Nursery Rhyme: There’s a Green Teddy Bear

There’s a Green Teddy Bear

Please see a PDF of melody line

There’s a green teddy bear
Sitting jaded in the chair
He bows his head and cries
From his big goldfish eyes

There’s a green teddy bear
In the rocking chair
He wants to go somewhere
But no one seems to care

Can you see him sitting there?
He’s the green teddy bear
He’s going nowhere
Because no one seems to care

Please take him from the chair
The green teddy bear
Let him know you care
Take him somewhere

But if you don’t like green
And alone he’s left to dream
You know he dreams of you
That’s all he wants to do
(Because he wants to be with you)

He’s a green teddy bear
Who sits jaded in the chair
Alone he’s sitting there
He’s not going anywhere, anywhere

There’s a green teddy bear
Alone in the chair
He dreams of you fair
As he languishes there

There’s a green teddy bear
He needs you to care
He’s not going nowhere
He’s a green teddy bear

You say a green teddy bear’s not for you
You say a green teddy bear’s the wrong colour hue
And any way you dislike the colour green
But do you really know this means?

Dec 95

I knew a Teddy Bear fanatic. But she didn’t like the colour green. So I put the two together.

The Actor Always Wears Black

The actor always wears black,
For moving in and for talking in.
For during the theatre ritual
He may be sacrificed for his sin.

He follows the coffin in….
But who has died, who is within.
The funeral is all in the mind,
The corpse wore invisible skin.

The theatrical ritual of the priest.
The altar of the sacrifice.
The plot calls for a saviour from the east,
For a sacrificial victim.

Actors always wear black!
Black for death, but who has died?
No-one is missing from the cast,
The bookings are good, the play may last.

The stage is covered in black!
Black for death, but who dies,
In every nightly sacrifice,
In every nightly ritual.

The theatre is dark, has someone died?
They never came to their seat.
Time came in to see the play,
He chewed the audience in his teeth.

The theatre will never be free,
Ensnared to the supernatural,
Dipped in the watery sea
Of nightly theatrical baptism.

So the audience came to see
First night and initiation,
But the tragic heroine of purity
Is sacrificed by the patron.

The actor always wears black!
Black for death, but who has died?
The private life of their lives
Is published by the tabloid.

The rebirth takes place each show
Of comedy, drama and conflict.
The actor always wears black
In case death has him on his list.

13th June 1995

I did a part time course in theatre and stagecraft. An unmissable and recommended experience. Theatrical customs were a fascinating world to discover.

The Lament of Admiralty Arch.

photo taken friday morning 12 7 19
admiralty arch from street

You can be a master tailor from Hong Kong looking for a toilet as you walk through Admiralty Arch. But no one speaks and no one knows. But if they ask then light a candle in that darkness.

You can be a civil servant who had his car stolen by a secret agent. You see him drive off through Admiralty Arch, but no-one speaks and no-one knows, the people in the crowd are no different than Lemmings. But if someone should notice then light a candle in the dark under Admiralty Arch.

You can be the director of American Oil, looking for the way to the Harrods superstore. But nobody stops and nobody knows. Everyone is single-minded, and go their own way under Admiralty Arch. But if someone should notice you then light a candle in that darkness under Admiralty Arch.

You are a train spotter from a hobby magazine making your way to Victoria station. You spin off from the crowd round Trafalgar square but nobody recognises you or knows your identity as you make your way through Admiralty Arch. But if someone should say good day, light a candle in the darkness under Admiralty Arch.

You are a tourist from a girls only holiday, looking for a restaurant where the rich and famous go, so you nervously explore the palace area and walk through Admiralty Arch and nobody knows you and nobody talks, everyone swarms like shoals of fish swimming. But if someone should stop and say hello, please light a candle in that darkness of Admiralty Arch.

For this is a game and no one can stop it, the forces at work compel the behavior. Each one of us with a history belonging to part of the tree of humanity; just like a leaf swept up by street cleaners and discarded somewhere in a heap under Admiralty arch.

