A weather vane no wind to speak of
Clawing clutching greenery
Purple lilac stretching skywards
Unmistakable wizardry
The purple dragon
The skull and crossbones
A black body in the shine
Really it’s a revelation
Of observational design.
Whilst waiting for my friend
The end of June
1904
In a house in Horsham
My old dad
Was born
Into the Tyler
Family 8 brothers
And two sisters
Mum and dad a new Dawn
Newalls pond was down the road
And it wasn’t long before
The boys went out a poaching
Wild food more and more
Carp and Perch and rabbits
Became the chosen fair
Of All the tricks around those days
My dad was aware
Tickling trout
Fishing carp
Snaring rabbits
Ethically
Little money
Wet or sunny
Food had to be free
As for me
Harming souls
Animals
It’s not my thing
We kept chickens
We kept rabbits
All of them
Delightful habits
My dad wanted me to be
A killer
But no he did t see
The need to love them
Except to eat he ate I didn’t
Ever like meat
Rhode Island Reds
Twelve of them came to be
They locked my legs incessantly
But I would never break their necks
Not eat their flesh not me
Hens lay egss
But some alas
Eat the eggs
And why not they
Know that humans eat them too
Probably they take the view
Then we shall eat them
So of course
Empty the yoke
And then just force hot Coleman’s mustard
Inside and
Leave the eggs upon the land
The hens may eat the mustard
They
Did in fact and so I say
Greed and arrogance insolence too
Human beings suck
They do
He was my dad
But the crap he ate
Meat and meat and meat and meat
I liked salads. I liked fruit
That’s the stuff I liked to eat
He looks at you
From out of his great flowing pools of blue
The most profound of looks,
this man,
is through and through
Sensitively uses breath
And zest for life, for he
Does stuff with his clarinet
That seldom one will see
Or hear, for Martin’s the master
His music good and clear
But migraine kind of threatened him a bit
And it brought him neat
To stopping
Till old Jan De Fries
Said to him one day
Amalgum fillings say goodbye
And he was on his way
He had always watched his diet
Organic was his thing
He sensitivity notice the knowledge
Which did bring
His migraines to subdue a bit
And days of sunshine reigned
He then decided the guitar
Was something where he gained
More credence and more pleasure
Martin Taylor, one
Who influenced his blues routines
They help him find the sun
Martin born in Ayrshire
Had held his first guitar
When he was just an infant
So no wonder, he’s a star
Who played with yea Count Basie
Grappelli and some more
And is Martins inspiration
Like nobody before
With his loving wife, both customers
Of the little Cooks Delight
We know about his talents
They flow forever bright
I noticed though you looked a little pale
And I just thought
You may have been inside too much
And just might not have caught
The daffodils a trumpeting
The tulips Early chords
The blue bells rhapsodic
Such purposeful rewards
The mid day sun advancing
When high up in the sky
Is enough to colour up the cheeks
And could be worth a try
A poem written to Martin
On 12th of April 1997
Looking out the window
Dreaming one can say
The iguana and the pagan
Both have much to say
About the world they are living in
Strangers possibly
But great friends you can feel the love
Absolutely genuinely
Born in Lower Beeding
In West Sussex
The Tyler’s a big family
Even at the time
10 sons and 3 Daughters
Lived their early lives
Newells pond
Just up the road
Carp
there Perch and Bream
The woods around the fields around
Poaching yes the cream
of wildness and a reason
For the family to be
Eating well and getting by
Let’s say creatively
A wild pond deep and muddied
Trees bow at its edge
An environment of naturalness and wonder
The creator in his wisdom just might pledge
A right royal spirit in the dark midst
Erring on a solid base
All sorts of weed and other fish were present
Where Ducks and coots certainly did grace
Holy Trinity Church close to the cross roads
It’s great red doors unusual in a way
The graveyard carrying local bodies
And all the current wild plants too
The ramp out to the car park
Where a cat once walked, one of the few
Who did so on the wet cement not dried enough apparently
And clearly left her prints for ever
A single trail now permanently.
A kitty who seems anonymous
She may not be alive today
A lady violinist spoke
Of true creativity
The wealth of timbers
Oaken pews
The leaded lights
The constant dues
The creaking latches
History
Stands full force
And remarkably.
A Robin comes
A blackbird too
A wealth of wildlife
Remains the clue
Upon the grave stones
Etched with age
The various names
Scratched off the page
By the force of time
And weathering
Though Spiritedly some even sing.
Born in Little Beeding Horsham 30-06-1904
Died 18-04-1978 in Hemel Hempstead Hertfordshire.
