Other Poems by:

Greg Woods

The Miners Wife

Come away my wee boy your father is gone
come away my wee boy we both must be strong
the men from the mine took the windows away
the front door is gone and there's nowhere to stay
get your bag my wee boy the storms overhead
we've a long road to travel till we see our bed
with the money all gone we have nowhere to stay
the mine took our home and your daddy away
The rich men are laughing and drinking their ale
they've a pocket of gold and a big house as well
they took all our funds in their company store
they have grown rich as our work made us poor
for ten long hard years your dad went underground
†the drill and his candles cost him good and sound
he worked in the dark but he never showed fear
they worked him so hard, now he is not here
Come away my wee boy the road will be long
I will carry you some way and sing you a song
hold on to my apron, for we cannot stay
or the men from the workhouse will take you away
I will make you a pen and Iíll teach you to write
I'll teach you to read though it might be a fight
as thunder clouds roar and the wind is so loud
your daddy is watching now lets make him proud

†© 2007 Greg Woods

Are there good terrorists and bad

Is it right to kill for a thought, a word or a craving of power
If we agree with the thought, the word,
If we need the power,  does it legitimise death
And what of those who die, or hold the hand of one who is dying
What of the horror, of tears, the crying orphan
If we are rich, should we strive for empire, 
Causing death in order to build our estate
what will we be remembered for
Are we good terrorists, and all others bad

Yet what do you do with the man who craves death and martyrdom
The woman with the bomb, she is on the other side
She must be a bad terrorist,  from another tribe

Are we all capable of being terrorists
  Killing the enemy or allowing others in our tribe to terrorise in our name
Are we good, are we bad, or just terrorists
 are we the pawns in a game of no reason
Yet once started, how can we end it without unity from all
How do we blank out the day-mares, the memories, the hatred, the tears 
So many questions
What is our great legacy, answer the question, lift your head. 

Thank You Louie

© 2007 Greg Woods

Iíll tell you of my land

of Joy and of great sorrow
That maybe tomorrow will cease to exist
A land so full of plenty, our Spence is never empty
A land  full of riches, yet the people grew poor
Over four thousand years, we traded in silence
Whilst fish tin and copper were our means to trade
But ships travelled far, they followed strange stars
And brought tin and copper from lands far away

Then others came along, to take all the fishes
Not to lay on their dishes, but feed beast and land
New roads came down along, and strange faces throng
Many languages were spoken where once there was one.
and other men's produce was sold in the store
And slowly my land strangled we became poor
Now they will reap the riches,  they all wear brand new britches
And we have only memories to help keep us strong

We let them come on down, and so we cannot frown,
whilst they have consumed most that we had held dear.
We did not stand together, we thought that they were better
They've turned our land to what they had once left behind
Now we are all thatís left, of a land so great and true
So this, my desperate message that I leave for you
Stand together one and all, be proud and walk tall
And save for our tomorrows what we once held dear

© 2007 Greg Woods

My concern
Cornwall is being diluted, and is at risk if extinction,
It can only be saved if enough people believe and act to save our culture
preserving it for those that will follow I am not against integration, 
but neither do I wish to lose my Culture, tricky one

A look, eyes meeting,

A thought, minds knowing
A smell, a touch, our sound
Arms and bodies entwined to become one
Heart and soul connected by an umbilical beyond reason
Laughing, crying, worrying for the other before self
Answering the question before it was asked
More than devotion or emotion
Intuition, Love growing with each passing moment
 Synchronicity rarely raising its head, all is obvious to both if not others  
Coincidence not sought, Yet neither an act,
Joy, fluttering, feeling, a bond, the ultimate unity
Tainted by a common fear of separation, of sorrow and loneliness
emptiness, only relieved by the understanding that such energy can never die 
 United and propelled by eternity, We are one 
Complex even impossible to those who do not know
Yet a gift never to be broken, a love that can never die
More than love, more than words, a sense above all others
To My Kay
© 2007 Greg Woods

Who is in charge

and in who can we trust, men craving power, writhing in lust.
 everythingís nothing, and allís not enough, 
but onward they strive, to drink at the trough
 we are as nothing, to those cold at heart, 
they think they are everything, us far apart
but without us they wonít have their pawns which to play, 
Yet folks like us come to their town every day
What is this power, you drink so much wine, 
Yet power means nothing if you do not have time
But again perhaps it does, if a better life you crave,
 but when you use people, to power you are slave
Men at the apex can only eat steak, 
 and demand at the base, more money we must make
But as they chase around, a snake eating itís tail
do they realise, that they are creating hell!
A poor man is a rich man if heís happy with his lot
And a rich manís a poor man if his souls not worth a tot
But the rich man has the weapon that we can all despise
To cause wars and hatred where only ignorance has spies
We do not own, a single thing in this place 
It is just lent to us the lowly human race
But men struck on power, are as blind as blind can be
For they think of them, and not of you and not of me
So what is the answer, and do we all care
Will we start shouting and pulling out our hair
It does not really matter, for whatever we say or we do
Thereís forces more powerful than the rich man's poor stew
This will boil us away, along with our faults
Cause one day weíll  pay, for all their powerful thoughts
they poison the good earth, and  cut down tall treeís
Till our air is all but gone, and we fall upon our kneeís
Then the rich man will have no power to hurt us anymore
Whilst the humble man will live in natures ever bounteous store
For nature will feed a man thatís full of grace
Whilst rich men never look to see what they might face
to all that is so natural where humbleness abounds
 and see the great sights in which natures all around
Who will be the strongest and who will we all fail
The politicians too will know face of hell!
and this is bad news, for a man so full of sloth,
 like the oilman and the dealer, he will burn like a moth
And the rich will have no power, indeed they are as mugs
Cause their god stands for, Gold and Oil, and Drugs
So live your whole life searching, for all that can be love
And when you return, you will fly as the white Dove

© 2007 Greg Woods

My tribe is my tribe

if you enter my door, 
you'll all be made welcome to walk on my floor
But do not find fault in the home that I live, 
for comments like that I will never forgive

In the next town they might choose to spoil for a fight, 
then I am in your tribe, I'll fight for our rights.
We will stand tall as† we cast them aside,
 but if Cornwall is threatened they'll be in our tribe

Many have come and have decided to stay,
 some are from England or shores far away
They came for the beauty, they came for the sun, 
then tried to change us to where they came from

†My home is my castle I think you'll agree, 
and if you do harm there is no sympathy
But as long as you keep to the customs of yore, 
then welcome to Cornwall for many years more

If the world held this creed there'd be trouble no more, 
so think long on this as you walk out my door
Live and let live donít look down on your nose, 
and if you don't like it you know where to go.

© 2007 Greg Woods
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