm, steed and lovers psalm
That I may greet and kiss your feet
Nothing dies, nor tree or vine .
Or even man when he sublimes
God counts us all that have his brand.
As man is god, and God is man.
He knows us all, and those who fall.
Seek him not in times of deeds, but look within your heart for needs
For conscience seeks our god within
So know ourselves, as he's within.
No sin or good a flower brings.
Like a nettle's sting when a Robins sing.
Nothing falls within a cup
By chance of love or gamblers luck.
That man be lost for just a day
To fall and die amongst the hay?
He loves us all and those who fall.
Than to let us die, and not be called?
Tin Soldiers
I strived the ground on this dear mound
With sword held high, I thundered down
My armoured chest had took the pound
Of a cannon ball so large and round
That spun my sword all proud and torn
Blandly formed from iron ore
Into the earth that we were born
A silence passed just for a while
As a stone was laid to mark my grave
To remember me in time of strength
Now as I lay unto my bed.
Forgotten dreams of Kings and Queens
The layman's fork all pitched with scorn
To prep the fields for those who steal
Lay waste and barren for a Baron
Sweet grass and tulips pleased my gaze
Then the field was full of corn and maize
As I watched the seasons slowly change
Harsh winds blew the lucid soils
That man had cut with sword and scythe
Having never looked beyond the sky
But knelt the earth in all it's dirt
Where he was born from birth to girth
To pass asunder from his grave
To view the earth that God had made
He takes it back from breaking backs
Through death and toil and folly man's foil
I watched a while as years passed by
As people passed and slowly died
Then silence fell on this ill mound
No sun or moon or harvest groom
To till the clutching hands on straw
No God nor dog or maidens frock
Came forth to lend a helping hand.
For man had tired like his God
Just like my rusted scabbard sword
Lay dead and waste beneath my gaze
As I truly felt towards my waste.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep
To void the tears I could not weep
As children cried and mothers sighed
From poisoned breasts with cancered crests
Lay squalled and buried by those who cherished
No grave or mass or patron's cast, religious gash.......
and surplus cash could save the torn and festered trash
That man had grazed with a shaven haste
Prophetically blazed by Edgar Cay'ce
Atoned by fortune, atomic fusion
With hand held high into the sky
He beckons me, and asks me why ?
By George
With sword held high, I thundered down
My armoured chest had took the pound
Of a cannon ball so large and round
That spun my sword all proud and torn
Blandly formed from iron ore
Into the earth that we were born
A silence passed just for a while
As a stone was laid to mark my grave
To remember me in time of strength
Now as I lay unto my bed.
Forgotten dreams of Kings and Queens
The layman's fork all pitched with scorn
To prep the fields for those who steal
Lay waste and barren for a Baron
Sweet grass and tulips pleased my gaze
Then the field was full of corn and maize
As I watched the seasons slowly change
Harsh winds blew the lucid soils
That man had cut with sword and scythe
Having never looked beyond the sky
But knelt the earth in all it's dirt
Where he was born from birth to girth
To pass asunder from his grave
To view the earth that God had made
He takes it back from breaking backs
Through death and toil and folly man's foil
I watched a while as years passed by
As people passed and slowly died
Then silence fell on this ill mound
No sun or moon or harvest groom
To till the clutching hands on straw
No God nor dog or maidens frock
Came forth to lend a helping hand.
For man had tired like his God
Just like my rusted scabbard sword
Lay dead and waste beneath my gaze
As I truly felt towards my waste.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep
To void the tears I could not weep
As children cried and mothers sighed
From poisoned breasts with cancered crests
Lay squalled and buried by those who cherished
No grave or mass or patron's cast, religious gash.......
and surplus cash could save the torn and festered trash
That man had grazed with a shaven haste
Prophetically blazed by Edgar Cay'ce
Atoned by fortune, atomic fusion
With hand held high into the sky
He beckons me, and asks me why ?
By George
Soldier Boy
Soldier boy, soldier boy, what have you done?
Here is a sabre from wood and some gum
Soldier boy, soldier boy, now you are a man
Now leave your mother and live with your clan.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, go get your gun
The soldiers are coming for you and your son.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, who have you slaughtered?
A couple of porters and the love of their daughters
Soldier boy, soldier boy shed no more tears
Lend me your shoulder, and bring on the years
Soldier boy, soldier boy now you are old
Look at the medals that made you grow cold.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, lie down and die,
Rock you to sleep so that others may weep.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, now you are gone
Two poppies for heaven and a cross from your gun
Soldier boy, soldier boy, look at you now?
A sprinkle of dust and a slab for your bust
Engraved in gold, so your deeds may be told.
Forgotten by many, except for the tin and the penny
Oh soldier boy, soldier boy....wherever you are?
Like the dust in the field all scattered and sorn
Written By George
Soldier boy, soldier boy, what have you done?
