Chapter and verse

Violet Burnside tells it like it is. Like many Gypsy people over the years she’s got a great talent for writing poetry. The daughter of the much loved, and photographed famous dukkerer (fortune teller) Tilly Wood, Violet has sent in some poems to share with the readers of Travellers Times Online.

“This is me saying it how it is from the heart of County Durham.” Says Violet.

I am a gypsy, not a liar, nor thief

I am a gypsy, not a liar, nor thief
I seek not to insult
Neither will I bow at your feet
My word is my bond the truth lies within
My culture is my shield that I wrap myself in
Clothes do not make me, nor status or wealth
Abuse cannot break me from it I gain strength
Only goodness and kindness influences my soul
From there will spring tears
Reservoired through the years
The floodgates will open and swamp over the dam
If you just accept me just has I AM

Out in the cold the old varda rots

Out in the cold the old varda rots

Victim to our cultural decay

A shining Roma trailer has taken its place

Flashy tribute to riches and taste

Teamed up all swarthy with equally flashy truck

A partnership of comfort over style

While lost in the heather, the wagon remains

To dream of them evergreen days

Spring, and summer’s long gone

When the future, beckon on

Down lanes that meandered and curved

There again time would stop

Addressing years of neglect and distress

Rousingly, caressingly stemming the flow

Around semi twisted bows, destiny, is found

Sealing with the hand of fate

Leaving the past to contemplate

That which that castle on wheels once dictated

Once a safe haven for all us born to roam

Now contaminated with wriggle woodworm

Chomping away for their own interest

Exposing wounds open to regrets

The Old Duckera

 Silver grey hair, once raven black,

Sheathed in a scarf worn loose down her back.

Dark eyes that penetrate beckon them that hesitate

Too, captivate and entice you in

Sallow skin, now gaunt and thin

 Residue of the beauty. She’d once been?

Withered hands, holding tarot cards

Mother Egypt, picture, personified

Accessing the wisdom of ages untold

Futures before her mystically unravel and unfold

Revealing, themselves, not in what is said

But hidden within the body languish, that so easily read

          The longings that reside behind the brightest, of smiles

The hurt and betrayal that so often reside

Ambition and greed, the eye cannot deceive

Reflected quite clear in her crystal sphere

Hope's and tears amid unspoken fears

She could tell quite clear as the mask disappears