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.
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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.
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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.
...

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.
...

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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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.
...

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.
...

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,
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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,
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The Advert Family whatever will be;
With all toothpaste smiles and plenty for Tea.
Have the most Modern of Homes being shiny and clean;
No hint of Life's Buckshot will ever be seen.
...

Now weary Postman just Pass-on by;
With your leaflets of junk that the Soul decries.
What care do I of your Canine tales;
The continuing trials so to bring me the Mail.
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I'll give ‘Larkin' a miss this Whitsuntide,
And all Verse of ‘Byron' I'll set aside.
For the Bells are ringing from a Church near by,
That tell of ‘I do's' and that Mothers cried.
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Once more dear friend I write,
For Poetry you were born.
What's been said is still less,
All Verse you must adorn.
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I dreamt last night of a fortress high,
A black silhouette that clouded the late sky.
Compelled I was towards that lofty height,
For my destiny lay in its foreboding might.
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So apparently Winter has just phoned,
To book it's usual Reservation once more,
It will have the same Room again as last year,
And to decorate the same as before.
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Amy said she loves me
It was Amy who's Heart was true,
Who's loyalties paved the road ahead
So a lasting love ensues.
...