Volume VIII - Book III

Knowing My Love Can Be No Stranger

A Collection Of Gay Ballads, Songs & Poems Set Without Music

*************************************************

N.K.Tointon

1994

This Book Is Dedicated To...

Hany,

Paul,

Patrick,

David

and 

Tony.

A Collection of Gay Ballads, Songs and Poems Set Without Music

Index

Introductory Preface – The Mis-Representative Nature of Titles

1	1.    O Heart I Know the Divine    
2	2.    For He Loved Working on his Car
5	3.    These Eyes this Boy has are his Toys
6	4.    Old Brother Bernie had a Boarding House
9	5.    Tomorrow I Play Cricket
10	6.    For He is my Hero
11	7.    A Free Sonnet on the Praise of Silk Pyjamas
12	8.    Climbing a Rockface for the First Time
14	       9.    A Ghostly Farewell, or, A Farewell Prayer
14	       10.  The Professional Psychopath
16    	11.  The Advantage of Being Disadvantaged
20	12.   Knowing my Love can be no Stranger 

Introductory Preface – The Mis-Representative Nature of Titles

	In the Preface of the next book in this volume, Book IV, a Preface in this book is cited on ‘the mis-representative nature of titles.’ Not being able to find this essay among my computer discs, to date, I have constructed the following to comment on the titles of these twelve poems. 
	After having named these twelve poems, and no doubt with some degree of embryonic understanding during their textual construction, I became increasing aware of the mis-representative nature of titles. A title, being about the text, as a meta-textual insert into the metaphorical body of the text, or rather being placed ‘before’ that text, in telling us ‘about’ that text to that extent mis-represents it! And as a consequence we are left with the naturally inherent ambiguity of titles. An ambiguity that is often ‘not perceived’ or, if perceived, not properly resolved in such a manner that allows the mis-representation to loose some of its force when the misrepresentation no longer acts as a literal mis-representation. Any presentation that tries to represent a text as a representation of it opens itself up to a literal mis-representaton by virtue of the fact that if taken literally it cannot do what it states it can do, namely, represent that text. Correctly all it can do is re-present it and then only indirectly, by default so to speak. But all is not lost because once the literal mis-representation is recognized we are then aware of what the text is not, etc.
Instead of waxing eloquently over the meta-status of all meta-textual inserts, e.g., titles, introductions, definitions, maps, arguments, conclusions, instructions for the reading of a text, rules for the determination of genre, etc., let me instead comment on each of these twelve titles and therein demonstrate the point of this essay!

In the first poem the title reads “O heart I Know the Divine.” But it is the song of a lover in the grief of being parted from the beloved who has run off with someone else. Given this interpretative possibility, the ‘divine’ is not very divine but instead human, indeed, rather too human…

“For He Loved Working on his Car”…in this title the word ‘car’ is really a metaphor about the body of the beloved, and, even more so, about the spiritual body of the relationship…

	The third poem begins with a boy who has eyes ‘flirting like the wind’ but, rather it is with what he cannot see that the poem concentrates upon…
	
	The next poem plays upon the similar sounds of the expressions  ‘boarding house’ and ‘bawdy house.’  But the central relationship is not one that characterizes the latter.

	Tomorrow I play cricket, when, really, to some extent the game was already underway!

	For he is ‘your’ hero, “alas, alas, too beautiful to view, alas, alas, too beautiful for ‘you’.” But there is a twist, in the last verse the refrain changes meaning. The final, extra repeat of the ‘alas, alas’ capturing this change of meaning. To some extent our ‘hero,’ the second subject of the poem, must see a hero too in the first subject of this poem. Then the word ‘he’ in the title also changes meaning or, more correctly, its reference.

	In the next poem I will sadly confess to say that silk-pyjamas are not what I have on my mind, and, must also confess, that the same have never been worn by myself or by any soul that might have slept beside me. Alas… mis-representation indeed!

	The ambiguities in the eighth poem are too complex to unravel and I will let my reader supply their own interpretations suffice to say that if the subject of the poem had climbed a rockface what ‘rockface’ would that have been?