Nov 10th, 1995

The Lake Waters would Stretch

The lake waters would stretch out in the evening
A dark reflection of the sky
Or a reflection of my real soul
Dark and impenetrable to the human eye.

I’d walk by the glassy water
Spreading out, glassy and cold
Sleeping beneath me, in a fearless dream
Dark and heavy, glassy, tinted with cold.

Something I need to understand
I see a deeper ledge
I cannot see any further down
I become a candle flame, glowing by the edge.

Candle soot whirls skywards
Into the crystal air
The lake sleeps like the anima
Unconscious in the depth of its lair

Then the earth shuts out the sunset
Behind its closing door
The lakeside takes one last sigh
Then the night would hit the floor.

The leaves of trees would fill me
With a dark, secret, rustling sound
Then all seemed to go silent
In the landscape all around.

A crescent moon would be behind me
With one eye and half a smile
And I’d walk along the soft water’s edge
Just for a little while.

Home became a prison then
To return to alone and cold
But with a little of the wilderness
Singing in my soul.

Chasewater, 2000

Alone in the Shoe Repair Shop

Alone in the shoe repair shop
The child becomes a spider
Who carries an anvil
Behind the shop counter
That becomes a crippled clotheshorse
That gallops amongst piles of shoes’
In the unlit workroom
Where the smell of leather
Is as slick as a tin of Brasso
That spills over a box of rubber heels
Where the smudges of wax polish
Like burn marks are branded
In the cobblers heart of shoe leather

Alone in the Shoe Repair Shop
Another shoe jumps
Onto the upturned iron foot
As cobwebs cover the dead child
Who rolls in the eye of the cobbler
Who fills his mouth with tacks
While bleeding from his feet
Whose socks are bedraggled lions
Tearing the carcass of the rent man
Who rolled on the floor in flames
After a bible thumped against a door cupboard
Where old hammers are stored
In cake tins along with bankruptcy
That walks in the army boots
Of a Methodist preacher that echo
In a parade ground in France

Alone in the shoe repair shop
The child is split in two by a cuckoo
That turns into a Football Pools lady
As shoes fly at the clock-face
Carrying bags of nails
That dam up the floods of tears
Of the small child looking for a seat
Amongst the generation gap of black machinery
That dribbles oil and grease
Into the eye of a dead bantam cock
That pulls a Wellington boot
From a plague of birds in the fireplace

Alone in the Shoe Repair shop
The small child is a shattering windowpane
Where the distant sound of a town
Is falling into an orphan’s nursery rhyme
And fills the empty street outside
With powder puffs and nail varnish
As the tram cars whistle by
A tune like a broken pitch pipe
As girlie books fall from the thundercloud
That opens an old budgie cage
Hanging from a weeping willow tree

Alone in the shoe repair shop
Where the darkness drips like magnetism
Into the grimy sink
As earth worms cover the machinery
That becomes the loss of a dead bird
Who sings itself to death
In the lap of the lonely child
Who followed it into oblivion
Where a dragon lived in an old shoe
In a bowl of mashed potato

Alone in the Shoe Repair shop
The thick canvas machine belts
Rotate the earth
Beneath an avalanche of worn shoes
Piling up in the toy cupboard
As darkness falls on the street outside
As Christmas stuffs a chicken with a nightmare
That turns the small child into granite
And runs away from there
Into mists of forgetfulness

Phoebe

20190715_175246-1.jpg

Just before I wake up, dream mother finds me in shreds
She patches me up and I wake up, look into the morning mirror
My reflection disappears down the Yellow Brick Road.

Dream mother opens her trumpet mouth
She blasts all the Blue Meanies with her ships horn
A flag stick out of her mouth and undulates in a dream wind.

Dream mother is a life-size cutout in a travelling circus
She stands in the Technicolour dream with a faded identity.
Let us walk down the yellow brick road into reality
Where you leave me standing at your headstone.

It was everything you ever wanted
All the woodland animals were in your hair.
You came to life in a television comedy;
Your dream mother made it all come true.

But after thanksgiving she was lost
Somewhere in the back streets of Bombay.

