a scarecrow screams

wood pigeons rise

they can't believe their beady eyes

across the fields

he stiffly strides

years of east winds in his sides

its love he lacks

he's getting old

he wants to come in from the cold

there was a cry

one of his own,

from miles away over walls of stone

what will she think?

is he her type?

imagines her framed ...

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The Raising Of The Trickster

When the western sky turns slowly into the colour of an old bruise

And the last orange streaks of daylight bleed from the setting sun

A cold white vapour swirls through the fields of corn its fingers prising apart the stalks

As the lands of Albion darken and strange noises start to crawl from the mist.

At the edge of the fields there sprawls a ...

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Corruption

Here in the verdant meadows

All on a summer’s day

The dreaded army of the dark

Met with the noble fey

They fought until the long sundown

And the lost blood of the dead

Soaked into the sacred ground

And turned the roses red

When the fight was over

And the legion of the flies

Had swarmed across the corpses

Stealing hope from sightless eyes

...

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Messiah Of The Fields

They left me hanging on a cross

The saviour of the summer crops

Just rag and straw so no great loss

My blood is in the wheat and hops

I faced the black and vicious hoard

Their coal cruel eyes and sharpened beaks

I am the ragged overlord

Who scares the crow yet never speaks

They pray to me to save their soils

From dark boned devils ...

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You know, I was made for this job

I’ve got pretty good at it too

Scaring crows is a vocation

But nowadays it makes me blue

I used to like the simple life

Found it fulfilling to stand tough

But nature takes its toll, alas,

I’ve lost the means to strut my stuff

Long ago, when I first started

I was keen to make some friends

But it seems my arms-out posture

W...

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I Am The Scarecrow

I am the scarecrow.

Hanging from this wooden frame,

a skeleton of twisted wood

that creaks and groans in protest

at the ravages of age.

The ice cold rain

trickles through my straw flesh

bringing chills to every movement

and dull aches to the knotted joints.

I am the scarecrow.

My sack-cloth head

full of sawdust ideas

that spill fr...

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Cycle Of The Scarecrow

before she came
I stood here
for what seemed like eons
with a blood red sun
setting behind me
my head full
of nothing more
than sawdust
straw and dreams
a hole in my chest
where beetles scuttled
happy come rain or shine
my only fear
that crows might see
through me
be brave and bold
and strut towards me
then peck out
my button eyes

now as the shadows g...

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expanded version of the blog I posted a few days ago - this time covering all four seasons.

Cycle Of The Scarecrow

A Scarecrow Dreams Of Living

A scarecrow in autumnal sheen

thinks of all that he has been.

His age old frame begins to lean

as bitter winds blow in, so keen.

He longs for days of evergreen,

so buys back time, wipes the slate c...

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A Scarecrow Dreams Of Leaving

A scarecrow in the wax moonlight

is snowed upon one winters night

and as the crystals, soft, alight

he dreams perhaps some day he might

take footsteps off into the bright

ice world. His skeletal delight

some hours later, fat and white

with snow-flesh -  waiting for coal sight.

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Before She Came (The Girl From Kansas)

before she came

I stood here

for what seemed

like eons

with a blood red sun

setting behind me

my head full

of nothing more

than sawdust

straw

and dreams

a hole in my chest

where beetles

scuttled

happy

come rain or shine

my only fear

that crows might see

through me

be brav...

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