Ms Found In A Belfry
I stared down at Whitechapel's Streets
Reflected through a mirror,
Safe closeted in darkness with
The Camera Obscura,
From this one central vantage point
My eyes ranged over all
The sad rack of humanity,
Its petty rise and fall,
The Toffs, clad in their Toppers, and
The Dollymops procuring,
The drunkards and the thieves and rogues,
Beyond man's curse or curing.
All types had passed me slowly by,
As I stood watching, praying,
That should the Lord declare his love
Those lives might be worth saving,
I saw but heads and shoulders from
Where I stood, looking down,
The lens was tilted from a height,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Monster & Captain Kreel
We were out in the North Atlantic
When the storm began to blow,
We reefed in the tops and gallants so
We wouldn't end down below,
The ship was tossed in a fury,
The mate was strapped to the wheel,
There wasn't a dry man left aboard,
Not even Captain Kreel.
The Captain, he was a bully,
He would flog 'til his arm was sore,
He drove the men at their stations 'til
They couldn't have taken more,
He kept a rope at the yardarm,
A warning to every man,
His word was not to be questioned if
A tar didn't want to hang!
Each wave was a liquid mountain
That crashed on the after deck,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Trove at Bioda Mor
The last I saw of Sebastian Fudge
He was dancing the hempen jig,
To pay for the years of pirating
At the side of Captain Kidd.
While Kidd was swung at Tilbury,
Was dipped in a coat of tar,
Then hung in chains by the River Thames
As a sign to the faint of heart!
I'd sailed with Fudge on the Emerald,
In the days when men were bold,
And there wasn't a Frenchman privateer
That we couldn't divest of gold,
I thought of the Spanish throats we'd cut
And the nights of rum and hock,
As Fudge went tripping his final jig
At Execution Dock.
That left just me and Jackie Straw,
Midshipman Bowes, and Penn,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Dutchman's Call
They had seized the only longboat
When the 'Gelderland' veered round,
As the flames leapt the topgallant,
And then brought the rigging down,
There was panic on the foredeck,
There was panic at the bridge,
When the Royal Charles raked salvoes
She began to roll and pitch.
While the shrapnel from the cannons
Shrieked and tore good men apart,
There were those not so heroic
Who were thinking to desert,
They were Dutch from West Terschelling
Who had never learnt to shoot,
Until the English came to call
On Hans, and Jan de Groot.
They'd left not empty-handed for
The cook, Hans Vandeveer
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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La Maitresse
By the Convent of St. Mary
In the town of La Rochelle,
I would sit there, patient, waiting
'Til I heard the chapel bell,
Then I'd climb up on the ivy
That was clinging to the wall,
Hang on tight and peer on over
Breathless, hoping not to fall!
I was just a young subaltern
In the army of the crown,
Sent to seize all those heretics
Who sought refuge in the town,
And the daughters of those nobles
Who refused the marriage vow
When required to marry Catholics -
I had to hunt them down.
Then these girls were bound and taken
To the convent, where they lay,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Admiral Nelson
When I was a child, in the Forest of Dean
We would play 'hunt deer', like a King or a Queen,
We would hide in the forest 'til the sun went down
Then hurry off in terror from old man Brown.
He lived in the forest in a house on a hill
And he wore torn shirts and a hat of brown twill,
He carried round a gun that he fired in the air
When he saw us picking berries in the trees up there.
He lived with his sister who was Emily Maude
Who had never even married, she was much too odd.
To impressionable children, a frightening pair -
He with his shotgun, she with her hair.
For her hair blew wild, neither brushed nor combed
And it flew all over like a witch, old crone,
But she loved little children, so our parents said,
And warned, 'stay away, 'cause she's soft in the head! '
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Bride of the Wind and Rain
There was morning dew, and the sky was blue
When the stranger came to town,
Riding a painted wagon, pulled
By horses, black and brown,
He carried a wand of hickory,
Was clad in a purple cloak,
'The Master of Elementals'
Said the sign - 'of the Gypsy Folk.'
The people gathered to hear him speak
When he stopped in the village square,
'I hold the secrets of wind and rain,
Of summer clouds up there.
The gentle rain for your barley crop,
The breeze that flutters the leaves,
Or the menace of darkening thunderheads
As the lightning strikes at your eaves.'
The people laughed: 'He's a crazy loon, '
They said: 'We think you're a clown! '
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Lady in the Tower
Some years long since, though best forgot
I travelled to a country squire,
I'd not seen him since Grammar School
We'd shared those years of learning, dire!
But as young men we'd grown apart
For he had titles, grounds to claim
While I was just a journeyman,
My friend, his name was Daniel Crane.
He owned most of the Bailiwick
And lived alone in quiet content,
His home was known as Motte House
The moat as dry as tongues in Lent,
The carriage took me to his step
Where he had waited long for me,
And we had laughed in merriment
Old friends, to see how changed were we.
The house, a rambling Tudor style
Had more rooms than a grand hotel,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Buried Alive!
The air was thin as I breathed it in,
It scarcely filled my throat,
I thrashed about and I tried to shout
But all I could do was croak,
I couldn't move for the lid above
And the sides just hemmed me in,
When a tap-tap-tap beneath my back
Broke in on my nightmare dream.
'Elizabeth! Elizabeth! ' I croaked,
As the torment grew,
'Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Oh Lord,
Please Lord, not you! '
The sweat broke out on my fevered brow,
The terror grew within,
For hell was there in my bleak despair
As the rattle of death chimed in!
My wife then slapped me about the face,
'Wake up - it's only a dream! '
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Madelaine Mann
'Pass me my pearl handled brush, and my comb, '
She had said, as she gazed at the glass,
The child had obeyed, though he shuffled and moaned
As he pulled at his pretty pink dress.
'Be still with you, child! Learn some patience and grace,
Wipe that scowl off your face - do you hear?
Just be a good girl, and I'll powder your face,
Tie ribbons up high in your hair.'
The boy bit his lip, and he stared at his aunt
In the mirror; she simpered and smiled,
Her lips were so thin and so twisted in sin
Though she thought she was beauty, beguiled.
The eyes were so close, and were hooded and dark,
The cheeks were both sallow and thin,
'A little more rouge - there we are! Is your aunt
The most beautiful creature you've seen? '
The boy nodded then, as he knew he must do
If he wouldn't be beaten and sore,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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