Here is a sabre from wood and some gum
Soldier boy, soldier boy, now you are a man
Now leave your mother and live with your clan.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, go get your gun
The soldiers are coming for you and your son.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, who have you slaughtered?
A couple of porters and the love of their daughters
Soldier boy, soldier boy shed no more tears
Lend me your shoulder, and bring on the years
Soldier boy, soldier boy now you are old
Look at the medals that made you grow cold.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, lie down and die,
Rock you to sleep so that others may weep.
Soldier boy, soldier boy, now you are gone
Two poppies for heaven and a cross from your gun
Soldier boy, soldier boy, look at you now?
A sprinkle of dust and a slab for your bust
Engraved in gold, so your deeds may be told.
Forgotten by many, except for the tin and the penny
Oh soldier boy, soldier boy....wherever you are?
Like the dust in the field all scattered and sorn
Written By George
Prophetic Actors
Prophetic Actors
The venue is set, as the actors prepare to take the stage. Remnants of old loom by, as each takes his cue. A hush envelopes the audience, as the atmosphere changes to the scene of the day.
The actors tread the stage once more, gallant and proud, heads held high as the scene unfolds. Brandishing their costumes gallantly and tireless they move forward. The scene is set, as crumpled men of old take their wares of parchments anew, for act two, scene two is the way of the day.
Their noble crowns still intact, each nods to the audience as they quietly take their place ready to perform.
The audience is in cheer, for they have returned, unscathed, untarnished and wiser. Pages turn, and the story begins, a gentle hush of serenity fills the air as the act unfolds.
Soon it will be time to bring the curtain down. The lights will go out and the stage will be empty again, yet each in his heart will carry the gift, and the actors will go home, never to return for their work is finished.
The doors have closed and the lights have gone out.
The stage is silent. now
Still voices are heard ....deep within....... as the pages slowly turn.
The actors thread woven within a parchment of fineness as the book slowly closes.
Written By George
The venue is set, as the actors prepare to take the stage. Remnants of old loom by, as each takes his cue. A hush envelopes the audience, as the atmosphere changes to the scene of the day.
The actors tread the stage once more, gallant and proud, heads held high as the scene unfolds. Brandishing their costumes gallantly and tireless they move forward. The scene is set, as crumpled men of old take their wares of parchments anew, for act two, scene two is the way of the day.
Their noble crowns still intact, each nods to the audience as they quietly take their place ready to perform.
The audience is in cheer, for they have returned, unscathed, untarnished and wiser. Pages turn, and the story begins, a gentle hush of serenity fills the air as the act unfolds.
Soon it will be time to bring the curtain down. The lights will go out and the stage will be empty again, yet each in his heart will carry the gift, and the actors will go home, never to return for their work is finished.
The doors have closed and the lights have gone out.
The stage is silent. now
Still voices are heard ....deep within....... as the pages slowly turn.
The actors thread woven within a parchment of fineness as the book slowly closes.
Written By George
The Wind
Keep the reins on your soul as the gentle wind blows.
Hold on to your hats, as the wind shears through the plats.
It comes........it turns, never beckons or learns.......
Hang on to your shirt for what the tailor had served
It sweeps this land of rough sand and soil,
Precarious toils… of man's sweat and broil
There is no rule or word of truth......
Arduous tasks of fields churned and chewed….
No man, beast or fool that cannot be ruled
We see it no less than the air on the moor,
Lest it summons a rage, and calls out the rain.
It cannot be caged,
Like a bird or a mule, as it cries like a ghoul.
Howling it be....as it breaks down the trees.
Then behold.....a whisper I hear.....as it wisps past my ear.
All playful it seems from a gentle breeze; whistling a tune from the wood and the seas…
Windmills creak as love birds sing.
A flick of a leaf as an insect flees.
Then all is still as the land bows and kneels
God at it's heel which devours, even man at the wheel.
So let the simple weed flourish all scattered and nourished
Pray for the winds to replenish our sins
Written By George
Hold on to your hats, as the wind shears through the plats.
It comes........it turns, never beckons or learns.......
Hang on to your shirt for what the tailor had served
It sweeps this land of rough sand and soil,
Precarious toils… of man's sweat and broil
There is no rule or word of truth......
Arduous tasks of fields churned and chewed….
No man, beast or fool that cannot be ruled
We see it no less than the air on the moor,
Lest it summons a rage, and calls out the rain.
It cannot be caged,
Like a bird or a mule, as it cries like a ghoul.
Howling it be....as it breaks down the trees.
Then behold.....a whisper I hear.....as it wisps past my ear.
All playful it seems from a gentle breeze; whistling a tune from the wood and the seas…
Windmills creak as love birds sing.
A flick of a leaf as an insect flees.
Then all is still as the land bows and kneels
God at it's heel which devours, even man at the wheel.
So let the simple weed flourish all scattered and nourished
Pray for the winds to replenish our sins
Written By George
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