	The meaning of this ninth poem is indicated to some extent between the two titles supplied but is not captured by this space.

	The Professional Psychopath begs the question who is the ‘professional psychopath?’ Answer that and the poem ceases to mis-represent itself (through a realization of the mis-repesentation as a mis-representation). Then we might well ask what else is the poem on about? But moving into this territory moves us beyond what we might safely say is the semblance of the poet’s intentions? An understanding of the mis-representation of the mis-representation allows us to re-see a deeper parallel between text and meta-textual title through the noticed observance of processes of iteration apparently intentionally re-iterated by the author. But where those processes of conforming re-iteration cannot be discovered our interpretation must enter a less inter-subjective territory. Does the poem have a moral? What significance can we place on the words “we warned you…?” Lastly, does the repetition in this poem set up an ironic frame of reference?

	The penultimate poem explores the sexuality ostensively of the developmentally delayed. Is there any advantage here as the poem suggests in its title? Or is that an advantage that the ‘advantaged’ should have but that too often the omnipresent power and influence of culture overwrites otherwise?

	The last poem is written between the cracks set up by the ambiguities of it title “That my Love can be no “Stranger.”  And here it might be better for me to say no more lest what I say might adversely reflect upon me despite my license for mis-representation at the level of the text itself.…

	If by this stage the reader is not yet convinced of the mis-representative nature of titles I suggest they go to other texts with titles and find their a universal demonstration of this point argued for in this essay-commentary. That the same type of argument can also be applied to introductions, conclusions, etc., and all other meta-textual devices

						      	          Noël Tointon, Sydney, 6.12.99.

A Collection Of Gay Ballads, Songs & Poems Set Without 
Music

1.	O Heart I Know The Divine 

	O Heart I know the Divine,
	through thee I see the light,
	feel thy love forever passing 
	beyond the ends of all time.

The unswept sweep of the beach is littered 
with the debris of passing storms, the swirling surf
mixing memories like the waves that roll up,
left stranded just as quickly upon the shore.

Over the hills across the bay lives my love 
now in the tender arms of someone else, 
the softest words of parting were said, alas,
so sharp these sweet sounds that still cleave.

True love should leave no one bitter, 
but, affection cannot be left un-returned,
without a home to come home to, be passed over 
for second best, be like a servant dismissed.

In the moonless darkness of this fevered night 
see the foreign fishing fleet flickering along 
the horizon, join the dots, I say to myself, 
find a line that links my love, so far away. 

I enter an eternal land that time has quite forgot,
in bare, wet feet pace that grey region between 
this tidal to and fro, listen to the quiet roar
of the faintly twinkling waves as they stumble ashore.

From an awareness of this dull, shimmering sheen
re-perceive the light of the lighthouse echoing,
dancing upon the waves, warning those beneath 
those dark cliffs to always tread with care.

Nesting seabirds rend the air around those black rocks,
an invisible presence mapped out in sound,
my silent thoughts cross those surging white waters
to stand once more before my lord and master.

A long, thin, black cloud hovers just above the sea,
eclipses a blinking sun, rosy in complexion,
a new morning dawns, hesitates, from beneath 
those silky sheets frilled with long plumes of lace.

Reborn once more the golden disc of the sun
eventually learns to smile, summoned with words 
of love find this longing moon once more 
allowed to live and die inside this sweet embrace.

Another face seems to grace the frame of my beloved,
some other heart beats beneath this rugged exterior,
but my mind tells me `there can be no real difference,'
age can only betray the endless repetition of the spirit.

So tender his affection, finding ten thousand new forms
in delightful rediscovery, his tongue leaving me speechless,
all divisions melted, all differences discharged
in the sheer ecstasy of such selfless self-expression.

In the warm forgetfulness of a remembered sleep,
in the long arms of my beloved deep in distant thought,
in my dreams find his tresses inadvertently caressing me
as his gentle lips retire for the night, face to face.

	O Heart I know the Divine,
	through thee I see the light,
	feel thy love forever passing 
	beyond the ends of all time.

