Don't smother the fire, mother© GERALD ENGLAND
we all of us feel the cold
Don't smother the fire, mother
you need its warmth when you're growing old
Don't smother the fire, mother
its cheery flame dispels the gloom
Don't smother the fire, mother
let its warmth invade the room
Don't smother the fire, mother
but let it burn up bright
Don't smother the fire, mother
for it is our only light
A thin layer of virgin-white snow,© GERALD ENGLAND
freshly fallen at 1 a.m.,
covers the road of mud
and dirt left by lorries
toing and froing the building site.
The track of the tyres
of a late-night car
stand out upon the newlaid snow
like pioneer pathways
across the terrain of life.
Soon these marks will vanish
beneath yet newer snow,
and at daybreak
pedestrians will curse the snow
churning it up with the mud below
revealing again the builder's muck.
But, as here for a moment I stand,
I see, reflected by streetlamps,
the beauty which is winter's;
yet the cold shivers
send me running to the warmth
of my electric-blanketed bed.
Say Yes© GERALD ENGLAND
to S.A.Y.E.
I would
if I only could
say No
to P.A.Y.E.
Jesus Christ was God's Christmas present to the world!© Gerald England
Oh yes!
We opened the gift up very carefully
but we saved the wrappings
and threw away
the present!
gerald england
jesus christus war gottes weihnachtsgeschenk fur die welt
o ja
wir haben das geschenk sorgfaltig geoffnet
abet wir haben das geschenkpapier aufgehoben
und das geschenk
weggeworfen
Two demented vultures© Gerald England
sitting on Lover's Leap
Says one to the other -
The Age of Love
I fear
is over
Gainest und matisse,© GERALD ENGLAND
la ville de gaunt san Andermet
in all der thunder score
fim landersu et kunlet
Twa many a canter down
these deux enfants mak faire net sooin,
kan sude les matter nut thier stan
fim officestat les cumin und gooin
mak such a fuss, la ville pour score
none kunlet landersu, mud sink
und if la quakering nut plan
les Varingarians ud mak a proper stink
Ney nut a vik ur voe
wer ivver in les officestat
wat Andermet und ithers gay
wim sintering und gat
Nut all fim landersu et kunlet
twa moitherings sum vat
That fust moiter-car Ah ivver did owhn,© GERALD ENGLAND
shoo war nivver up ti mich
Ah nivver dare tak her on t' moiterway
fer fear on her brekkin dahn
I' Ah ivver gat her up ti fifty mahles an hooir
shoo used ti shek abaht lahk a jelly nutset
Two on tyres war ommost new and two war pretty gooid
bud t'spare war worn an nut much cop
Shoo hed ti goa ti t' scrapyerd, Ah'm sorry ti hev it say
fer t' fuelpump packed in; t' carburretor went anall;
t' engine war rockin an t'sterter-moiter cracked
an one o' t' windscreen wahpers hed jacked i' in
Mi back-suspenshun war affy rough
an t' gasket-seeals war leeakin oil;
t' plugs war fouled an t' points war pitted
an t' body war ommost rusted reight through
T' brakes war efter relinin an t' clutch gat stuck i' third
Shoo needed complete new wirin an ither sich-like jobs
soa i' t' end shoo simply hed ti goa
that fust moiter-car Ah ivver did owhn
When I think of sand© GERALD ENGLAND
I remember the golden sands
of a beach little-visited.
The sands of Southend
on the Mull of Kintyre
is made of softest gold,
stretching along from where hens
play in the road,
down to the waves
rolling over towards Ireland.
The old dilapidated lifeboat house,
long-abandoned in favour of
the calmer waters of Campbeltown Loch,
lies waiting for some industrial archaeologist
to rediscover and investigate anew.
White flat stones, the silver amid the gold -
ideal for skimming, (my favorite occupation);
those stones could bounce
full thirteen times
before sinking beneath the rolling waves - .
The sky above is sometimes blue as amethyst,
sometimes as sapphire,
but always precious, even when
from dark clouds the rains
of heavy storms pour
and mists obscure the view across Sanda Sound.
These are times when no-one walks
on the sands of Dunaverty Bay and Brunerican Bay.
Always the mist and the rain clear,
giving way to the sun,
on the golden sands of Southend.
Heart to heart© Gerald England
is soul to soul
Your opinion is thine own
my own -- mine own
I drink the wine and eat the bread,
You have a silent still communion
I may baptise my children,
You when they become adult
My worship may be odourless,
Your air filled with incense
These are secondary things
for if heart is to heart
soul is to soul
If you truly hold your opinions
then be true to them
and I will be true to mine
If your heart is with my heart
then love me,
not as you love your neighbour,
not as you love a stranger,
not as you love your enemies,
not with latitudinarianism
as Wesley put it,
but love me as a brother in Christ
heart to heart
soul to soul
Poor Peter© Gerald England
To act against a man
inexcusably
a man so noble
he does not reproach
or condemn
but forgives
does not hold it against you
To take advantage of him
treat the matter
as if didn't matter
and everything really fine
Poor Peter
He is human
