To The North Pole Of Course (Part Two)
The farmlands, bridges and countrysides woosh by in a rush
then vanish before my eyes at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour.
My mind is traveling at the speed of Donner and Blitzen. It goes through a magical hourglass only to nestle inside a cinnamon scented wagon that is infused with the clanking of fine china cups. A peppery scent of hot chocolate perfumes the air and lands on my palate, sweetly.
While I am being ushered forth into Christmas, I sift through time, backpedaling swifter than Santa's mistletoe kiss.
I hear his rippling laughter and melt like butter.
My extra sensory perception picks up the echoes through the halls of my memory
and I say to myself, " I think I'm going home, to the North Pole of course."
The north of England,
Is without a doubt,
A massive community,
That is paramount.
It’s a place where people,
Express their talent,
A place where people,
Should go if they haven’t.
A magical place,
Of women and men,
With the angel of the north,
Instead of the Big Ben.
We have some memories,
Unique to the world,
The Blackpool tower,
Where the dancers all twirled.
Oasis, stone roses,
Arctic monkeys, twisted wheel,
The north has a taste,
With a very strong appeal.
Black pudding,
Blackpool rock,
I tell you now,
We have the lot.
We have musicians,
Painters with talent,
We have good chefs,
There’s nothing that’s absent.
The north of England,
An extraordinary place,
If you come to visit,
There will be a smile on your face.
From Newcastle to Manchester,
Liverpool to Leeds,
There’s a city or town,
To fill all of your needs.
As Manchester say,
That we stand together,
All the north are the same,
For now and forever.
Receive and go forth upon a quest
to the north.
A road of discovery leading to a place
for recovery.
This journey shall take time, months
maybe years before you settle your
many fears.
Encountering many beasts on the way,
yet you dare not stray.
The dragon can be slain, hold your sword
and shield up high and do not yield. This
fiery beasts flames are about to cease.
The stench of a troll he shall soon be no
more, you have led him to day break where
he will be set to stone.
Continue on this path countless foes will
step on your toes, but none will stop
you in your tracks. For over yonder
is that place in the north, you've made it!
To the West
and to the North
That's where you'll find me...
Looking out from
my garden of pain.
Only air...
Only distance...
Only my mind...only time...
keeps me from the reality
of holding on to you.
To the East
and to the South
that's where I'll find you.
Looking out from
your garden of pain.
Waiting for me...
Looking for me...
Comforting me...
You are on my mind.
Copyright Christine A Kysely November 14, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved