Kevin Hulme

I said goodbye to the fields of the Summertime, The loud cries of the village fair. The mist in the vale by the rising sun, To the Girl with the Titian Hair. I said farewell to the Brooks and the Cottage near, To the birds and the songs they do share. The walks in the dusk after long sultry days, To the Girl with the Titian Hair. A lasting look to the Larkspur and the Rose, And the scent that give all to the air, The Oak by the lane where I spoke of the Heart, To the Girl with the Titian Hair. I said goodbye to the Sun setting far in the West, For the Eve's were all burnished and rare. Where she told of her Love for another in wait, For the Girl with the Titian Hair. Now when the frost and the snow of the wintertime come, To strip the dress of the Countryside bare, I will think of a love one Summer Time past. To the Girl with the Titian Hair.
...

So this is Love and the Rich Vein it applied,
The Byronic Verse and Blue April skies.
All thoughts of you are maddeningly hectic,
Thoroughly charged like ‘Dylan' gone electric.
...

To the phone users lift up your heads;
For you appear as mourners in prayer for the dead.
Look all around where Nature is shown;
Where Colour and Scent are by Gaia once Sown.
...

Amongst the row upon row of polished shelf's,
The Books all patiently stand in file.
Their stories and facts make up their wealth,
And whatever else their leaves compile.
...

Porcelain face, clear eyes set in blue,
The hair no barber could tame.
In love with a girl in the gamine kind of style,
Oh I wish I was Eighteen once again.
...

The Dormer Windows open wide,
And views the yawning countryside.
For beyond the glare of the familiar pane,
A Tableau spread of life in train.
...

What; I wonder is this Poem about,
As I'm climbing the walls in working it out.
A few nice words are here and there,
The Odd Choice Rhyme that we all could bare.
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Would for a peculiar single lone day
As if by chance all time confused,
You looked at me in a Loving way
Now such laws of fate removed.
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For so it is when I cannot sleep,
I set myself to counting Sheep.
My eyes grow heavy around Eighty Eight,
But by the time I get home I'm wide awake.
...

That was the moment when I stumbled to fall
From the jolt of the Heart by the joy of it all,
The fleeting look that at once gave thought
That told of Love in a instant caught.
...

The bold fact is the Wars continuous;
It's the same fight that's been boiling for years.
One Country knocked over another Country's drink, or stared at the others girlfriend.
There's been the odd lull for Tea and Biscuits,
...

So here I am waiting for the damn bus,
A perfect portrait depicting my life up to date.
And throughout the world people are creating such wonderful things,
But it appears wasting my time was to be my just fate.
...

Friday comes around once more,
Like a faithful dog with a ball again.
So I'll lock the front door and draw the blinds,
Upload all cares thereby unwind.
...

And so it was in early May; where the Season's Fancies brightly played.
There were shards of light throughout the lane, For the Sun had found its youth again.
To play among the Oak and Yew, and entomb it's light in Meadow dew.
In the layered mist about the glade;
...

When Love came it took hold of me completely,
Like a thousand cry's of ‘YES' it just ran up to greet me.
Out of all the Hearts in all the World she had to walk into mine,
It's the Oh I don't think we're in Kansas anymore kind.
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Just a few lines to clear the air, from your eraser of prospects and dreams. Since the annulment now is pending in court from a marriage that's torn at the seams, I'll assume she was ecstatically happy, when divorce was breathed to your Mum, I was never the one for her best ' Blue Eyed Girl', that rinsed haired Attila the Hun. No Prius parked in the driveway or Audi with performance to trust, for we both traveled so, Waiting for ' Godot' to show, that which is known as the Regional Bus. No holidays to Mauritius or Bali, Ibiza, Malta, Hong Kong, for we pitched up our tent where we usually went, in a field near the Scenic A1. Once hope was a thing with feathers, now our lives a ever widening gulf, with shades of 'Taylor and Burton' and the script of 'Virginia Woolf'. Oh I was never the Worlds Greatest Lover, No fine romance had ever been payed, no 'Savile Row Suits or style 'Al La Mode' my choice look was more 'Christian Aid'. So it's Mea Culpa my dear, I was never your true 'Mister Right', the engagement the Montgolfier wonder, the Marriage The Hindenburg flight. Then forgive me so for I have sinned, for saying ' I Do ' to the chaste Miss Lynd. And should I die before I wake, it's just desserts for my mistake.
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How I wish I was born the Heroic Man, And travel the Globe To foil the odd plan. Of World domination by a mad Doctor or two, Then bloody his nose and blow up his H.Q. But when fate dealt the cards it was never my lot, So I amble along with the life that I got. No Femme Fatale Or Russian Spy to entrap me with all her charms, My other half is The 'Fish Shop' Girl,
All Tattoos and Wrestlers arms. No Aston Martin awaits outside,
For the tables at 'Royale' with Le Chiffre, As I place my bet, with the Bingo Set, All Grannies and National Health teeth. No Savile Row Suits That are elegantly cut, The Shoes the finest made.
I am what you see, a pity full sight, An advert for Christian Aid. No U.N.C.L.E. agent or 'Saint' am I, Nor partner to the divine Mrs Peel. Never travel afar to some exotic locale, Or punch ups to bring Villains to heel. A life of intrigue would be my plan,
...

It's 4.O Clock in the morning,
With a restless mind and a new day dawning.
And I just won't get back to sleep again,
From the volume of cry's by a world full of pain.
...

For so it was as I walked through the Aisle,
That cheap local store for my daily bread.
Unmoved by the signs of 5 percent off,
Now saving you money baloney rot.
...

It was April I'm sure, Such a cruel windy night. How the trees did shake By the rain Blackened sky. For there overhead such a storm was announced, So I took shelter under roof of a Lychgate near by. And with a Howl and a Gust, the downpour was made, As the town did retire behind a curtain of mist, For awhile I must wait, By the Funeral gate, Until the Heavens had spoken, All anger desist. And as I looked all around, To the Graveyard near, Not a sight of a Soul could be seen in the gloom. Until my eye caught the form of a figure in White, Alone and forlorn, standing near a small Tomb. With up most concern, I approached the small girl , For female it was with her long Ringlets of hair. And barefoot she stood in a nightgown of silk, An image I formed to be of forsaken dispair. It took me as strange as I gazed at the girl, How her tresses were unmoved by the strengthening gale, And the dress of pure White, Was unnerving a sight, By its stillness no storm could assail. 'What need do you have here'? I asked of the child, ' This is no place to be wandering at night '. Her eyes had a look that were distant and dull, For no man ever witnessed a more disturbance of sight. ' I want to be home, To be with my Mother again', ' To read Rhyme and to be lulled on to sleep'. ' To see my dear Pa for they all miss me so, Now sitting by my bedside to weep'. I took the child's age as Six Summers long, I asked her ' Pray tell me your name'. ' I'm Lillian Grace, Oh Lillian Grace My home is down Old Priory Lane'. Her voice seemed to come from a distant place, Like a calling from another room. How the face pierced my Soul, By its Pure portrait of White, To give an unearthly shock, To this canvas of gloom. ' The wind has a frost you must be feeling this night', For I warrant it was numbing with cold. ' It will bother me not, I thank you kind sir, Since the Fever did start to take hold'. ' I just want to be Home with my Mother again and read Rhyme and to be lulled on to sleep, To see my dear Pa, for they all miss me so, Now sitting by my bedside to weep'. And with those last words she turned and so walked, To the Black shape of the Church sat behind. And so stately a walk was the flow of her tread, To give disquiet to the sanest of minds. The wet Blackened trees seemed to swallow her up, And no more did I see her wan face. So with the storm at its height, On this dismal of nights, I was just wanting to be gone from this place. Now so left alone I looked on towards, the Tomb that seemed to hold her in place, How my Blood ran on cold, By the words on the slab. For the name was of one Lillian Grace.
...