2.	For He Loved Working On His Car

1. For he loved working on his car
this proudly noble peasant lad,
forever too busy to see
that his younger friend was so sad.

2. For he loved working on his car,
ev'eryday tightening this wheel,
testing this cog, this nut or screw,
unaware how his friend might feel.

3. For he loved working on his car,
"let us go for a drive," he said,
his cute friend quietly seated,
staring along the road ahead.

4. For he loved working on his car,
and taking it out for a spin,
let it flex its well-oiled muscles
for one more time that cool even'in.

5. For he loved working on his car,
well polished was its shiny frame,
a bright, flashy, pillar box red,
for this young hero knew no shame.

6. For he loved working on his car,
into the darkness of the night
they sped, in time, parking beside 
a lonely beach out of sight.

7. For he loved working on his car,
"I'll bet the guys and gals just dig
this hot chassis, why this motor
in town is the best, souped up rig."

8. For he loved working on his car,
"its now time to go," he soon said,
but quickly found to his surprise
that the engine sounded quite dead.

9. For he loved working on his car,
"here take this torch, my bright young friend,
and let us see what can be done,
what's 'neath this bonnet must we mend."

10. For he loved working on his car,
and in the darkness, side by side,
under that weak beam of light, found
what now cannot be done, he sighed.

11. For he loved working on his car,
"I think its the plugs, and the choke,
and that means tomorrow morning,"
giving his friend a friendly poke.

12. For he loved working on his car,
talked about what had to be done,
"hey, its getting cold, in the boot
I have a blanket and a gun."

13. For he loved working on his car,
"use it when I go rabbiting,
have it safely hidden back there
when not out in the bush camping."

14. For he loved working on his car,
and they lowered back the back seat,
all nicely lined with fluffy fur,
and snugly shared this same retreat.

15. For he loved working on his car,
proud of all its creature comforts,
soft music on the radio, 
a pillow, some wine and biscuits.

16. For he loved working on his car,
and drawing closer put an arm
around his friend while discussing 
gear boxes he fixed on the farm.

17. For he loved working on his car,
the younger man said, "cannot wait
to have my own to tinker with,"
while tightly embracing his mate.

18. For he loved working on his car,
in the moonlight words formed a mist
and soon the gentle stubble of 
their unshaved beards nervously kissed.

19. For he loved working on his car,
but lips moving closer soon fell 
dumb upon each other in a
speech mere words alone cannot tell.

20. For he loved working on his car,
but now their new conversation 
centered on how they'ld like to test 
drive each others' invitation.

21. For he loved working on his car,
"love you," softly said the older 
friend to his barely younger mate, 
who said the same, sounding bolder.

22. For he loved working on his car,
"could we be lovers, in secret,"
they asked each other tent'atively
as silent lips passion'ately met?

23. For he loved working on his car,
"be honest to the day we die..,"
"just being there for each other..,"
"never ever telling a lie..?"

24. For he loved working on his car,
"you know this cart's ok, my van
would never break down, fall apart,
forgive this fib, my right-hand man."

25. For he loved working on his car,
"don't think me that silly, you lout,
hanging around with you, my love,
now know this model inside out."

26. For he loved working on his car,
"do you mind staying out all night,
your mum will think you're at my place,
without lying she would be right?"

27. For he loved working on his car,
"I thought you loved just your auto;
you set me up, and you caught me,
gladly let you take me in tow."

28. For he loved working on his car,
they watched the sinking of the moon,
they watched the rising of the sun,
and they sunbathed naked till noon.

29. For they loved working on `their' car,
leaving nothing, nothing undone,
for they loved working `in' their car,
just driving around, having fun.

30. For they loved working `in their car,'
seeing the world from the back seat,
both secretly longing to live,
gather openly, openly meet.

31a. For all birds of common feather 
flock together, fly together,
for those of that inward nature 
long to live and die together.

31b. For all birds of common feather 
trek together, truck together,
for those of that same persuasion
long to try their luck together.

31c. For all birds of common feather 
eat together, meet together,
for those of that inclination
long to love and sleep together.

