I’m too far gone from my mind today
to write a song for you today
so instead
I’ll whistle a tune
and hope you make
all the words come true
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song
earnest verse for an imaginary young busker
they will give you circus tricks
and not even throw you bread
distract you from bright futures
with their faded pasts instead
The Nonsensical Madness of Pub Breakfasts
gin palace breakfast bowl
old fat Henry Tudor roll
watching wooden tulips grow
big red bus to Old Kent Road
chandelier spiderthreads
reminding me of Pier Head
Mr Wimpey dropped down dead
and slipped into the river cold
somewhere in the heart of town
a pair of yellow boots were found
which stomped my nation underground
with it all our future’s sold
and so dear friends my song is done
I’m off to sing another one
before the inspiration’s gone
or if the day grows old.
Attempted ’40s Lovesong
this dream is tethered to your smile
that way it won’t drift away
across the subconscious ocean’s miles
I plan on having you stay
here instead
as I lay in bed
you sinking deep in my pillow
until sunlight beams
into this dream
and fills my waking head
A song for Paul Simon
and so in his Augustan phrase
forced between the ringing bars
a poetry of his young passions
duets with his cold guitar
(chorus)
there’s loneliness
where none should live
and sadness takes
when love must give
and though his rhymes are older now
they still beat inside my dreams
sing along with my heart somehow
and drive away the clouds it seems
(chorus…)
the patterns make their way through
those memories we have all shared
and though they fall to pieces
even scattered shine those words
(chorus…)
A Naive Little Song I Sort of Sung to Myself on the Train
I loved a girl on the beach in Spain
only we both didn’t know it then
destiny would see to it
was just a matter of when
she had no cares in eighty eight
or whenever it may have been
and nor did I wherever I was
that changed when I had seen
the woman she grew into
before I even knew her name
and from the moment I held her
something inside me changed.
a few lines for a possible folk song.
throw a quarter in my tambourine
and I will sing for you
put a dollar in my notebook
and I’ll write a song or two
cause my heart is hungry
and not just for your smile
I gotta keep my soul together
for the next five hundred miles
First verse to an unwritten chanson
let the rains come
and wash away the songs of summer
there needs to be September
to remind us of July,
when the long days grew tired
and let themselves
fall into your waiting arms
and have the nights slip by.
Songs of Home and Heartache : part one
steel guitaring echoes
of sadness and defeat
when Patsy gave me sweet dreams
in the heart of lonely street
and the needle always caught her
at the start of cigarettes
no matter how I’d set it right
I never can forget
just how those days are beaten in
and make of that boy the man
I tried to fall far from the tree
to find out who I am
…but…
all these countless heartaches later
when I’m thinking that I’m fine
I realise like old boy Merle
I’m still drinking yesterday’s wine.
First verse of a song for a moderately popular imaginary post punk pop group.
Down in your Subtopia
this brutalist dystopia
you can hide yourself among
your village common memories
of a time before no time at all
when all the good men took the call
to run off to a foreign field
looking out for enemies.
