Autumn Leaves
by
Peter Allchin
Copyright 2012 Peter Allchin
Also by Peter Allchin:
Table of Contents
Autumn
The Lesson
The Witching Hour
The Park Bench
My Love
My English Heaven
Christmas Eve
The Hand of Death
Weather
Ocean:A Sapphic Ode
Autumn
The summer has passed by again and now
The days grow shorter with each passing hour
And shadows lengthen with the cooling sun
The cold of night to kill the summer flower.
For this is Autumn, glorious in its cloak
Of death, decay, and swirling bonfire smoke
Of golden leaves that fall like flakes of snow
As squirrels gather food from mighty oak.
For me, this is a favourite time of year
When Mother Nature takes a well-earned rest
And settles down to sleep until the Spring
To once again be put to mortal test.
For one day we will reap what we have sown
And bid farewell to all that once was rife
To only have a fleeting memory
When Mankind is in the Autumn of his life.
The Lesson
I know not what is leading me
To peak of yonder hill
I’d halt my steps and journey back
But I have not the will.
I’m led there by an unseen hand
A force so strong that I
Have nowt to countermand its power.
Is this my night to die?
However strange as it may seem
I have no thought of fear
And yet I know a deed so foul
Had been committed there.
Through murk of mist, I travel on
‘Tis late and I am cold
The midnight hour approaches fast
What ghosts might I behold?
A church bell chimes the witching hour
And on its final peal
I stand atop the misty peak
And face a man of steel.
On steed so fair, this knight of old
Is seated proud and tall
When somewhere in this hellish night
There comes a fearful call.
A band of cutthroats sally forth
As death-cries fill the air
And as the scene unfolds, all I
Can do is stand and stare.
The knight refused to fend the blows
That downed him and his steed
No utterance came from that man
There was no cry of cede.
The bodies and the cutthroats all
Did fade into the night
But the ghostly hand that held me there
Did so till morning light.
‘Twas then I saw upon the soil
Bound in golden braid
A parchment telling of the time
A debt in blood was paid.
“May God take pity on my soul
For in His name I try
To live my life as He would wish
Alas, I live a lie.
For I have sinned against you Lord
And broke a sacred law
I killed a man and took his wife
As though she were a whore.
Their families insist on blood
Which I shall not deny
At midnight on All Hallows Eve,
I will prepare to die.”
The parchment faded in my hand
And soon it turned to dust
I felt I had been privileged
To learn of one man’s lust.
My thoughts then turned to Josephine
Her husband and their son
I’d planned to take her for my own
But what would I have won?
For I have seen with my own eyes
Through the misty haze
A lesson learned from age-old knight
The folly of my ways.
The guiding hand has set me free
Of body soul and mind
No more will I think of myself,
I’ve left the past behind.
The Witching Hour
The witching hour
When ghosts appear
Cauldron, hags and spell
To frighten every mortal soul
And send us all to Hell.
The witching hour
The bell will chime
Midnight, dark and damp
So send away the darkness now
And light the oil lamp.
The witching hour
When ghouls will take
Bodies from the grave
Then evil sweeps across the land
Beware the tidal wave.
The witching hour
It soon will pass
Morning brings the dawn
But evil waits the witching hour
And ghosts to be reborn.
The Park Bench
The park bench looked so inviting
There were people walking by
I wandered over to it
But my friend did ask me why.
"To sit and watch the ladies,"
I said, as I sat down
"And to join in conversation.
I see that makes you frown."
"But you are old," he told me,
In no uncertain terms.
"And there sits an even older man.
Do you really want his germs?"
"I may be old in body,
But my spirit is still young
So judge me not my good friend
Til the fat one, she has sung."
The old man coughed and spluttered.
Fell to the ground and died.
No one came to help him
No one stood and cried.
His coat was torn and tattered
And beneath, a grubby shirt.
He looked just like a rag doll,
Discarded, caked with dirt.
The park bench had been inviting
Although the seat was damp
But it had given respite
To the coughing of a tramp.
The body of the old man
Lay peaceful, as in sleep
And as I closed his weary eyes,
My own began to weep.
Is our fate mapped out for us
The moment we are born?
And if we die alone, like he
Will anybody mourn?
That night, as I lay in my bed
The daytime at an end,
I wished that I had known that tramp
And been a loving friend.
My Love
If I could live one thousand years
And walk the longest mile
I know I’ll always have with me
The beauty of your smile.
For we have travelled twisted paths
Wrong turns, we’ve taken too
But my love, my precious love
I would have fallen by the way
If not for someone special
And that special one is you.
My English Heaven
The days grow shorter, colder,
Autumn shows her hand
Lush green leaves are dying,
Falling, carpeting the land,
Harvest time and Bonfires
Bring fond memories of such joy
Playing conkers with my friends,
When I was but a boy.
Winter with its cloak of death,
Offers little cheer,
But Christmas time for me is st
ill,
The best time of the year
To share with wife and family,
The love that we have found
This is my English Heaven,
On treasured English ground.
Christmas Eve
Twas Christmas Eve and Santa Claus
Was checking his long list
He checked it once, then checked it twice
For things he might have missed.
But everything had checked out fine
The toys were on his sleigh
‘Come Dasher, Dancer - all my friends
We must be on our way’.
Into the crisp, cold night they flew
As snow began to fall
With presents safely in his sack
For children one and all.
From house to house without a sound
So quickly has he been
That no-one seems to notice him
For Santa’s never seen.
The journey’s over, now at last
The children wake and they
Will open all their wondrous gifts
For now ‘tis Christmas Day.
The Hand of Death
He came to me through fiery clouds of Hell.
Watching, waiting, for what, I do not know.
Hark now, is that the tolling of the bell?
The clapper strikes, I’m told, “‘tis time to go.”
But should I not resist Death’s outstretched hand?
To spare me now; to halt the bitter blow.
Is life no more than worthless grains of sand?
And taken, without warning, on a whim,
To please the god of darkness of this land?
My heart rejoices, overflows the brim.
But Death’s hand will return, this Reaper; Grim.
Weather
We weather the weather whatever the weather
Whether we like it or not
Whether it’s fine, or whether it’s rain
We know it’s the weather we’ve got.
If at the end of your tether in horrible weather
And your shoes are of leather, which leak
Don’t strip altogether, you’ll need a large feather
For at your nether-end strangers might peek.
Ocean: a Sapphic Ode
The ocean is my one true love
My mistress till the end of days
And when I die I’ll soar above
Her foaming waves.
So hoist the main sail, Jack my lad,
The wind and tide are running free
There’s life in us so let’s be glad
For me and thee.
And if we hit the Doldrums, then
We’ll cast a baited hook for fish
And we will eat like gentlemen,
A dainty dish.
It’s been three months since we spied land
Three months and not one single day
Has Jack nor me sought out God’s hand
Although we pray.
But now a mighty storm appears
From Hell beneath the raging waves
No rest for us, no time for fears
Of watery graves.
So batten down now, make secure
All rope and sail whilst there is time
For she may have us yet, I’m sure,
Oh love sublime.
The seas have calmed, she shows her grace
And dolphins dance in ecstacy
On ocean’s face of silken lace,
She dreams of me.