THE OLD VARDO
By Paul Stevens The old vardo Broken and forgotten Paint flaking, cracked Like tattered autumn leaves Falling petals dancing in the wind Caught beneath a broken wheel The door falls open Creaking, singing to the wind Whispers of sound trickle from the cold Like echoes lost in time Inside, darkness shredded Through the shattered roof Cloud-broken sunlight climbs the walls And remembers the magical essence The spirited heart and musical souls Of the people of the road Haunted vardo, standing still In your atchin tan Your old beauty now a secret sign Waiting for the heart to set you free Before you become "Just a memory" A TRIBUTE TO BIG TOM By Melchior Locke Big Tom was a piebald horse, seventeen hands Head held high, handsome Main flowing, fetlocks feathered His coat was bright and gay For nigh on five and twenty years I shared my thoughts with him Harnessed for plough, shaft, festival or show Coat groomed, leather soft and supple Evil spirits warded off by brightly burnished brasses Decorated terret atop his head Shoulders powerful, pulling plough, furrows straight and true Turned over by the share Followed by black-inked rooks and wheeling, screaming gulls Ploughed field flattened by harrow tines Breaking clats ready for the seed Sowing, scuffling, harvesting, mowing, All taken in his stride March, April, May he covered mares Who, when amply stinted, for eleven long months carried Afore throwing his frisky, long-legged foals Farriers' favourite, standing stock-still Silent as hooves pared, shoes set and nailed Sparks flying from his feet as down the lane he lolloped For nigh on five and twenty years I shared my thoughts with him Head hung low and broad back sagged Time had taken its toll Spirit willing, but strength had waned, made way for younger horse And Tom in pleasant pastures lazed Every eve no matter what, I saw him in the field He ambled slowly to the gate, and gently from my hand Took apple, brown bread and his favourite current cake I called his name, and called again, empty was the field I hurried to the stable yard - poor old Tom had died For nigh on five and twenty years I'd shared my thoughts with him And I cried! ONE MORE DAY By Mary Horner Buzzards, Red Kites, Ravens Circle in the sky Free to roam the countryside Away from you and I I watch them and I envy Their freedom and their skill For part of me feels wild Loves to travel as I will There's nothing I like better Than to roam from place to place Just hills, and trees and rivers And not a single face For nature is so wondrous Takes my breathe away So many times I'm grateful For living one more day! A POEM FOR MY NAN From Dan There she goes, a joy to behold If only I’d be blessed to have a last kiss and hold You cared for me and loved me and tried to help me so I would not fold And you still inspire me to break free from this choke-hold When the pain and headaches were too much to bear She was our comforter and always was there If I could make a wish, one would not be enough To repay you for your kindness, for your love and enough lovely stuff If heaven was missing an angel, we had found her She was the sweetest thing in the world We loved being around her - she was an angel In our life there’s not much that compares to she She was BETTY my Nan, as sweet as could be GOOD NIGHT NAN – GOD BLESS xxxxxxx |
WHITE WATER
From Wildman The river is wild yet peaceful The wind is in my face I can hear the voice of the river My grip is firm in place I feel the strength of the current As it pulls me from side to side My knees are locked in tightly It’s a rough and rocky ride Ahead I see still waters My heartbeat starts to slow I’ll ride the river again someday It thrills my very soul DISILO By Jean Hope Disilo is breaking, another night is done Disilo is breaking, here comes the morning sun I think I'll go out hawking, I hear my father say To try and take some vonger and sell my rugs today! NOBODY'S DAUGHTER By Rita Light I 'm nobody's daughter, the reason you see I've now lost both parents and alone as can be My father he died over twelve years ago My Mum I've just lost her and I miss them both so Brought up in a family with so much love Of that I really can thank God above A Gypsy child is really so blessed By having a childhood that's really the best I loved them so much and the pain is so bad If only I could have back my Mum and my Dad They loved me so much and protected me so Oh! Please God above, why did you let them go The memories I have are all so sweet Like when they called me their "Baby girl Reet" If one thing in this world I wish I could alter It would be to say that I'm "Somebody's daughter THE TRAVELLER By Francis Allen From city, town or village green Under the stars where life is free Come my friend, yoke up your horse Let's hitch up and then go forth Oh! What a joy it is to roam And have a vardo for a home A home on wheels is my delight Pulled by a horse with all it's might Doing hard work for little pay To help us get through every day Some days here, some days there Living life without a care From dawn to dusk we work our way Over hills and dales and far away When sitting by the firelight glow Thank God for what we Travellers call home With horse and cart, love and care We’ll work our way to Appleby Fair This ancient town of Travellers’ joy Where old friends meet, both man and boy With whippet, lurcher or greyhound Through the fields we hunt around If we catch a rabbit, it’s a winner It means we have tomorrow’s dinner For day by day as we grow old A Traveller’s life is just like gold Like trinket, jewel or precious stone Life is sweet if you can roam When tired and weary and past my best And God calls me on to take my rest I hope in Heaven I can roam And have a vardo for my home Then when in death my living soul Will never reach the end of the road As I lie and wait for God to say “Come on chaver, it’s Judgement Day” SPIRIT OF THE EAGLE By Wildman If I were an eagle I’d surely fly away I’d fly off to the mountains And that is where I’d stay I’d soar out over canyons I’d reach out for the sky I’d live a life of freedom Where there is no sense of time No rules or regulations These things I would not need I 'd live in peace and harmony My spirit would be free Yes, if I were an eagle I’d surely fly away High up in the mountains Forever I would stay COME ALONG By Jean Hope Come along with me Take a stroll down an old dirt track Meander where it goes Either side, trees and hedgerows A blackbird singing his song Come along! Listen to the popping of the garse Neighing of the horse Nature is so alive, the bees gathering pollen The berries red The busy ants, the spider's web How good to be alive! Feel the sun upon your face A gentle breeze, not far to go See the field where the vardo once stood Oh! How good Happy hours of play, all day Now all a memory for me And for you to see Come along! COUSINS ON THE COMMON "Simensas aprey o kekkano musha poov" By Melchior Locke Did you see our cousins on the common at Corse? Two black and white ponies and a skewbald horse Rom in yellow dikklo, Romni in coloured skirt Open lot, Bow top, Reading - and a Mongolian Yurt! Kettle gently singing over a smoky yog Chavies noisily playing on a fallen log Raklos in ragged trousers, raklis in faded frocks Chestnut hair cascading, in untidy locks Local people pausing, just to stand and stare What are those Gypsies doing? They should not be there! The Romanies take no notice, The Gorgios look askance As Dadrus starts to kel o bosh and chavies begin to dance It all looked so natural, easy and carefree If only people 'Lived and let Live’, how happy we would be Soon the Travellers will be gone, no rubbish to be seen Except a heap of ashes where the fire has been! THE RIVER FAIR By Kaleb N. Reynolds (aged 13) As I drift down the river Ripples swish up on the sides of the canoe I pull the canoe up on the bank And build a fire to dry my shoes I start back down the river so blue I watch the robins dance on the bank They break into groups To dance in the sky Along with their neighbours the bluebirds They dance and fly around in the evening sky They dance until they can't dance anymore And they go to roost In a tall green spruce I watch them as I float down the river The river fair so blue |
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