31d. For all birds of common feather 
flock together, fly together,
for those of spiritual rapture 
long to live and love forever.

32. For these two sweet lads loved working 
on each others' cars together,
always together, forever,
like two birds of common feather.

3.	These Eyes This Boy Has Are His Toys

These eyes this boy has 
	are his toys
with which he plays 
	the heart strings 
of other souls,
	flirting like the wind,
for a love 
	he never knew...

His smile is like bait,
	fixing my breath,
drawing closer, entrancing
	this helpless frame 
of my interested self,
	running scared
with his coy kisses
	and fickle, nervous grin,
fleeing the love of another 
	already lost...

A silent, washed up siren
	upon the rocks,
already drowning beneath the waves,
	unaware that he has now, 
alas, met his match 
	with an older bloke called `death,'
who only feigned a passing interest,
	tempting a love he ne'er forgot...

Lonely the boy 
	who lives alone,
lonely the boy
	who dies alone,
who can share no fleeing
	from the lightness of the dark,
from the darkness 
	of that flight from being.

Solitary the boy
	who can show no love,
solitary the boy
	who cannot dare to be loved,
who can go no further beyond
	those anonymous passages 
acted out, performed
	in this worldly pleasure park...

4.	Old Brother McBernie Had A Boarding House

Old brother McBernie had a passion,
old brother McBernie had a passion
in the form of a clerical calling 
to look after and care for wayward boys 
and in his boarding house of refuge 
he had collected a baker's dozen 
of these socially backward, forward fellows.

Old brother McBernie had an urban farm,
Old brother McBernie had an urban farm
and among this menagerie of misspent youth
lived one cute young thing called Pete
who loved to hoe the vegies and weed
the flowers when called upon once a month,
like a wound up doll in a cabbage patch.

Old brother McBernie loved his flock,
Old brother McBernie loved his flock
of rampaging youth, misunderstood souls
in need of a firm hand and gentle guidance
in order to walk upon those paths 
of righteousness, become upright citizens 
ready to pool their talents for the common good.

Old brother McBernie was forever chaste,
old brother McBernie was forever chaste
without a drop of scandal 
until one day in the merry month of May
his path crossed the trail
of our young friend Pete
who deliberately didn't pay his rent.

Old brother McBernie had bills to pay,
old brother McBernie had bills to pay
and so he cornered his young friend
and gently reminding him said,
"you're behind in rent, please you must pay it,
like the rest you must play your part too,
get a job or save for it out of unemployment."

Old brother McBernie was a simple soul,
old brother McBernie was a simple soul
who hated chastizing his band of boys
but debts are debts and had to be paid
leaving Pete in no doubt that he too
had to play his part in this world,
forcing him to formulate the following plot.

Old brother McBernie was an easy touch,
old brother McBernie was an easy touch
and couldn't believe his eyes and ears
when in walked Pete late one night
arm in arm with a dishevelled drunken tramp
swaggering up the stairs with a noisy thump
and led like a lover into his attic room.

Old brother McBernie was so very strict,
old brother McBernie was so very strict
and had to get to the bottom of this farce
and quickly went to investigate 
and rushing into Pete's boudoir couldn't believe
his eyes, like the astonished tramp,
for Pete was now naked upon the bed.

Old brother McBernie was so easily shocked,
old brother McBernie was so easily shocked
for there was Pete with his bum in the air 
beckoning the speechless tramp to join him 
who at that very moment with his mouth wide open
just had to flee this scene of his entrapment,
this scene of such potential scandal.

Old brother McBernie was terribly cross,
old brother McBernie was terribly cross
but he had a soft spot for our young Pete 
and so gently shutting the door enquired
about what so obviously was going on, when, 
right on cue, our unprofessional pro burst 
into tears into the very pocket of our cleric.

Old brother McBernie had a problem,
old brother McBernie had a problem
for when he got nervous he mixed up his words
and in this confusion said to naked Pete,
"your behind in rent please, I'll make you play for it,
I'll rent your behind and make you pay for it,"
turning a Freudian slip into a helpless tumble.

Old brother McBernie had a soft spot,
old brother McBernie had a soft spot
quickly seized upon by our beautiful Pete
who untied our tongue tied clergyman
with an empassioned embrace 
and with a long wet kiss he could only 
have dreamt about in his most secret of dreams.

Old brother McBernie no longer had a problem,
Old brother McBernie no longer had a problem,
instead he had quite a handful and an armful
and was told to quietly submit or else
for Pete told him he would tell the Bishop 
that he had `a history of fiddling' between
sighing protestation of their now mutual love.

Old brother McBernie soon saw the light,
old brother McBernie soon saw the light
and therein discovered the true nature 
of his calling and giving up the cloth
shifted house with all his boys setting up 
a classy, classic establishment for paying 
customers, for paying customers instead.

For old man McBernie had a bawdyhouse,
for old man McBernie had a bawdy house
and wouldn't you know it those wayward boys 
all earned their rent to pay on time,
all earned their rent playing on time,
never ever falling behind, happily managed
under the watchful sight of his helpmate Pete.

For old man McBernie had a bawdy house,
for old man McBernie had a bawdy house
and wouldn't you know it those wayward boys 
all earned their rent to pay on time,
all earned their rent playing in time,
never ever falling behind, perfectly managed
under the careful gaze of his faithful Pete.

5. 	Tomorrow I Play Cricket

A disarming lad
with midnight eyes 
and with a midday smile,
a soft, gentle charm
that reflected 
all the hours in between.

He came to tea,
happily accepted my invitation,
found out what he liked
and what he disliked
and with much preparation
served him accordingly.

A disarming lad
with midnight eyes 
and with a midday smile,
a soft, gentle charm
that reflected 
all the hours in between.

Vivaldi for an entree,
Mozart with the first course,
a selection of polkas 
with the dessert,
a tender nocturne
with the coffee and chocolate.

A disarming lad
with midnight eyes 
and with a midday smile,
a soft, gentle charm
that reflected 
all the hours in between.

Talked about our families,
and our future professions,
and what we would rather 
more usefully be doing,
discussed our dreams couched 
in metaphor and allusion.

A disarming lad
with midnight eyes 
and with a midday smile,
a soft, gentle charm
that reflected 
all the hours in between.

The university tower
struck ten plus one,
`legs eleven,' said the lad,
`if you want to bed me
now is the hour
for tomorrow I play cricket.'

A disarming lad
with midnight eyes 
and with a midday smile,
a soft, gentle charm
that reflected 
all the hours in between.

Do you wish to bat or bowl,
I said, but then my friend
need we argue the toss,
for despite the heavy weather
in this game of skilful chance
why contest the score.

A disarming lad
with midnight eyes 
and with a midday smile,
a soft, gentle charm
that reflected 
all the hours in between.

To the sound of twelve bells
our heads simultaneously
hit the pillow,
to the sound of twelve bells
arose from rounds of sleep
to see him play in public.

A disarming lad
with midnight eyes 
and with a midday smile,
a soft, gentle charm
that reflected 
all the hours in between.

6. For He Is My Hero

I adore this figure,
this youth is my hero, 
charged with manly vigour,
can I this person know?
A shining saint talking
among these perfumed men,
a smiling god walking 
straight through this sinful den.

	Alas, alas,
	too beautiful to view,
	alas, alas,
	too beautiful for you.

His name is on the tip 
of everyone's tongue,
teenagers want to sip
each word his voice has sung.
Grown women faint and sigh,
seasoned hunks love confess,
on the sports field they ply
his picture to the press.

	Alas, alas,
	too beautiful to view,
	alas, alas,
	too beautiful for you.

On the beach his body
looks even sexier,
and as a scholarly
student he's a leader.
Kind and compassionate,
a temple of virtue,
a lover passionate,
with eyes that search you.

	Alas, alas,
	too beautiful to view,
	alas, alas,
	too beautiful for you.

Last July he saw me 
and each night sees me still,
and in the morning he
practices army drill.
For he is my hero, 
I worship his divine
frame with caresses, know
his sweet kisses are mine.

	Alas, alas,
	too beautiful to view,
	alas, alas,
	too beautiful for you,
	alas, alas...

7. A Free Sonnet On The Praise Of Silk Pyjamas

Although I love the feel of thick leather
I prefer my man in silk pyjamas,
in stripes or dots, it makes no difference,
in paisleys, plain or patterned, in floral
undergrowth from tropical rainforests,
in pictorial mode or symbolic relief,
this sensual material enfolds
his soft contours, so, playing hard to get,
he signs an all too visible message
that soon needs to find my personal address;
so with thankfulness I have learnt to praise
these wriggling creatures enveloped, cocooned
within this woven, shimmering package
sacrificed for such outrageous postage.

8. Climbing A Rock-face For The First Time

My straight friend Graham likes to grapple 
		with the sides of cliffs
and today he has roped me in to clamber up
		the sheer sides of this `simple' rocky crag...

I stand before this rock-face 
		for the first time and see it afresh,
awash with vibrant, pulsating fear, 
		shot with blood stained lichen
on a crumbling skin now partially washed clean
		by the tears of recent rains
that have torn away from these savage scars
		one more crop of bumpy pimples.
This rubble lies scattered on these discarded piles 
		of shaved detritus beneath
my invisibly shaking and stiffly trembling, 
		still for the moment, firmly planted feet.
He leads the way as if crossing the street,
		"all you need to do is look,
but not down," he says, "do as I do and all 
		this is perfectly safe, and great fun!"
Six feet taller he stands above me,
		and gets me to follow in this dance
with mother nature, clinging like a spider
		roped in like an astronaut,
with four arms and four legs,
		some stationary and anchored, 
some moving and dangling for short periods
		over the uneven surface.
Halfway up he shouts, "would you like a coffee,"
		giving me the same plastic cup to drink from.
In truth I didn't need any more stimulation,
		it felt as if my thumping heart 
was pumping my entire liquid life-forces all the way 
		to the top even before I got there.
One chocolate bar was also shared,
		coating my throat in a furry, plastic patina
that almost sealed my tongue 
		to the sticky sides of my dry mouth.
To all his commands I softly barked 
		my nodded consent, as if I was in a position 
to defy these orders on how to climb 
		rocks by numbers, following in the footsteps 
of this master magician trying to move 
		his awkward puppet on show below.
The temperature of the day was getting hot 
		and in the veneer of shade more heated,
beads of salty sweat only evaporated 
		on the textured wall of rock beside me,
but I was not alone in this as I could feel 
		droplets periodically dripping onto me
from my handsome, rugged friend above,
		his wiry arms clinging with a drilled
precision that amazed me, his wet torso
		shining like a bronzed statue 
with eyes inset with sapphires,
		with matted threads of hair 
twisted in well-tested silver and gold
		overlaid with twinkling crystal starlets.
But, in this reverie I forgot for a second
		to be absolutely careful;
I just missed my foothold, my foot slips against 
		the sharp sandpaper of the cliff,
my fall is slowed but I am left dangling 
		from the end of his tightly held rope.
Desperately I reassert my hold on this grim bluff,
		clawing back a tenuous grip,
regaining some small fragment of my inner composure,
		hearing his words of encouragement
straining above me, his face pressed flat and hard
		against the rock just a metre from the top.
My whole being is beating like a swallowed frog,
		my chin grazing the razor-sharpness 
of the stone's face, I feel again, once more,
		the hot breath	of a faint whisper 
of a fevered breeze, my temples pulse 
		with an unknown excitement never before had.
"Come on up, your're nearly there,"
		he softly yells in encouragement,
and coming over the edge I find him
		putting his arms around me,
he tightly hugs me and with a perfectly timed kiss
		I suddenly begin to relax, at long last...

"You've been dreaming, you're had a nightmare,"
		Graham tells me, sounding anxious in his concern.
"Yes, yes you're right," and as I spoke 
		took a deep breath, and sighing 
with some relief, recounted my imagined adventure:
		"I went out climbing with you,
I know what it's like, and I find it all too scary,
		when you want to clamber over vertical rock
like a lizard I would rather be left behind to watch, 
		I would enjoy just being there for that."
"That'll be great, I'd love to have you watch me," 
		Graham tells me, I like you watching me, 
and I'd enjoy showing mi' self off in front of yi'."
		In the dark he pulls his warm sleeping bag 
closer to mine, and putting one limp arm over my breast,
		ever so firmly, gently climbs up beside me...

9. A Ghostly Farewell, or, A Farewell Prayer?

The flickering light,
fleeting shadows 
in the garden,
alas, only butterflies
in love?

The creaking of branches
in the breeze,
the rustle of leaves
like footsteps
upon the path?

The wafted scent
of the winter bulbs
trigger remembrances
from a past I still 
find myself reliving.

See upon the window sill
the potted daphne,
no longer in flower,
his final gift before 
he left this world.

The warm afternoon sun
impresses itself upon my cheeks,
echoing traces of memory 
that linger on forever,
and forever...

10. The Professional Psychopath

A sweet innocent face
with an angelic smile,
a handsome lad in age
twice ten with twelve years
more unaccounted for,
wants to stay at your place,
wants to stay at your place?

Just a tramp passing through,
a tramp making a pass
and then just passing through.

Voice like a sexy frog,
soft as a pussy cat,
looks a real gentleman,
a simple soul whose luck 
has run aground once more,
wants to be your lapdog,
wants to be your lapdog.

Just a tramp passing through,
a tramp making a pass
and then just passing through.

Alas, he's now your guest,
we warned you but your eyes
were deaf to such advice,
too quickly you spoilt him,
dressed him in fine fashion,
wants now only the best,
wants now only the best.

Just a tramp passing through,
a tramp making a pass
and then just passing through.

He's armed now with the keys 
to your heart, house and car,
out for one more test run, 
with screeching of the brakes 
along the long cliff drive,
wants to be like the breeze,
wants to be like the breeze.

Just a tramp passing through,
a tramp making a pass
and then just passing through.

Unfortunately he's 
more in love with the car
but with the cops in chase
sends it over the edge,
safely watching it plunge, 
wanting his freedom, please,
wanting his freedom, please.

Just a tramp passing through,
a tramp making a pass
and then just passing through.

So off to one more state
he then hitches a lift
trading on his good looks,
a trail of misery
following in his wake, 
wanting to outwit fate,
wanting to outwit fate.

Just a tramp passing through,
a tramp making a pass
and then just passing through.

Sadly, alas, in life 
old man time caught him out
when a much older tramp 
took him in for awhile
but in an argument
ran him through with a knife,
ran him through with a knife.

One more tramp passing through,
a tramp making a pass
and then just passing through.

11. The Advantage Of Being Disadvantaged

In through the backgate,
then through the sidedoor,
comes this Charles to work;
cleaning the kitchens,
polishing the floors,
making the odd bed;
a shy, good-looking 
mentally delayed
lad sporting in life
one great advantage, 
for being someone
who's disadvantaged.

At four each morning
he quietly enters,
never complaining, 
just happy to be
a well-paid worker,
a nervous person
whose faltering speech
always speaking out 
aloud what he feels,
direct and honest,
filled with virtues true,
and proudly noble.

A strong, solid lad
employed to clean up
this student hostel
before the day staff
arrive to attend 
to daily routines 
more predictable;
each week he comes armed
with fresh flowers from
his mother's garden;
keeping this erstwhile
brothel nice and clean.

Forever smiling,
so kind and caring,
goes about his chores
with a happiness
that cannot fail to
impress those students
who awake before 
the arising of dawn
like one senior
from South Amer'ica
by the delightful 
name of Eduardo.

This Latin student
is a good scholar,
starting every day
at the stroke of four,
just as Charles enters
in through the side door
right beside his dorm,
a spacious room filled
with books and papers,
unfortunately 
forever in need
of a thorough clean.

This lad had an eye
for good form, falling
in love with our Charles
from the first morning
he saw him working
with the polisher
in that common room
bathed in a rosy
glow from those cheap bulbs
more often burnt out
than on, finding this
youth so inspiring.

And so from that day
the paths of our two
heroes find themselves 
crossing over, our 
Eduardo making 
sure that they happen
to meet at least once 
before the breaking
of each new dawn and
so, anon, swap names
as they pass along 
those dark corridors.

From the first Charles is 
equally smitten
and this is divined
by this Eduardo
who conceives this plan.
"Charles, can you help me
clean my room," he asks,
"mother comes today 
to take morning tea
and I have lectures 
from nine to eleven,
and I'm pressed for time?"

"If you can help me
you'd be most welcome
to share croissants with 
jam and real coffee,"
knowing that Charles loves
the former and is
addicted to the 
latter, who, before 
hesitating, lets
his answer reply
positively in
the affirmative.

Charles and Eduardo
start tidying up
and while they're working
the latter said, "Charles,
you're a real nice guy,
I really like yi'."
Charles, being the more 
honest, says quickly,
"and I love you too."
What do you mean Charles?"
as he quickly shuts 
the door behind him.

Eduardo enquires,
"does that mean we're mates?"
"Yes, and I would love 
to hug and kiss you."
"Would you like to sleep 
together as well?"
"And I would love to
have sex with you too."
The two friends embrace
tenderly touching 
each other before 
their first unseen kiss.

Gazing profoundly
they converse once more.
"My mum calls me her 
`Charles, the Prince of Whales'."
"I'll call you instead
my bonny Prince Charles,"
then with a hearty 
laugh Eduardo adds,
"and call me `Di' for
short, hence `Charles and Di'.
Do you want breakfast 
now or later on?"

For that semester
these two friends became
lovers in secret, 
just meeting at four
for a kiss before 
their work and study,
meeting then at six 
to partake those hot
croissants with coffee,
tasting sweet pleasures
between those pastries
until morning tea.

Charles was sad when he
discovered his friend
was going back to 
South America
but asked while in bed,
"will we still be friends?"
"Forever, this Charles
and Di won't divorce,"
promised Eduardo,
"we can chat by phone,
your number's written 
on your underpants."

In through the backgate,
then through the sidedoor,
comes this Charles to work;
cleaning the kitchens,
polishing the floors,
making his friend's bed;
a shy, good-looking 
mentally delayed
lad sporting in life
one great advantage:
one who seeks and speaks
what he thinks and feels!

12. Knowing My Love Can Be No Stranger

	I welcome the spring,
feel love is in the air,
around the corner,
that perfect stranger.
	After the winter of my soul
glad to feel alive,
know my heart is beating
with a song that's singing
	`I welcome the spring,
feel love is in the air,
any moment now
that perfect stranger.'

Into his eyes I look,
that long look of lovers,
two souls on fire
behind that waiting smile.
	"After the winter of my soul
glad to feel alive,
know my heart is beating 
with a song that sings,
	`I welcome the Sping,
know love is in the air
discover no man can be
that perfect stranger'."

	I welcome the spring,
feel love is in the air,'
know no man can be a stranger
to thoughts of love out there.
	Hear the harmonies of the soul,
that wide, wide world on fire,
rapidly flooding with such desire,
feel the oneness of that goal.
	Know no man can be a stranger
to that love in the air
`that welcomes this spring
just around the corner.'

	O beloved stranger 
who welcomes the spring
glad to join you and sing
those words happy `to feel alive.'
	Now flying high, flying low,
in a soaring dive into
that perfect strangeness of the night,
our souls on fire burning bright.
	Living one life in love
with one love for each other,
living a love for life
embracing none other.

	Hear a voice in the air
that `welcomes the spring,'
that says it feels good `to be alive,'
happy to know that love is here inside,
	burning bright throughout the night,
I welcome this spring,
with eyes like a tiger
that sees love brandished forever wider,
	with a beating heart that sings
of a timely love that brings forth
a great sacrifice and a greater freedom,
knowing that my love can be no stranger...

	`...knowing my love can be no stranger...'