Sage cafe
It’s a little place
In Crawley
In the High Street
In many ways it’s magical
Convivial and gentle
A cavalcade of colours
Peaceful and harmonious
Catering for vegans
The plant based souls
Who care
And sage is like a mirage
You just find it there
Family run
You feel it
A caring attitude
Gentle on the eye
Their kindness does exude
The menu its extensive it’s genuinely thought through
You can tell
The decor mild and easy
On the senses
Knowing yes so well
A peaceful ardour represents
Everything one sees
The menu is extensive and
Agreeable, it does please
Recipes are lovely
Extensive in a way
The clientele’s assorted
And they are busy every day
An overlying friendship
With Nature it’s about
Eating food that’s gentle
It leaves you in no doubt
They walk their talk
And share with you their journey
That’s a lovely exposition they
Put themselves out sensitively offering
Energy that contributes in a way
To brightening up one’s life
And Sage is out there
It’s what makes living worthwhile good and shared
No death and killing just a willing
No ingredient was really ever scared.
Just enjoy the spirit and the fervour
The genuine the goodly, from those aware
Food that’s really thought about
Leaving people in no doubt
Harmony and purpose
And they share
Their experience their thoughts
And wishes actually
A fondness for their customers
You know
There’s and overlying friendship
Their philosophy you feel
They embrace that willingness
Your experience there is real.
The SAGE Cafe
36 High Street
Crawley
RH10 IBW
Telephone 01293-565111
Serenity an ominous message
Startlingly we
May feel the force of wayward winds
A fair light though now be
Conjuring up some magic
Over the great Tor
St Michael’s Tower it’s expectation
Feeling a tad, unsure
What did they do
They delivered aid
To the starving children who
Many are forced to just eat grass
And a tin of beans
A few are eating nothing
Some dirty flour from off the ground
Israel fills its face with bounty
The rest are not around
To share whatever food is good
Israel sees to that
Arabs don’t get a look in
Not many there are fat
Making do with dirty water
No one cares to see
The western Governments
Talk a lot
but really cannot be
Humane in their thinking
Letting people die
Bombed out of existence
Given bombs a child asks why
Just because it’s Israel
Aid trucks blown to bits
The war in Gaza is shattering
Their action is the pits
As for the Us and UK
Solemnly I say I feel aggrieved
For selling arms to the monsters of the day.
holding his feet and watching a flood
Of life leaving him each drop of blood
Farmers and slaughter men do sicken me
And meat eating humans I just don’t agree
Would eat what they eat if they saw
How the cow
Died in such pain
Asking us how
Straparijada
A name for this
What monster thought
To give what I see
No higher than naught
Beautiful horses
As loyal as can be
Barbarically treated
By the unmanly
Craven hearted fools
Insensitively
Combat the hard work
Prejudiciously
Horses give everything
They are made too
And that our eyes
have to witness
What is so viciously
presented as fair minded
By these sickly gits
Who really need taking down
Watching these fits
of anger and ominous cruelty they
Need shutting down now
Yes right away
Croatia, to me
You let yourselves down
Down in the depths
Where you need to drown
In all of that terror
Those horses need care
AS Monsters who gamble
Clearly unaware.
Teeth and blonde hair
What do I see
A trophy that burns in her heart
For the free
Handsomest mountain lion
Dead to the world
Killed with her arrows
So violently hurled.
A beautiful wildness
Snows brilliance and light
Two bloody monsters
That give me a fright
To see an emotion
With a mountain lion dead
From her bow and arrow
And heart of pure lead.
John Pilger a stout heart
He had to be
Working for the Indigenous
Community
A film about Australia now
Prejudiced tragically
The pitiless flower
That has blossomed for some 50 thou years
Guardians really
Boomerangs and spears
Looked down upon
As blacks all forlorn
Wishing in fact
they had never been born
Australia hoping to see them away
Out on the red dirt
Justice today
No water to speaking of
No toilets, unclean
Diseased to the eyeballs
Sadly no hygiene.
An Indigenous people
Under the sun
The very blue sky
Their empathy spun
From being neglected
Cursed by the “whites”
Left in seclusion
Without any rights
Living off little
Wild grub around
No means of transport
The homes on the ground
They have their beliefs
Their customs, their thoughts
But people are hostile
Insolent sorts
They have a great interest
And knowledge but we
Don’t want their knowledge
Their theory
Is not for our ears
Our eyes tell us all
They are more like animals
Which must appeal
Bush Tucker is their tucker
They can get by
Close to the earth
To the rocks to the sky
They walk with the animals
They cry to the moon
Their music is theirs
Yes every tune
It’s a celebration
Of godly intent
That weaves like a snake
Life really meant
To be
In their land
The outback
The place
They share with the Roo’s
It’s. Bloody disgrace
The Canberra’s softies
White socks and feet
Most of them flake out in the Summer heat
Gulping down
Beer
On tap running free
Nothing though out there
For the aboriginie
Cockroaches live in their ears
So I hear
Not a kitchen in sight
Just one tap
It’s clear
Everyone washes under that spray
If you are an Aboriginie
That’s it today.
