Category Archives: Rymes

Original Poetry & Songs


‘The ‘Dying of the light’,
 ‘the lights go out’,
           ‘gone out’
 that’s the view from inside
And how would you know?
How would anyone know?
Who returns against so strong a tide?

In this realm we are near sighted
We see close up, not beyond
What we see is
what sounds there are
  what movement we note,
the ethers of life
seeking an exit.

No purpose, no goal
 no desire to drive the machine
An empty glove, a dropped hammer
No sight to gauge the beam

    Loose the Kraken

So, you went and let loose the Kraken, in spite of all you were told.
You say that the cause is a good one, the enemy evil and bold
And their finish will be so amusing
A source of laughter and fun
Well laugh as much as you can you fool
For you haven’t a clue what you’ve done

You think the Beast was born in that cage?
His chains are a natural thing?
That his being locked up is such a boon
That it must be how it’s always been?

Have you not noticed the tombstones
That stand up row upon row
By the thousands they cover the field
As thick as new fallen snow
Did you believe if you rake off the leaves
The stones will just naturally grow?

Those are the lives it took to put that beast in his chains
The million hearts broken
The billion tears shed
And you have loosed him again

Who Knew?

We once made men out of Oak and Iron
Then found cardboard will do just as well
If you make it life sized and paint it just right
There’s hardly a soul who can tell.

The Oak and Iron men were too hard to make
And harder still to replace
Now we don’t need the muscle and sinew and nerve
Just a pleasant and smiling face.

If the cardboard gets soggy and falls down in the rain
We’ve a million more I think
If you stand them up all around you
It gives the illusion of strength.

But I hear there’s a place, in a far away land
Where they’re making men out of Stone
And they don’t know the meaning of mercy or peace
And they are stripping the flesh from the bones.

So we’d better go back to the Oak and the Iron
I hope someone remembers how
‘Cause I don’t think cardboard will stand up to Stone
And a sweet smile won’t help us now.


The Top Has Been Moved

The Top Has Been Moved
W A Adams

The top has been moved to the bottom
The left is now on the right
The inside’s on the outside
And the middle is nowhere in sight.

Those things laying flat on the ground there
Are the walls that once stood all around
At least we won’t need any windows
And the doors are not to be found.

If you like they can take off you testes
And install them up on your chest
They’ll inject a few drugs,  move a few things around
And I’d rather not think of the rest.

The flag of a failed rebellion
One hundred and fifty years dead
Now frightens the fools who seem not to fear
The Bomb that hangs over their head

Peace has come to Islam
As the heads on the fence can attest
“Burning Man” is a Carney show here
But the sons of the prophet don’t jest.

It’s said that Scientists first learned to sin
In Picardy, that once was so fair
When they heeded the call of the General Staff
And taught them to poison the air.

This was counted a very dark thing
For mans first and last need is to breathe
Chivalry died in that green fog they say
And we see that it’s gone and we grieve.

For Knights and Ladies all knew their parts
They knew why the walls were there
And the windows and doors had a purpose
And were guarded and kept with care

For once the beast has got past the wall
And come thru the window or door
Then you fight for your life where you eat and sleep
And your children’s blood stains the floor.

So, put the top above and the bottom below
The windows and doors where they go
The shield to the left and the sword to the right
So the world may see and know

That if they come over your wall without leave
Your Testes, at least, you have saved
And whatever flag you hold over your head
The same can wave over their grave.

Three men at the Tomb

                Three men at the Tomb                             

                                 by W A Adams

Three men at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
My Father, My brother and me
At the post, day or night
For all eternity

 Building the Tomb was my father
Who taught us to face the storm
And turn it aside if we could
If not, To keep others from harm

 In the Tomb is my brother
Who went to take my place
I hear his heart beating still
Though I cannot see his face

 In front of the Tomb is a pathway
I walk every day and each night
Behind,  thousands who came before
Ahead, those not yet in my sight.

 I do not stop for the rain
It is only my father’s tears
I do not stop for the snow
It is only the long empty years

 That my brother might have lived and sang
Of the joy that was in his soul
But he is in his tomb, and I’m on this path
That the world may see and know

 That he  never will be forgotten
Through the rain, the snow, or the years
So long as brother loves brother
So long as fathers have tears.

What is a Man?

What is a man?
I asked the rabbi
“The image of the living God”

What is a man?
I asked the scientist
“Brother to the worm in the sod.”

What is this creature, I asked the lawyer,
Who can love and hate and forgive?
She consulted page twelve-eighty-nine and said
“Depends on the meaning of ‘IS’.”


Time Turns Over


Three Marys

The Faith of Our fathers

Taking My Leave

SLEEPING MEMORIES                                                                 

   Sleeping Memories by W.A.Adams




 When I was the king of Araby

    And you were the Queen of Cathay

   In a silvered ship with gossamer sails
      I came and stole you away

   To an unknown shore in an uncharted sea

      And there at the top of my tower

    I carried you up and laid you down

      And I showed you all of my powers

   We loved till the moon grew pale with envy

      And you had no thought but to stay

   Till the walls had crumbled to ruin

       And the wind blew the dust all away

   When I was the King of Araby

              And you,

  You were the Queen of Cathay


                                                         Waiting by W.A.Adams 

                                                  I heard the wild bird sing last night

                                                       and he called for me to follow

                                                   But I could not make the choice

                                                       tired of waiting

                                                   He flew off down the hollow.

                                                  And I knew the path he flew

                                                     over wild stream and hill

                                                 But I could not make the choice

                                                      and I am waiting still