Blood Made Gold

When human warmth is normal
The full hue
When you walk into
The room of a close family
Their smells
Cover you in
Blood made gold

A blessed family
A home of human warmth
How their lives
Have relaxed into harmony
When every surface is alive
With layers of breath-touch-love
Reapplied daily
Burnished
Like blood made gold

This human tenderness
Fashioned into manifold affections
That paint the room
That watercolour the air
That sing a gentle lullaby
Of activity
Where relationship
Combines a hive, a nest, a den
Into a womb
Of blood made gold

How the beauty of the home
Is overwhelming
When it works
To fill your needs
When it grows quietly
Like a summer meadow
Between their lips
How different life is
For its family
Who lie for an eternity
A life of blood made gold

June 2019

Venus and Mars

I have to stay up “till midnight”
You will be asleep by then –
Then the watchman leaves into the streets
Overlooked by Venus sparkling over the city.

Midnight is a long time away now
As far as the North Pole in winter
Where the giant clockwork machine turns the universe
That ploughs through the fields, tuning up bones and larks eggs.

After two years of seeing each other you ask
1. Is there more to life than love?
2. Lets play hide and seek with the stars.

Sleep draining sleep; until Venus strikes her bell.
Dream of me as the thin wooden man on the battlefield
Struggling with the red eyes of Mars in the shadows.

Sleep, darling, sleep safe in your soft bed
While Venus sparkles above you – unforgetfull of this hope . . .

The Child likes to go Scouting

The child likes to go scouting for the wagon train that appears on television and he runs through the barley field on a pale horse terrified of the grim reaper who stands at the foot of an oak tree as the child plays in it’s branches.

scout 1

The child likes to trudge through the snow that covers him up to his knees as he sits at his desk in school as the bombardment of Israel begins and fills the classroom with white lights as the headmaster straps his hands. Then the child rolls through the math’s class inside the shoe of a nightmare.

scout 2

The child likes to explore the Lane where man has hardly walked before. He finds a playground where no child has ever played. The roundabouts are slow in the wind. The swings chain imprisons outlaws as bullies are buried in a grassy tomb on the edge of the land as the world ends.

scout 4

The child discovers a girlfriend who smells of butter and sunlight. He looses her in the mouth of a joke that opens a world he can’t see in where St. Mathew walks on an abyss taking pocket money for a Mars Bar.

The child is drawn to a football game played by the big boys for life. He scores a goal in the teacher’s mouth and is chased down the street by a big dog as the Black Hand gang wait by the garages he follows the whistle of a ghost train that draws a stick along the iron fence as he walks over the dead crows in Bird Cage Walk.

The child has discovered a Sunday school where he can only have one eye. He becomes a hurricane of games as the night puts a hood on his head and he dreams of a terrifying dragon that spits cement into his mouth and locks him up in a council house.

 

The child likes to scare his mother by leaping out from a cupboard as she returns home from her work painting. She paints Robins for Christmas Cakes, and she keeps them in a big drawer, it’s too big and too high up to open, while Job talks to Jeremiah in the night sky, his mouth fills up with vinegar.

The child doesn’t know he has grown, he finds himself in a Youth Club, where Motown lights fall on the dance floor, in his clothes that shrink tightly around him and blisters on his feet from the shoes that are always too small for him. The world opens its mouth like a fish and he sees Jonah in its belly.

Your love is a crystal waterline –

Introduction

Your love is a crystal waterline by a warm, sandy golden beach where the sun mingles with the ocean breeze and the fruits of the jungle roll into pools of water.
Your love is the mystery of an African summer set free as a bird on the Caribbean wind. Your brown body is as intoxicating as the mixed wine of Lisbon.

Your passions suddenly rise like the hurricane winds of the Caribbean and sweep across the islands in a blind fury of passionate ardour, devastating the fields of slave traders, throwing the Spanish treasures ships against tidal waves; broken by your whirlwind, freeing their cargoes of spices into the hot summer air. Oh to be in the
eye of you’re passionate hurricane and to be carried out to sea in your amorous storms.

