A Halloween poem that "This Is Cabaret" asked me for. Here's the link to the YouTube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fa98cwlT7BU 
... and here's the poem text:

The Jack-o’-lantern moon rises large and orange
Over the black tree on the black hill;
As though the Harvest Moon returned 
From the underworld, with a broad hunter’s grin.

The air is purple as a spell in a bottle
And impossibly thin as skeleton skin.
I un-stopper it, I tip it up and I drink it in, 
To mix with the black elixir in my blood.

Jigsaw leaves on the ground are rotting.
Scattered are their patterns of yellow and red
That cast geometries of invocation
To wake the spirits of the dead.

Voodoo roots hold tattooed bones
Rapping them on crypts underneath the trees.
Then they shake them to a silent dance
And every twist, twists within me.

Give to me a pinch of venom 
A thimbleful to prick my senses
Draw to me all dark temptresses 
I am the beast… and tonight I hunt a witch.

I see her, walking sharp as scissors,
Hip-sway could stop a hypnotist’s watch, 
Mesmer would be mesmerised
By this witch; secretly I watch her lips.

I am the beast, I prowl at distance
I circle her, she mutters charms;
Before the moon climbs to its height
I will have her disarmed within my arms.

My thrill overspills the edges of night
The trees whisper in flow and ebb,
The witch disappears in an undergrowth portal
Spun of brambles like a tunnel web.

I follow her through to another world.
And she turns around with a dazzling stare;
My heart trips up on my surprise,
My eyes are wide, but do I dare
Chase after this green-eyed fox, this witch?
I am startled like the hare.

But our gaze remains unbroken,
My dark eyes match her green spell.
The wood around begins to spin
Blurring as I draw her in – 
She draws her nails upon my skin.
The moon is high, the time is nigh.
I am transformed. She is transfixed.
I am the beast. She will be my witch.

She Will Be My Witch - poem by Mike Galsworthy (to voodoo drums & Halloween sound-scape)

You can find the video on YouTube. Here's the poem text:

Poem text:
The Jack-o’-lantern moon rises large and orange
Over the black tree on the black hill;
As though the Harvest Moon returned 
From the underworld, with a broad hunter’s grin.

The air is purple as a spell in a bottle
And impossibly thin as skeleton skin.
I un-stopper it, I tip it up and I drink it in, 
To mix with the black elixir in my blood.

Jigsaw leaves on the ground are rotting.
Scattered are their patterns of yellow and red
That cast geometries of invocation
To wake the spirits of the dead.

Voodoo roots hold tattooed bones
Rapping them on crypts underneath the trees.
Then they shake them to a silent dance
And every twist, twists within me.

Give to me a pinch of venom 
A thimbleful to prick my senses
Draw to me all dark temptresses 
I am the beast… and tonight I hunt a witch.

I see her, walking sharp as scissors,
Hip-sway could stop a hypnotist’s watch, 
Mesmer would be mesmerised
By this witch; secretly I watch her lips.

I am the beast, I prowl at distance
I circle her, she mutters charms;
Before the moon climbs to its height
I will have her disarmed within my arms.

My thrill overspills the edges of night
The trees whisper in flow and ebb,
The witch disappears in an undergrowth portal
Spun of brambles like a tunnel web.

I follow her through to another world.
And she turns around with a dazzling stare;
My heart trips up on my surprise,
My eyes are wide, but do I dare
Chase after this green-eyed fox, this witch?
I am startled like the hare.

But our gaze remains unbroken,
My dark eyes match her green spell.
The wood around begins to spin
Blurring as I draw her in – 
She draws her nails upon my skin.
The moon is high, the time is nigh.
I am transformed. She is transfixed.
I am the beast. She will be my witch.

"She Will Be My Witch" - Halloween spoken word with voodoo drum soundscape

A poem about apocalyptic climate change and how it will affect us all - even the wealthy, whose money will be of no value if society collapses. Illustrated poem on YouTube. Text of poem below:

ON A WHITE HORSE

The hooves, they drummed a devil's tattoo 
Upon the woodland path.
The mechanical horse, it was angel white 
And never had had a sin in its mind.
The rider, he was the admired man 
And he saw no end to his sight --
A captain of industry with bags of golden leaves 
That he ripped from the trees
As he kicked his horse to ride on ride on 

To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves;
The gathering of leaves and the rhythm of hooves.
"I built this horse for riding," said he. 
"This horse, I built for riding."


