The melting frosts on the midnight roofs
House the cows with their mud-shorn hooves, whilst
Skeletal like, the winter weeping willows sleep, and
The hickory-smoke-scented quietness sweeps
The peace of Christmas past
Down the iron-barred drains.
Joggers, like slugs in the early sunlit morning,
Slowly slither up[i] Mary’s hill,
While the black crows still are cawing
Over the brightness of the slime—
Their foot-fluorescent greens, whose reflection
Marks the sun, sitting high
In the corner of my eye
Beneath the roof
Of my own black felt hat, and
The collar-top lip of my
‘Old man’s overcoat,’
As she calls it—
All bound up and
Tripled-scarved
Against the cutting wind.
Meanwhile, the
[ii]Tesco van of home delivery
Chugs past the empty fields
Of horse and livery,
And all the still fishing ponds
Of dead, Wedge, Wood—
Where the empty goalposts,
Now rusted white,
Stand grinning like rich China men.
Bone-skinned herons, blue and grey,
Like sentinel-still soldiers—
Guardsmen of waiting death—
Are motionless, either side of the
Portals of my memory,
Marking this,
[iii]My wedding day.
Forty years on, the broken boughs
Of old gnarled trees,
Dead stumps, and
Sheared-off trunks
Of the wet and waiting woods
All bear the marks of lightning gone—
Burnt out now,
And cold without the fire.
Halfway down the hill—
A memorial bench,
To Fred (who’s dead),
Surrounded by flowers
Left for the ghosts to see and smell,
Laid by the midnight and unseen people
Wrapped in red ribbon
As the shivering [iv]daffs
Bwa their heads beside the
Cold memorial to poor, dead Fred.
Now a corpse, decayed and vile—
Yet still we’re invited to:
“Please sit awhile and
Remember his laugh.
Consider his smile.”
Memorials are for the living—
Lest they forget.
The dead have forgotten already.
Visiting seagulls crack the surface tension
Of the icy, smoky water,
Whilst the winter sardine-like slaughter
Of the still mirrored-face ponds
Continues on and ever on.
After all—
We’ve all got to eat.
Leaf-empty trees,
Like lungs coughed raw,
Bear like hanging cancer their
🎵 The Ballad Dodecet™ - Twelve Stories. One Epic Song. - 🔥 Step Into the Ballad Universe - Where twelve stories ignite a cosmos.
🌍 A World Across Six Nations- From the mist-shrouded Highlands of Scotland to the deep hollers of Appalachia, the Ballad Dodecet spans: Scotland, England, Ireland-Northern Ireland, Wales, -North America. Each volume taps into centuries of folklore, faith, and frontier resilience—binding together diverse cultures and long-whispered legends into one unforgettable tapestry of story and song.
🎼 Where Music Meets Myth - Fiction, song, and folklore collide. - Each book is laced with:🎶 Original music,📓 Hidden journals & personal letters,📚 Companion fanbooks, 🔎 Easter eggs, crossovers, and spiritual insights
Welcome to a living, breathing world—ready to read, hear, and explore.
🎧 ▶ LISTEN LIVE – WLMP 660 AM- HTTPS://WWW. KINGDOM.ROCKS
Tune in to We Love Mountain Praise for exclusive ballad broadcasts, story-backed songs, devotionals, and behind-the-scenes revelations.
🛒 SHOP THE BALLAD- HTTPS://WWW. DODECET.COM
Support the journey. Collect the songs. Wear the legend.
