The Tale of the Squatter

In the new part of the town
Suburban myths gone around
Of a brand new trend of building
I took off investigating.

A place strangely called Town of Cacatz
A field not plagued by mice or the rats
A stone throw from old Squatter’s Brook
Neighboring a patch of wood.

Ride the steel horse through the heart
At the crossroads take the right
Where the poor man returns home
Gates guarded by garden gnome

Where colored girls start to sing
Gangs of youths welcome the spring
Raising bottles, fiddling with cars
Read graffiti like you’d read stars.

Where tired housewives start their slumber
And the old folk don’t remember
How the steel beasts got so fast
Spinning tales of simpler past.

A patch of them age old trees
Jolting back their memories
Of a fellow called the Squatter
A weird old man with a stutter.

A far war fought some time ago
They must have known every widow
For all stopped once or twice in here
Close to trees they started to heal.

Seems like a lifetime or more
Since he walked through their front door
Three times three knocks in the morning
It was his known way of calling.

Every morning by the brook
Running through that eerie wood
He rose…God knows where he’d camp
For that ground is mighty damp.

From an old cloth he’d untuck
Stale bread to feed every duck,
Swans, water fowls at his boot
Keen to share his day old loot.

With a stretch he greets the morning
Rubbing his joints, yawning, moaning
Stocktaking his souvenirs
Newspaper clips, apple peels.

He emerges from the forest
Like wood spirit from his long rest
Heavy footprints like a thud
‘Till he walks off all the mud.

Mo..mo..morning…Ma..ma..Maam.
Would you have place for a man?
Fre..fre..fresh bread on your table
Invite me I’m no tro…trouble.

Se..se..see you need a hand
I’m a fi..fine instrument
I can tell you where to build
Es…escape the scorching heat.

Like long ago wis..wi..wise folk
They took their ca..cats for the ro. road
Wa..wa..watched them choose the spot
To put their children’s co..co..cot.

Clever be…beasts are them ca..cats
I place all my be..be..be..bets
Orphan seed grows below your heart
A se..se..secret you still hide.

You can’t fo..fool this old ca..cat
For su..su..supper and a be..bed
I show you the new nursery
He’ll never know mi..misery.

He was pacing after dinner
When the hot sun became dimmer
Stuttered out some lullabies
The widow heard songs and cries.

In the first light of the morning
His hostess thought “leave him snoring”
Sure she needed helping hands
Short of money, short of friends.

With a fresh hot cup of tea
She followed a honey bee
Eager to share last night’s vision
This town will raise happy children.

In the back room by the bed
Where she found our squatter dead.
Smiling, bread packed for the road
He boarded the one way boat.

Clutching white chalk in his hand
The sketches were his own brand
Drawn across the wooden floors
Cradles, cats and little boys

A credit to the folks nearby
They gave him a nice goodbye.
They brought flowers to his grave
His headstone still bears no name.

As time took its toll on houses
Passed the woods a new town rises.
From the damp and sun scorched dirt
You can witness this new birth.

Feeling their dreams would expend
Baby boomers of this land
Music loving lads and ladettes
All their first words sounded “cacats”

A new tradition soon emerged
To walk across muddy earth
Feed the wild ducks day old bread
Talk about the dreams you had

When the silver moon‘s its fullest
Take a stroll across the forest
Follow your cat out to the field
He’s called to where you should build.


Where they feel the squatter sits
Steel machines cart pastel bricks
A good place to raise happy lads
Keeping cacats as their pets.


THE END

The Tale of the Silver Feather

This tale takes you back in time
It was told without the rhyme
Far away and long ago
Choose the place you want to go.

When trees were green and birds drank dew
In the spring the magic grew
Planting seeds of restless dreaming
Young hearts started beating, yearning.

Young at heart but troubled soul,
Our man heard the age old call.
His home and love became smaller
Felt the urge to go and wonder.

Sometimes words can leave you stranded,
Wondered would he be remembered
Without going, without trying
His flame started slowly dying.

Clouds gathered above his world…
Spring breeze stirring up the dirt..
Stared at the road out of there
Had to go but not know where.

Before that grey gloomy day
Sharks circled the nearby bay
All black shadows feed on trouble
Full moon makes the dark thoughts double.

Every night they heard them barking
Only he saw black dogs fighting.
No bird song to greet the morning,
Restless spirits started roaming.

Seeking out the weakened souls
They flew through the open doors
A sleepless night one found a shell
An empty heart to claim, to dwell.

Our man grew a crystal heart
Fearing that these days he might
Have it broken beyond mending
Who could he trust with its tending?

There were three that he well knew
Did he want somebody new?
Or a token that his heart
Would be safe where last night died.

He told his love about his fear
What if he can’t stand be near?
Would she call him or forget?
What’s the token he can get?

When his dark clouds would be gone
Would he find himself alone?
Was the love he knew the longest
Be the true one...be the strongest?

That woman we spoke about
Thought she tamed his dying heart.
She saw shadows by him hover
So gave him a silver feather.

“My love I can feel you crying
Don’t let your flame slowly dying.
Life is like the wind carries you
Never forget once we all flew.

I will light a candle at night
We are brave and we can well fight
Roaming shadows, gusty winds,
I know that love always wins.

Sweep the front porch from the dirt
Keep at bay the doubt and hurt
Tears will turn to diamonds…gold words
Plant new seeds and feed the wild birds.”

A fateful journey from his village
Took him on a far pilgrimage
Took everyone by surprise,
Noone heard his silent cries.

With a measly gift as token
Visited another woman
Laughing at the silver feather
Was it more that she would offer?

To charm his stolen heart to beat
She sat quietly at his feet
“My Lord…” she spoke, batting lashes
“I would listen to your wishes

Close my eyes when your eyes wonder,
Forget about dark clouds, thunder
If you squint and look again
That shadow is from Heaven,

Can’t chase gloom by sweeping trouble
Stay here with me, happy, humble,
No broom gives you cleanliness
I saw us live in blissfulness.

Take this lock of hair as token.
Must be words of God that’s spoken
There is no dark here just shelter
Your curse is the silver feather.

Heaven sent you, this is your home
Never need to think of that crone
While you learn this I promise to keep
A kiss in my hair…the print of your feet.”

Now two hearts were spoken for
And it left him just one more.
Feeling empty, somewhat cheated
He gave to anger…growing hatred.

The night he spoke to our last woman
He felt his heart became frozen.
No heart gave him new found freedom.
He was Lord of Winter Kingdom.

Must be white clouds without squinting
Greener pastures without seeking
Golden riches I can take
Show me a fool or an ice maid.

Although he heard someone calling,
Tears like crystal droplets falling
They fallen on his deaf ears
Days to him now felt like years.

Meanwhile back in the man’s village
A woman starts her own pilgrimage.
Every night she lights a candle,
Talks to all who came from the shore.

Searching for a lost wounded man
Wondering as far as she can.
Sits at the bay, whispering words,
Her rhymes wash up all nearby pearls.

Word of a man gets around
Roaming homeless town to town.
Her man had no heart of stone
They say with him you feel alone.

They told of stories of him preaching
Drinking vine and seeing dark things.
Tells tales of doom and of vengeance.
Not the way that she remembers.

At last he saw a crystal castle,
Sparkling wine and golden tassel.
Regimented shiny goblets
Every room would demand respect.

Like in her hive a queen bee
Sat our woman number three.
“A lost bird just flew through my door
Scruffy but will scrub up soon.

A gold coin for your teary song
More to come if you stay long.
Nothing melts or can be broken
It’s your solid crystal token.

I’ll take you in and wash you clean
A crystal heart will fit right in.
Between these walls you‘ll forget…
I’m the price you want to get.

If I’m amused you will see
Crystal carriage fly us to the sea
You can share my crystal kingdom
I’ll name you my cure of boredom.

There is so much for the taking
Just remember, no use faking
If ever your heart starts to thaw
Only crystals have nice glow.

What then of my golden bird
Singing perfect songs of hurt.
No price for a mended heart
I collect expensive art.”

She gave him a crystal lyre
And her whole court would admire
The man who’s music has no words
Still its beauty almost hurts.

On two shores folks start to gather
To watch a faint light glowing brighter.
But it’s out on open waters
They make out a woman’s whispers.

Where the North and South winds join
A ghost song calls lost souls home.
The woman’s rhyme and man’s melody
Met in never heard harmony.

A warm feeling kept him playing
Until his fingers were bleeding
Then he used the silver feather
All cried that was made of matter.

We don’t know how this happened
What makes a crystal lyre melt?
Maybe so much it can take
Before it too starts to weep.

Sometimes time would just stand still
Our man thought he just fell ill.
A flame around his crystal heart
He stumbled out before he cried.

Tears of joy and tears of sadness
Then sudden slow and steady gladness
A woman’s voice he heard before
He heads for the sunny shore.

He was on his way to home
He knew he wasn’t alone.
Somewhere beyond crystal seas
A light beams bright that now he sees.

One more place…near where he docks.
Above that tower a raven flocks.
Among the dust and thick cobwebs
A maiden sits … her locks in dreads.

A small circle around her feet
The only place her broom would sweep
There his footprint left behind.
He must have lost track of time

“Oh my Lord..” She cried out weakened.
“You have returned with my token
As God’s my witness I kept my word.
He guided you to my world.

I prayed he showed you the way then,
You were not lost nor were taken
He gave you the pilgrimage
To set you free from your village.”

Some words should never be spoken
Our man smiled, pulled out his token.
He took in the sight and was proud
He didn’t move, nor he laughed.

“For this lock I humbly thank you
But if it was God that spoke through you
Not your wish for company
What’s this sight of misery?

Your heart must know good and bad,
Not to preach to fill your bed,
A fruitless foolish sacrifice….
God doesn’t want our demise.

He waited for no reply
Our man felt that he could fly
A silver feather in his pocket
He took to the road like a rocket.

Followed the light shining brighter
He heard his heart beating louder.
Though it was a cloudy day
Some sharks remained at the bay….

The cooling breeze still stirred the dirt
Stray dogs still lurked at the skirt.
But it was like always before
New seeds sprouted at his front door.

Clean smell of spring and wet earth
How would he undo the hurt?
But there she sat by the window.
Didn’t wear black like a widow.

In a bowl by the old chair
Diamond teardrops as they fell.
White washed walls and clean swept floors
Fresh breeze flew through open doors.

We’ll never know how they bonded.
They were both a little wounded.
In warmth with their love at last
We can say they must healed fast.

More times dark clouds gathered above
None as strong as a reclaimed love.
They learned the hard way what we know
That seasons come and seasons go.

They might wished for white sunny shores
When snow and frost left marks on their doors
Watched birds move with the changing weather
Our man was home with the silver feather.

And what of the words she spoke of
Her promise as he took off
With silver feather she might wrote
This story that seems so old.

The End

The Tale of the Poet

Don’t know the science of rhymeBut listened to the poets cry
Truth has its own strong melody
Didn’t dissect Yates, Mallory

Last time I learned poetry
Foreign tongue read it to me.
My ancestors lived those words,
Drinking bulls’ blood, fighting Turks.

As young as I might have been,
I was led here by a dream
Of open spaces and red dirt
The land of a huge flightless bird.

They say well before you write
Better tame your dual heart
To feel all words of your new land
Or no one will understand.

Before it speaks it must crawl,
You can become a sad toll
Despite all the sun and richness
Most fall from acute homesickness.

Nights of rest and daytime duties
My dreams were all silent movies
Dreaming reflects all your actions
They came to me with the captions.

Waning, going at one far end
The Moon waxed above my red land.
For years I felt the two phases
I spoke broken, new learned phrases.

Paying dues or raising children
Big words just remained unspoken.
Played with fire when yearned water
My artist friend was a waiter.

My boat of love would never sink
But it drifts without the wind
Some days I can be left speechless
I take a breath, no more, no less.

You’d love more a renegade
Than listen to words on parade
When you ask your heart to listen
You believe the phoenix risen.

Let me repeat words mean much
No rules of the truth as such…..
Read me with wine and Chopin
Keep me move my restless pen.

I just write and let you measure
In units of pain and pleasure
How much my loaded pen weighs?
Is it your heart my rhyme raids?

The tale of Inspiration

My muse came to me last night
Nagging me to start to write
It’s been years since we met last
Scruffy stalker of the past.

My old teacher knew my curse
Like bottomless painful thirst
Loneliness brought burning anguish
Only writing could extinguish

My verses of happiness
Always rang false in a mess
Silent muses of the war
In peace they found me a bore

Never forced my heart to sing
An instrument with a string
In landscapes so desolate
My yearning would resonate

So I let some years to pass
Didn’t toast or raised a glass
To my muse and by gone sadness
Left behind that world of madness
Never thanked him in my dreams
Frolicked in the new found greens
Held my man a little tighter
I’m a lover not a fighter.

Old folk say don’t grab too much
Don’t claim all that you can touch.
Greedy hands will all unfold
Showing what you really hold.

Empty arms and empty bed
Loosing treasures once I had
Conjured up my stubborn muse
Like last time, he blew a fuse.

Stumbling by a candle light
Felt him shuffling by my side
He smelled of wine and cigarette
Not a muse you would expect.

Forget maids with marble skin
Angels guarding you from sin
My muse is a scruffy bum
Asking you for ripe old rum.

Barefoot, hanging dirty wings
Playing with my silver rings
Searching for new written pages
An invasion so outrageous

Moaning, shuffling, sudden chuckle
How could he ease any trouble?
Held my hand looked deep in my eyes
His pale blue eyes shaming the skies

“Can’t offer me drink or food
Your treasures not worth the loot.
Take a feather from my wing
They were styled by the wind.

My feet dirty from the road
I walked when I heard you called
Did you expect a blue fairy?
They hide from people who are teary.

No vials of fairy dust
It’s my pockets I don’t trust.
Once they held a broken heart
Through a hole it took to flight.

Once the high priest of heartbreak
Appear to you at your wake
Grieving over days of pleasure
I help you find your greatest treasure.
Mixture of tears and some ink
And the courage not to think
Let your hands follow my feather
Let your heart sing from the deep well.

Call me Scruffy when you write
The full moon will shine so bright
Never mind your broken fuse
You’re not alone with your muse.”

So I again took to writing
Was it for the people’s liking?
I took the words as they came…
It is Scruffy you can blame.

THE END