thirty-four

Before

Back in the day
When Jackie was a man's name
And Petula Clark sang
And football fans cheered and had stripy scarves

Back in the day
When tower blocks were luxury
Concrete was exciting
And colour came up in the grey

Back in the day
Of mini skirts and pirate radio
When the grass was bright green
And men had long hair

Back in the day
My dad wore flowery shirts
And had shoulder length curls
And my mum wore mini skirts

I wasn't there to see
Or hear or taste or smell
But back in the day
Is a place I feel I know

thirty-three

The Silent Green

When people talk ugly and obscene
Its good to be with the Silent Green

When people's thoughts are twisted and lean
Its good to be with the Silent Green

When people's actions are bitter and mean
Its good to be with the Silent Green

When all you want is to silence the scream
It's good to be with the Silent Green

Look after it
And it will look after you
Its good to be
With the Silent Green

thirty-two

Haze

Lay a place for me,I'm coimg down
Place your meal across the table
I'll be there as soon as I am able
I'll shake the dreams from out my head
I'm coming down

Call me louder and I'll be there
Rouse me from my musical haze
I'll take one step, two steps, three steps
Keeping one step of the haze

thirty-one

Too Old to Live, Too Young To Die

Why should I write my numbers down?
Nobody writes off Nature in the Spring.
Yet spring follows Winter - when all is dead,
When all is dead and sleeping.

Why should I count the years in serial,
When it's just a collection of Springtimes?
Why not accept that Spring follows Winter?
When all is dead, it comes around again.

Why should I not think of my years
As a tree? Grows tall, sleeps, then flowers.
Spring follows Winter, it's all there to see -
Green comes again, inevitably.

thirty

Cinderella is not at home

Cinderella is not at home
She's gone to party all alone
All alone in a one-off dress
Glass slippers shining, to impress

Cinderella is not at home
She's left the brush and mop and broom
Standing propped by the front door
She's gone to see if there's more

Cinderella has gone out
Dressed in crystal, silks, and a pout
Given it all by a fairy friend
The magic's begun - but where will it end?

Cinderella is not at home
She's gone to the palace all alone
She's left her coach and her horses outside
But she'll finish the night without her ride

twenty-nine

Burn

In my human form
I squint at the horizon
Till my eyes get tired
And burned out by the sunset

But in another form
I could outstare the sun
And in a moment of fiery madness
Join ir searing in the sky

twenty-eight

Circles Decrease

Should I worry
That I've forgotten how it feels
Holding hands on the Circle Line
Should I be scared that I've lost that time

There's books I remember more
TV, films, and CDs
Things on people's blogs, photos and posters
All tack sharp more than a memory of love

Should that bother me?

Only the faintest ripple
Like the ones on the pond when we fed the geese
Under the city's autumn sky
Fading so when it hits the shore
Its no more

twenty-seven

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intention

Holden in The Catcher
Talked a lot
People said he was not "pro-active"
But just how much control
Can a teenager have?
And that was in the Fifties

Now
I'm 38 in 09
And feel 16
Almost as much as lost
And powerless
As fifteen in the fifties

The cyan sky dims
To grey, then deep dark blue
The street is the same as its always been
Same voices, same noises
Same arguements and shouting
The same cars parked in the same driveways

And sometimes the sun shines so hard on the road
That when it rains it smells of factories
The industrial smells people used to know so well
They took it to bed with them and woke up with them
And now it is as redundant as nature


I wake up
At 8am, I'm full of joy
By 4pm, the day is gone
By 8, I'm too tired
By 10, I am drinking
By 12, I am bored of that day

My Grandad said
"Hell is paved with Good Intentions"
He painted bridges, on canvases
In the style of an Anglicised Manet
They never got shown

twenty-six

PEOPLE WHO DO NOT LEARN FROM HISTORY ARE DOOMED TO REPEAT IT

Long ago and far away
The people had no bread
A man said
"I'll give you bread"
OK
They said
But it went to his head

twenty-five

Dedication

Sitting in my lukewarm bath
Listening to the dripping tap
Over the sound of water comes
The radio and its full of crap
I just want to phone them up today
I just want to phone them up and say
Play this for my man
Do the best you can
He's the greatest one, you see
So do this little thing for me
And I hope that he really heard
Me say
I love you more than you deserve

twenty-four

Sojourn

The sun as it pelts down
Causes a meltdown
The flowers and green things wilt
The ground turns to stone
The stalks turn to bones
And restfulness turns to guilt

So apologies
If not much from me
Appears on this daily blog
But life at a pace
With the heat on my face
Is a bit of a hard old slog!