The equatorial heat of your hands in mine causes earthquakes in my deepest soulful depths; undersea volcanoes erupt and give birth to new islands, paradises, filled with new creations, strange birds and wild animal calls, new scented flowers and new fruits to delight the palettes of sea-admirals in search of bounty.

Oh, my Barbados beauty, a shoal of dolphins are your limbs against mine and deep coloured jewels of coral are your words of love. Your body is like the date palms swaying over the lagoons of love.

Oh, my love, your virtue is like the wardrobes of Carib Princesses’ concealed in jungle pyramids until love finds its way to your secret doors, doors of strong metals, heavy to open, laden with gold plate, silver and jeweled, with mysterious ancient secret writing telling of El Dorado, the land of gold. The secrets of which you have promised to tell on the day you are wed, to give with hugs and kisses to the one you love.

Oh my love, you pour love into my cup like a mountain waterfall of pure mineral water and never ending stream of refreshment are your ways flowing into mine. My love for you is as constant as the sun of equatorial African lands, as glowing as the sunsets of Caribbean islands. As joyous as the lovebirds of isolated Caribbean islands that having never
known hunger. As deep as the trenches of ocean floors where fire and water are married and deep-sea light fish glow in the dark waters.

Your love like the fermentation of mixed fruits blended by victualers and served at marriage feasts. Like the water turned into the best wine and saved until last, that is the miracle of your love, the blessing you are.

I. The debts of winter

The debts of winter chain me to the sun.
Slave to the fire in the big blue sky.
The debts of tears, fix me like a sundial,
That shadows encircle all through summer.

A sun too far – I am frozen to death!
A sun too near – I turn to sand!
Oh to close the door and walk down the steps
To walk away from tears, to walk away from debts.

II. Staring at the sun

Staring at the sun
There’s no buying and no selling
There’s no trying and no telling
There’s no export and no import
There’s no exchange and nothing’s bought

There’s no exchange
You’re a victim of the rage
There’s no exchange
So you have to disengage
Staring at the sun
There’s no rifle and no gun
There’s no betting and nothing’s won
There’s no sadness and no fun
There’s no running and no where to run

There’s no ransom
You’re on trial for your life
There’s no ransom
When you’re staring at the sun

III. In love I learnt all about you

In love I learnt all about you
When love faded into friendship
The abundant knowledge was wasted
But I have learnt the lesson
That passionate love explores

In partnership with the sun
You remain my secondary light of night
The tides of my heart are dangerously tidal
For I have learnt the lesson
That passionate love explores

In partnership with the moon
I circle the lonely ocean tides
I fill the darkened night
I plumb the ocean depth
For I have learned the lesson
That passionate love explores

IV. Are we still friends?

Are we still friends? Are we still enemies?
Enemies of the love We did not sustain
Betrayers of passion Lovers of friendship
With feelings of guilt Over loves lost pain

So now stand and face the blinding sun
And truthfully say to a lost loved one
That we will still be friends
When the sun is no more

V. Her warmth is better than the suns

Her warmth is better than the suns
But as with a rose I hold a thorn
But as with a snake I’m bitten.

In a dream she’s floating in a tree
Branches like a windows broken pane
From hunter to victim she succumbs
Keeping her wide eyes upon me.

Hungry – she needs consoling,
Her disguise exchanged for love.
Tomorrow?
She’s been too hurt to say
What tomorrow wants from yesterday.

VI. I like to humiliate men

I like to humiliate men
I like to see them crying,
I blame men for living,
I blame men for dying.

This picture, who could foresee?
A woman who humiliates me,
She calls it – a game of tease
And brings me down, to my knees.

I am a grand defender on a wall.
He is the weak attacker on the floor.
There is a note of sarcasm in my call,
As to my door he crawls.

I am a woman who likes to humiliates men
By blackmail, love, so who can mend?
What experience taught me so?
To love, to hurt with body blow.

I’m a well-defended territory.
Taunting my imagined enemy,
Yet in the nights of loneliness
Beats a lost and lonely heart.

