Jerry Pike Biography

A late bird, your song flutters, heart to heart.
I see notes hanging from telephone wires,
then falling softly into the deep grass.
And I lay there, staring out of this world,
...

The Guns Of Navarone,
never sounded so good,
blamming off walls,
cutting up that sacred ground,
...

And I will whisper in your ear,
most any wish you’d like to hear,
...

Come stand here, by the Peachey stone, atop this screaming hill,
enchant yourself in memories, imbibe yourself in thrill,
...

The map to small escapes seems too folded, too tightly folded.
I prise a blunt pleat, see a green road, a blue curling streak,
more green, then a mile of coast.
Those old Hessian maps,
...