Katie Lynn

Katie Lynn


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This section is for the most Incredible Poet, and amazing friend, David Lewis Paget. He is, by far, the most talented writer I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I would love for everyone to enjoy his work; each poem a masterpiece in itself. With all my love, David.

David Lewis Paget has finished his new book and it is now available.

Contact Dave for details and prices

My friends I pose for your entertainment one of the greatest works of poetry.

Written by my friend David Lewis Paget

Lightning Jack

The air was still, the eve was chill

And the Elders forecast rain,

They looked to the distant rolling hills

At the ominous cloud that came,

The doors and shutters of cottage folk

Were slammed and barred in the dark,

With the first of the lightning forking down

On its way to the village of Stark.

A figure stood at the crossroads there,

And stared at the cloud in dread,

His boots were muddied, his topcoat wet

And his hat just drooped on his head,

With thunder rumbling like a growl

At the back of the Devil's throat,

The figure dropped to his knees and howled,

In a long and a high pitched note.

The crossroad gibbet was made of oak,

Had carried a hundred moans,

Had hung its felons from each of its arms

'Til the flesh had peeled from their bones,

It stood like a force of nature, poised

To point three ways in the dark,

To the towns of Taye, of Ath and Brahe

And fourth, to the village of Stark.

The thunder had rolled relentlessly,

The rain, it was pelting down,

A villager saw the figure there

As he halted a while, and frowned,

The lightning forked from the darkening cloud

And it struck the figure in black,

As the oak exploded in one brief flash

By the figure of Lightning Jack.

The figure staggered and howled once more

Then he shook his fist at the sky,

He'd been lit up by the thunderbolt

That had crisped his hat, bone dry,

But now he was mad as he raised his voice

And he screamed by the wreck of the tree:

'You can burst the gibbet and scorch the earth

But by God, you can't get me!'

He made his way to the village of Stark

Took a room at the village Inn,

But news had spread of his near escape

From the lightning bolt of sin,

The villagers took to crossing themselves

When he passed, each turned his back,

They'd have no truck with the devil's seed,

That they knew as Lightning Jack.

For Jack had been struck a dozen times

By a bolt from the darkening sky,

It was almost as if he was cursed by God

And the villagers wondered why?

Wherever he roamed in the lanes and fields

When a storm was coming on,

He'd run and hide, but the storm's black tide

Would follow, wherever he'd gone.

They said that he'd killed a man one day

For a woman of gypsy blood,

But she had rushed to her lover's side

As he died there, in the mud.

Then she cursed him once in the Romany way,

And she cursed his soul as well,

That he'd live forever to curse the day

That he'd broken her lover's spell.

They'd dragged him before the magistrates,

His hands and his feet in chains,

They'd sent him down on a murder charge

To be hanged by the autumn rains,

The drop, it had failed to open up,

The rope had snapped with his fall,

The beam gave way on the third attempt

And he lay half-stunned on the floor.

The third attempt brought a swift reprieve

From a Judge, in the fear of God,

Who thought it an omen he be spared

For the Lord's own lightning rod,

So he sent him out of the country,

Told the wretch he'd better not hope,

To return again, or he'd feel the pain

Once more, of the hangman's rope.

And so he sailed to the continent

And his feet were set to roam,

He slept in the barns of farmers' farms

With never a place called home,

While every storm from a threatening sky

Had caused him to curse and shout,

The rolling verse of the Romany's curse

Was determined to seek him out.

The lightning struck on the baldest hill,

It struck in the deepest wood,

It took one eye, and blistered his tongue,

Withered one arm where he stood,

At times he bordered on madness,

Scanned the skies for a lightning bolt,

And shook in fear as his fate drew near

That he'd turn to a pillar of salt.

The Mayor of Stark in his ermine robes

Had drawn on his long gold chain,

Had gathered his councillors round him

Raised his voice, and began to declaim:

'As long as I'm the Mayor of Stark

In charge of the town's decrees,

This Lightning Jack is a menace,

Wrecks our barns and blasts our trees.'

They carried him bodily into the square

And they bound him up in chain,

With lightning flashing around their heads,

He roared: 'Now feel my pain!

God's wrath will stay with you in Stark

Unless you let me go!'

The Mayor looked round the village square

Then quietly answered - 'No!'

'A curse may turn to a blessing,

It depends on a person's creed,

And you may seek your salvation

By fulfilling a village's needs.'

They hoisted him up to the ancient church,

They tied him onto the steeple,

'Now you may serve as our lightning rod,

Perched high above the people!'

At Stark they witness many a storm

Where the lightning forks on down,

But not one villager has been struck

In field or farm or town,

The lightning arcs down to the Church

To sear the hangman's dross,

For something withered and crisp lies there

Beneath the Holy Cross!

And after the worst of the storm is spent

The wind howls through the eaves,

The lightning tapering off, it makes

Its way back through the trees,

Then you may listen and hear a cry

That sounds more like a plea -

'You can blast and light up the weathercock

But by God, you can't get me!'

David Lewis Paget

© 2012 David Lewis Paget

Tribute to David Lewis Paget

To all my friends I would like to introduce this man David Lewis Paget.

He is to my mind the greatest living poet. A long time member of the cafe he keeps a low profile.

We should all avail ourselves of his work. It is the most unique I have ever encountered.So I add this poem he wrote called The Great Eastern..