If only I could cast away
Those past losses, cruel lies.
Fighting for my pride is good
But as a lover I cry and cry…

VII. A feral pigeon was crushed today

A feral pigeon was crushed today under an aggressive tyre
(So I’ve died a little today), its feathers are its shroud.
If its wings could rise and fly to take that body into the sky;
If imagination could rejuvenate the love that was crushed today.

If, instead of dying – living! Love was brought back to life!
Alas only common sense and skill Can deflect the bloodstained knife.
Merely a cloud passing by like my thoughts unclear.
Loneliness returns in the guise of heat hazed anviled air.
Like a passing stranger how she changes in front of me
From a living love within – to an escaped born vision.

I loved her when she was a part of me; I loved her when I was part of her,
But like two distant feral birds we separate untouchable.
Upon a half travelled road she stopped and never was the same again,
Like the end of a hurricane our love affair blew over.
Like the feral pigeon crushed under the wheels of an aggressive car,
Red and crushed and mangled in a shroud of feathers.

What if those feathers still could fly? And took the body into the sky.
What if the heart still could love? And live again for evermore.

VIII. What I feel

What I feel falls into mists.
What I want is hidden in the mists.
Like a baby In swirling mists
I search for you In deepening mists.

Mists – Have the face of sorrow,
Mists – Have the heart of tomorrow.
Mists – Don’t remember the way
Through the mists of yesterday.

IX. The total commitment of her soul

Is eclipsed by the hunger of her hurt!
That men cared,
that men cannot mend;
What time writes,
time forgets to erase.

Time – be gone,
Time don’t ruin loves eternity.
Time – die;
time – cease,
Let lovers like her be free.

Time, stop! Stop your careless game!
Time, end! End your mindless search!
Time, finish! As of now, stop!
Love, your understudy, must have your part.

X. Clothed in the haze of the moon

Clothed in the haze of the moon
Fed by the light of the sun
Loved by the remnant of stars
Remembered by the eternal one

Oh to be like one of those ones
The stones of new creation
Oh to be like one of those
With pure hearts, strong hands, fair faces.

XI. There are gods who do good

There are gods who do good for the good that is done
There are gods who revile the goodness of one
There are gods who repay with more than just dreams
There are gods who will kill you as the payment agreed

So for the good deeds that you have done
Be sure they are sold to the honest one
And never reveal the secret you hold
For fear you’re betrayed by the hearts that are cold

XII. They have grown with her as their protector

They have grown with her as their protector
They will not let her go
Now they keep her captive
To make safe their conquered home

The children’s darkness is slow to fade
From their mothers life
Dependent on her, she becomes their slave
Always the mother, never the wife

All the others that love her so
Are turned away like dragons
And if she grows to love someone
She feels as if she’s in the wrong

Pride taught her to be strong
Produced immense courage amid
Loneliness she could not resolve
As she fought to rear her kids

They’ve grown up around her
Like a fortress wall
The children subdue the parent
While they grow up tall

She struggles to be free of them
To find a life of her own again
But walls are hard to break down
With children’s darkness all around

We’re trapped by what others do to us
And no one seems to see
We’re trapped by what others do to us
They stop us being free

Aug 25 95

XIII. OF ALL THE THINGS TO KEEP OF ME

Of all the things to keep of me
You keep my front door key
You have a gift for comedy
You keep my front door key

With a sixth sense you sneak in
When I am not at home
Desperate for privacy
To sit inside alone

My caricature you like to draw
Always makes me smile
A bittersweet kind of treat
Humour in my trial

I know you keep it secret
The engagement ring I gave
Among the glass and plastic
Something worthwhile saved

That and what you think of me
That and my front door key
An insurance against the slavery
To come and go invisibly

You like to keep me laughing
As my heart you break
To catch me off my guard maybe
To look for hidden mistakes

Laughing at our break-up?
But my mocked heart bleeds
To hear the fumbling in a lock
Of those front door keys

Fri Sept 22 95

XIV. I wrote to a loved one

I wrote to a loved one
“My heat belongs to you”
Like a bundle of swag
She took it and vanished