Ancestral painting in caves
Long before
Beautiful paintings
The whites still ignore
History was emblazoned
with joy the utmost joy
now all these years on
Repugnance ahoy
Human gods detract that do not create unless they
Can see a currency curtain
And profits, earnestly they work against our mother
Uncaringly in fact
The torture the receiver
And that sadly they react
Only to remember their ignorance is right
For then they earn more money
Ethical alternatives for fur
How can that be
The skin is the largest organ
It protects, literally
Miraculous and beautiful
In every single way
Some humans believe they have the right
To wear others And They
Murder for the privilege
And think nothing but to pay
Blood money
We all are Indigenous apparently
Where we were born and then grew
Up through the culture our parentage stance
Our schooling yes all this is true
The Indigenous people were guardians
Close to the earth was their ploy
Animals were their companions
Life for them was utter joy.
Thanks to Sarah
Memories of St Michael’s Tower
Attract the dawning sun
Casting a wondrous shadow
As to how the TOR has spun
Spring’s glorious leafy energies
Gleefully proclaiming
A really joyous welcome
Which the photograph is framing
Ormonde the trooper
Horse guards you bet
A boisterous laddie
Who clearly is set
On chewing the tourists
He goes to great pains
On leaving a bite marks
When they grab his reins
Excited by puffer coats
And women too near
He likes to take chunks out of shoulders
Fear
Ignorance sadly the visitors they
Don’t see it coming his teeth
All the way
A dram of dribble and teeth good and white
When they get close
He will turn off their light
Push people over grab at their hair
Ormonde ” the horse trooper
Best you all be aware
The old sky looks angry
There’s fire one can feel
It’s giving true meaning
To April’s appeal
defining what’s meaningful
Each cooling shower
The TOR soonest sodden
Wetter by the hour
What chance do these
Volunteers have
Trying to deliver aid
With Israel presiding
Who is going to save
The workers and the injured
And the dead and dying there
Send more of those 2000 ton bombs
Send lasting despair
Hospitals completely
torn down
And inside
smashed to irretrievable
nobody’s denied
That
Those in the hospital all of them are dead
Put it down to Hamas
That’s what the Israelis said
And now the glorious aid workers
In three vehicles
Are dead
An Australian 3 British
An American 1 Polish
A driver dead he a Palestinian
Seven souls poor dears
The coordinates checked and confirmed
Of course
So heaps and heaps more tears
There will be a full enquiry
Sophisticated sure
If you happen to be in Gaza
And your alive please don’t ignore
The mindset every living person
and animal will be
Shot out of existence
Given half the chance
Imagine it
In Gaza
Children dying there
Not of bombs and rockets
But hunger
Do we care
So many do not care a damn
These poor children they
Have to grapple in the sand for bags of flour
There is mo
way
To conduct life Israel
Really little children do
Suffer really horribly
At what Israel does do.
And the west supplies them weaponry
Huge bombs that we know
Look at Al Shifa, the hospital
Gone bodies below
The rubble dust and rubble
Al Shifa now no more
Hundreds of people murdered there
And it’s all down to the war
The Al Shifa hospital
what did they do
They went in and thrashed it
Such wrathfulness true
To their spirit and piqued attitude
They meant to destroy
It was like a battleground
Resentment and malice
A rampaging mob
Embittered and virulent
It makes me sob
So many dead bodies
The orderlies they
Sick patients too
Took the hit anyway
The hospital wards
We’re smashed to the ground
With a hatred and loathing
Thats what folks found
An abhorrence to those staff
Animosity
There were butchers about
Hatchet men too
Pitiless rogues
Doing what such men do
That hospital ruined
Every process now dead
They took it apart
Many just off their head
Shameless and excessive
Unworthy to be
Soldiers in this
world
Such vile infamy.
Blick the Neolithic farmer
Came about just years ago
On Salisbury plain
walked in the rain
Singing madrigals as some know
Dropping coins and burying pieces
In and around the place where he
Grew his turnips and tomatoes
Near the settlements earnestly
The great sarsons dragged and measured
Many serfs muscles a light
Help to drag the stones in glory
To the greatest stonehenge site
On the green moors many a story
Has been told that’s what we hear
The Henge attracts the sun and moon
And Blicks young wife was often here
His farming days were full on pleasure
He loved her with his frantic might
She loved the turnips that he grated
Into wheat grains every night
Behold the ravens on the season
Came to caw to make believe
All those years ago the relics
Buried there would soon achieve
Much until the blick mead project
A vast tunnel around the site
The road to Devon via heaven
Where the celestial bodies bright
Sent their rays into the mirrors
Attracting light beams everywhere
Blick the farmer just felt calmer
With his wife their life to share.
Exquisite blooms
Exciting colours
Standing all day in the rain
No sun to smile at
Getting wetter
A revelation of the sane
Briliant hues
A disposition
Damply obvious
On a mission
Tulips an endearing gaze
Soaking wet a dismal phase
Agitation at the wetness
On this really rainy days
A sullen discourse
Grumpy peevish it’s their stance
A dark sky
suggests the evening
A Multi coloured
enabling dance.
Imagine the grief
That’s beyond belief
Five children stolen
And murdered, she knew
As a mother each kidnapped soul
Tore at her heartstrings
Left her abandoned
Losing all control
Rex Tyler is a Poet, Campaigner, former owner of an organic shop of 30 years, and Public Speaker living in Berkhamsted, UK.