But the weather-clerk stepped across his path:
"Stop!" he said, "look around. 
Your riding whips the winds and strips the trees
It shifts the rains and lifts the seas! 
Slow down," he said "or change course"

"No! I cannot risk that I'll be overtaken",
The rider he said to the clerk
"There are other riders chasing me 
And I built this horse for riding," said he
"So move out of my way, I ride on."

To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves.
To the gathering of leaves and the rhythm of hooves.
"I built this horse for riding," said he. 
"I built this horse for riding."

But one mile on, people cluttered his path 
Crying "We've seen the darkening skies! 
Please hook back some leaves onto our trees 
To catch the winds that bring disease 
And rot the fish in our waters!"

"But it's not just me," the rider said. 
"There are too many people on this earth
And when they crawl and breed in the mud, 
they bring the winds and the rains and the floods.
I earned these leaves, now move out of my way"
And the rider just rode on.
The rider just rode on.

To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves.
To the gathering of leaves and the rhythm of hooves. 
"I built this horse for riding," said he
"I built this horse for riding"

But then the air turned dark and the rain it poured down; 
And the horse it broke and stumbled and fell
Deep into the mud it stumbled and fell
With the rider, it stumbled and fell. 

The rider then saw his daughter 
And called out to her in the panicking crowd --
"My daughter, come see, I have the leaves
To buy an ark to sail the seas when the waters rise.
Though others perish, we will survive."

But as he put his hand into the bag, 
Those leaves crumbled to dust and blew away. 
Up to the dark storm they blew away.
So strangely from his hand they blew away.

"Oh father," said the daughter 
"Your leaves, they have no magic now 
Because nobody will trade them. 
The farmer gives his food to men-at-arms
To keep off the jackals of jagged towns 
That come running through the ragged woods

Since the rats overran the granaries 
From the flagstones to the rafters,
When the miller's children all fell sick in the squalid dereliction.
And where's the doctor? He's fled to higher grounds 
To drink the untouched rains --
Because poisoned rivers run overland 
Through eye sockets and open mouths
Of people fallen in burning famine upon the putrid earth.

And this is not how it was meant to be;
That our once green earth should rot to black like this
And our children walk the rain, drenched in war, fear and pain.

It is a dark time
It's a dark time for humankind.
And you, father - you led in the other horsemen
To the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm of hooves,
Riding, riding, on your white horse."

On A White Horse - dark balladic poem by Mike Galsworthy

A narrative poem about relationships and loyalty, entrapment in relationship and moving in and out of dream and fantasy. 

The Lamp Girl

Poem / Spoken Word piece in Orwellian Politician style, explaining why we should give up every shred of privacy, drone-bomb other countries freely and never get involved in government decision-making on these issues - all for maximum security against the (relatively small) threat of terrorism at home and abroad.

Mass Surveillance System -- Orwellian spoken word

Dark poetry about heaven and hell set to primal music.

Octopus Moon (Mike Galsworthy & Alex Dietterle)

Just me reading the poem form of this 1794 song by Robert Burns.

My love is like a red, red rose (Robert Burns)

Me reading one of my favourite poems. It's actually a sonnet and the full title is "Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802". Anyway, it describes London by the river Thames at around 6am on a bright morning 200 years ago.

Lines Composed on Westminster Bridge (William Wordsworth)

The Chicken and the Owl (poem by Mike Galsworthy)

In the style of David Attenborough ;)  - welcome to the world of the shrew.

The shrew (a poem by Mike Galsworthy)

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. 

(yeah, I said "through chance" - I was doing it from memory)

Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 - shall I compare thee (read by Mike Galsworthy)

So, here's a growing collection of my own poetry alongside some readings of more classic pieces that I love. If you come across it by search or accident and enjoy - great!

mike galsworthy poetry

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