What do women do?
With all the hearts of men who fell for them
Keep them in their jewelry boxes?
Pile them up in their wardrobes?
(They overflow their dresser draws)

Hearts – materialistic keepsakes!
– Collectibles for kleptomaniacs
Women with hearts are like squirrels with nuts

Hearts are nothing to believe in
Give and take at our peril
If they beat – it’s just a clinical fact
And nothing to do with feelings

Hearts are bought and sold for love
Isn’t it a shame
Who will wipe away the tears?
Where you carve her name

XV. A LITTLE BIT OF ME

A little bit of me seemed empty
When I was going out with you
– It was my heart

You felt, to me, like a stray thing
That couldn’t trust a man

A little bit of me became empty
When you came round
– like a crime scene, taped off
It was my heart

But now and then, in fun
You’d smile and hug me tight with happy eyes
Then that little bit of me was happy for a while

I tried to make you comfortable
I tried to make you see
What had happened inside of me

But you were molded in the image
Of the things you had suffered and seen
Though my love was true
You still projected them onto me

So a little bit of me seemed empty
When I was left alone by you
It was my heart

Oct 8th 95

XVI. THERE IS A HOUSE WHERE NO-ONE SEEMS TO LIVE

There is a house where no-one seems to live
There is a home where no-one seems to dream
People stop and wonder who lives there
As nights grow shorter in the autumn air

There is a house where no-one seems to be
Yet in that house, there is one – there is me
A house where no visitors appear
A home that seems empty all the year

There is a house that grows dark every night
There is a home that seems ignored by life
Inside, it is cared for just about
Inside you hear the silence from without

Oct 12 95

XVIII. I SPEND ANOTHER DAY INDOORS

I spend another day indoors
As something grows inside me
I close the curtains and lock the doors
So no one can define me.

I lie down and dream all day
Thinking of a name,
At high noon as children play
The problems still the same.

I want a good name for my son
And the best I know by far –
I’ll call him Gary – after Cooper
My favourite film star.

I’ll spend another day indoors
As something grows inside me.
I’ll close the curtains and lock the doors
So no one can define me.

Somehow I must plan ahead,
Somehow I must prepare,
Someday I’ll meet another one
Who’ll treat me a lot more fair

I’ll keep this hope alive inside
To blaze unending fire.
Meanwhile, I’ll act wisely
Til’ a true love I acquire.

I’ll spend another day indoors
As someone grows inside me
I’ll close the curtains and lock the doors
And dream of things that might have been
and dream and dream and dream and dream

27 Oct 95

Bag Full of Rocks

My rocks are the memories from different adventures. I thought I would just leave this bag here.

Relatos desde mi ventana

Sentimientos, emociones y reflexiones

Thinking Chitalia

As opposed to a “not thinking chitalia”

.*♥**♥*★ *♥*..*♥*. BERNARD *♥**♥*★ *♥*..*♥*.

♥♥ ♥♥ MES PLUS BEAUX BISOUS D'AMITIES A VOUS ♥♥ ♥♥

AuAu Over

Storytelling Notes Blog

a.mermaid'spen_

I am as lost as the ocean💫

Naked on the inside

Writing like no one will read it.

sva-vida

"self discovery"

clairevetica

poems, prose and pathways

lifesfinewhine

Beauty Blogger + Lifestyle Blogger+ Food Blogger+ Travel Blogger+ Recipe Blogger

FEEDBACK Female Film Festival

Showcasing the best of female talent. Filmmakers and Screenwriters

Top 10 of Anything and Everything - The Fun Top Ten Blog

Animals, Gift Ideas, Travel, Books, Recycling Ideas and Many, Many More

La Page @Mélie

Contre le blues, le meilleur remède, c'est le rock...!

Dustus Blog

Poetry, Flash Fiction, and more

Paris-La Rochelle

Le temps du rêve

Reverie in reverse

Phillip's latest reveries

BUTTERFLY EFFECT🌸

Baby steps in the right direction👣

Adeline Wrights Poetry

A place of love, pain, and pondering

%d bloggers like this: