An October Rose

The Edgware Road, North from the Marble Arch

Constant traffic streaming northward,

Flinging choking fumes and noise,

Filling reluctant lungs, deafening reluctant ears

Down the road from the Marble Arch.

Maida Vale with its favoured ones

Is linked with Kilburn High Road,

Drab, yet with its myriad amalgam

Life-stirring, soul stirring, incipient glamour.

Cricklewood, Hendon, Colindale, Burnt Oak,

Factories,railways, pubs, flyovers,

Rush and roar,shop and school,

Nearby churches spiring heavenward.

Onto Edgware with its ravaged beauty

Passing the way to Handel's organ,

Passing along Dick Turpin's highway,

Passing the gate to the Chandos dream.

It's nigh two thousand years since Roman might

Forged this straight way north;

Now engines roar where legions marched,

And that long dead empire is veiled by time.

A Witch's Cottage

There was an empty,deserted cottage in my village when I was a child before WW2. All the children believed that a witch had lived here. It was filled with mouldering furniture and it was a terrifying place to me and my friends. Despite the fear we would peer through the open windows at the desolation within. There was fascination as well as fear. I have since read that in the past a dwelling that had been lived in by someone generally believed to be a witch would be left untouched when that person died. Here is my memory of that terrifying place.

A Witch's Cottage

A deserted cottage,derelict, forlorn;

Within was mouldering furniture from a bygone time.

Daring children peeped through the glassless windows

But never ventured through the door.

"That's where a witch lived", they cried

As they ran from the grown-over garden.

Did a witch live there,

Or some old woman feared by all,

A tale of the past told by generations of playful children?

It's long gone now,

That ancient reminder of a primitive belief.

And a smart new house stands there.

The memory has gone from present day children,

But is the ancient sorcery for ever laid to rest?