A twist on a true tale.The Great Eastern was a steam ship built in 1856. It was so far ahead of it's time that it would be 50 years before man saw it's like again

The Great Eastern

A Poem by David Lewis Paget

The bones of the great and troubled ship

Lay under a greying sky,

I'd traveled on up to Liverpool

To see the monster die,

The wreckers were ripping the hull apart,

Were opening wounds of old,

Not only the bones of a rusty ship

But the bones of a tale untold!

My mind went back those thirty years

To the time when we built the ship,

When I was a poor, young riveter,

Just out on my maiden trip,

I'd found some digs in Millwall,

Right down in the Isle of Dogs,

Where the Thames sweeps on forever

In a miasma of mist and fogs.

I moved on in with Ted and Jane,

The Lamptreys they were called,

He was a man of forty years,

She was just twenty four,

But Ted was grim and serious,

While Jane was as light as froth,

While he was around, he held her down,

I thought her a fluttering moth.

She'd laugh and dance, and prance around

When Ted was not at home,

He liked his pint of Guinness Stout,

His beer, a head of foam,

He said that he'd worked a mighty thirst

For Isambard Brunel,

Whose dream of the great Leviathan

Rose up from the depths of hell.

I got me a job with Ted down there,

Riveting iron plates,

That ship was the first with a double hull

With an inner working space,

We belted the red-hot rivets in

And flattened the ends across,

We'd work in pairs, and the light was scarce

In the depths of that albatross.

Whenever old Ted would seek the pub

I'd go on home to Jane,

I thought that she must have feelings,

But the love that I felt was pain,

For I never dared to voice it, though

She must have looked in my eyes,

To see the way that my feelings lay

It was way beyond disguise.

Then Ted had begun to drink too much,

He said it was getting him down,

All he could hear were the hammers,

Hammers, belting his head around.

They chimed all day in his weary head

They rang all night in his sleep,

Drowned out the sound of our laughter

Like an echo relayed from the deep.

He belted Jane and he made her cry

While I had nothing to say,

I thought that I couldn't come in-between

A man and his wife that way,

She saw my eyes, and they said it all,

I'd sit, and begin to grieve,

I just couldn't bear the thought that he

Might say that I had to leave!

The Eastern Company went bust,

Went broke in '56,

And we were all laid off, until

The finances were fixed,

We spent some terrible weeks at home,

Living on toast and tea,

Wondering how to pay the rent

And arguing constantly.

They hired us back, began again,

But Ted and I were sour,

For Jane had begun to talk to me,

Ignored him by the hour,

We worked down deep in the hull this time

But spoke not a friendly word,

With just the clash of the hammers as

The heat of our tempers soared.

He worked inside, in the inner space

As I beat the rivets in,

He'd disappear in the iron walls

To the clash of the hammer's din,

My mind began to play me tricks,

My hammer felt like lead,

And then as he peered on out one day,

I hit him across the head.

He fell back into that inner space

With neither a scream, nor curse,

I knew if I pulled him out again

There'd be calls for a horse and hearse.

I fitted a whole new iron plate

And riveted it in place,

Wiped the blood from my hammer,

And the sweat from my trembling face.

That night, I told poor Jane I'd left him

Outside the Crown and Heart,

She didn't say much 'til midnight when

He hadn't returned to the hearth,

For days, she hurried around to seek

Her husband in every lane,

But only I knew the reason why

He'd never come home again!

For months, I hoped and I prayed that

She would fall in my loving arms,

And weep her sorrows away with me

While sharing some of her charms.

But Jane was bitter and fretful, she

Would glare at me in the dark,

And nothing would raise her spirits now,

The light had gone from her spark.

The ship had neared completion when

I offered my hand to her,

'You must have guessed that I love you, Jane?'

She turned on me with a curse.

'You think to replace my husband? Hah!

I wouldn't take you on a whim,

For Ted was really my one true love,

I'll keep myself true to him!'

The ship was launched, and I left that place,

I signed as one of the crew,

I'd killed a man for a dream, like sand

That had trickled my fingers through.

I dreamt that Ted was alive, not dead

And clanking his length of chain,

In the bowels of Brunel's Great Eastern

And calling me out, by name!

That ship was cursed from the day it launched,

When one of the boilers blew,

As it crossed the Atlantic swell it lost

A paddle-wheel or two,

The rudder snapped at the iron post,

A reef put her in tow,

I knew full well that the hounds of hell

Were trapped there, down below!

I'm old and tired, as I watch the iron

Now stripped from the Eastern's side,

When suddenly there's a shout goes up:

'There's a skeleton inside!'

Now back in my lonely boarding house

I write this in despair,

In death, he waits with a hammer of hate,

Ted clanks his chains down there!

David Lewis Paget

© 2010 David Lewis Paget


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Posted 8 Years Ago

Merry Christmas dear
Procol Harum - A Whiter Shade of Pale, live in... by farflungbaton

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Posted 11 Years Ago

Hi Katie,

Just a note to let you know I'm enjoying your poetry. I don't remark on every one.


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Posted 11 Years Ago

Tate lol you're the best. Thank you for being such a great friend to me. :-)

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Posted 11 Years Ago

You're more than welcome. Never forget how much you're truly loved by me, and everyone else here!

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Posted 11 Years Ago

Wow, Katie Lynn, I am most honoured. Thank you for that,

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Posted 12 Years Ago

Thank you so much for the kind words and warm reviews! They made me really happy :) Thank you! I'll return the favor and get to some of your work soon!