the pressures down
the rain has fallen
On the town
It's so appalling
How we drown
In sorrow swollen
Like a swallow
Before its travellin
the pressures down
the rain has fallen
On the town
It's so appalling
How we drown
In sorrow swollen
Like a swallow
Before its travellin
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
You used to be the same as everybody
You used to walk the same line
But now you're sailing against the wind
Now you making up for lost time
You used to hold a flame for anybody
They just had to walk into your mind
You used to be the frame for any buddy
A friend to those into crime
You used to have the same name as anybody
You used cry the same game on the dime
You used fake the poker face
And now you just pour the wine
I wish you'd take advice from your long lost buddy
He's calling you on the telephone line
I should have asked you how was your bloody
Nose the last time it shined
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I'm an amateur at pentameter
I'm no professional at confessional
Not one's paying me for playing me
It's just a guest appearance in a sitcom
What it's saying to me is try harder
Or don;t try at all
so I shan't,
There's no such word as can't
But there is his Critique of pure reason
It went over my head like a duck
in shooting season
I can't see myself in the pub
It's an anxiety of rubber dub dub
I never wanted it
I'm hoping a bit of inspiration
But we're living in an untied nation
Nothin in the draw, but a lot screws and rubber bands
Oasis are a rubber band you pull them apart and they come back together again
My family are a rubber band stretched over the world
But I'm guessing the tension's too strong
When one of us dies, perish the thought,
Either we'll snap or be pulled back in again
just a collection of loops or strings
vibrating at a common ground
the speed of love and sound
Except back then we were a rubber band ball
and bounced along until it all unravelled
As it must all good things come to dust
And to distant places travelled
Our family of rubber bands
It always was a stretch
Like a game of throw and fetch
Bring back the stick to papa
Wait like a loyal puppy
At your owner's feet
Give power to the one's you trust and
To those kings of the street
But I was too trusting by far
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
C There's a man on the Am hill
G Getting away from it C all
C Trying to connect to some Am place and time before the G fall
F Looking to the horizon for C some hope
C Waiting for the C sun to be G rising F
Am For the moon F to let down Am a ladder F rope
Am To get outta F here, out Am of this F town
And C he's looking in a mirror G as the night comes C down Fmaj7 Csus4 C
A mirror of who he is,
Doesn't like what he sees
At last the tides slip away from the shore
And I've got to sail on that ship
I know there's nothing left to lose
I'm just like that man on the hill
Waiting for his fill
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The Great now
Is a feeling somehow
Of being alone
But not lonely
The Great now
I can't touch it somehow
I just know that when I'm alone
It's you who I love only
It's the great now
The time of our lives
In moments
somehow your words survive
In the secrets you share
Of your heart and its care
I know I'll miss you somehow
In the great now
You can't step in the same river twice
You can't turn back the clock in this life
So forgive me if I tried to reach out and hold
Something burning hot like love that would scold
And leave me cold
In the great now
But I'll walk on in song
I'll write you a line
From time to time
And if you should think of me
Again somehow
Maybe look me up in the Great now
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Down from a chimney the young crow fell
Down, down into hell
Trapped he thought no more to tell
But then
He heard
The guitar knell
Ringing like a fire bell
To the rescue here I am
I dug up through the old ash pile
Dead ash tree
Burning flash free
Twigs and mortar fell around
But not a sight of Crow I found
Then a little voice called out
Here I am
Sometimes a bird falls in the land
Will of Odin's none can fathom
Was he real or was he a phantom
Then I had a bird in my hand
Cheap, cheap
It's all so cheap
You thought it was
The Grim reaper's reap
But from ashes to ashes
No more The phoenix crow
Rose proud
Evil bird
They said
But that was all in my head
Your nest wasn't the best
I'm gonna help you out of this
I'm gonna clear out all
The twigs and rubbish
You were so Young
So far yet to fly
How could I let you die
Flew out the window
Tried to get out
But it was shut
Black crow
I want to help you
Black crow
Black crow
There was bird in the fireplace
He had eyes that were black as the coal
pierced my soul
I thought
through and through
You were just the babies
They said you were Cro man
Crow man
Cro-Magnon man
In a sphagnum moss land
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Sparks in the night
Everywhere around
Like lights in the dark
Across the country through the town
Well will you come on my carousel baby
Will you keep me turning around
Oh there is something that I can feel
When you set off my Catherine wheel
Oh Cathy come home to me Cathy
Come on fly through the whistling air
Where there is a will then there is a way
Oh Catherine turn my wind mill's sails
Make my millstone grind down the grain
We'll bake our sour dough loaves again
And in the morning sail away
Oh Catherine's real, shining like a firework
Catherine take the wheel
And drive our love onto foreign ground
Where we've never been
And they'll never find us
Refining the claws of a Hawk
Into Talons, oh Catherine
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The cursor, I curse her
But what is the use Marks and Spencers dancer
Or model of truth
Her M and S soul is a thing I aspire to
Probably it's not love
It's just social clamouring
Or climbing
It's my inferiority of shopping at Aldi not Tescos
It's the rich poor gap writ large on my soul
I don't reflect her
She has a light for sure
An established middle classness
Of my step mother
What was I expected to be ?
A gardener at the National Trust would have been acceptable
But I never wanted that
If career life is not to be a failure
Perhaps I'll try and shake it
Or fake it til I make it
To shop in M and S more than once
a year
But that is really success in Britain
Being able to attain and maintain the same social class as your parents
Measure yourself in money, in houses and cars
He's got it comfortably
With my job I'll struggle
And even with a token degree
All I've ever done is hustle
It doesn't ever spell a day at the beach or a retirement home
Just to rest at peace alone
Would be an achievement
But I'm always off to shoot and skin another beaver
Maybe I should just move back to Canada
And leave her
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Hipsters with sisters
What of the brothers with lobsters?
The mothers with prawns and shrimp BBQs?
What of the artsy fartsy fantasy banksy's
That fill up the treadmills in the gums for life
What of the lettuce fetishists
The cattle protectorists
What of brassica rubbing in the alchemist's allotments?
Give me a fashionista at Easter spring collection
But not summer in the wings of aerodrome convention
Give me necklaces at neap tide and bear hugs in Autumn
By big wall men who fill in gaps in the mortar
Supporting acts in Tarot card decks
Spun like lattices of gossamer spider webs
Not the main act, not the leading role
That takes class and control
Not my be sugared soul
Mary Poppin it on the dance floor
Around her handbag
Even if it was a glad rag
Where have all the hipsters awaiting hip ops gone
Long time in passing
Give me books I can delve in and dip my toes in
Reading like a bunting
A wag tail
I've been a dumb bumble bee dancing around strange flowers
Got hooked on a nectar
And locked up in towers
And it's been a mistake just to follow
Attraction
For that leads to dissatisfaction of soul
The farmers are nursing their night time herds
Weaning off mother's milk
It's been a diary of dairies
And I've not written a word in blood
But I've slaughtered most of the sacred cows
Around here
And now I'm an outcast of my own design
I'm just getting ready to cut my ties
For none of these people reflect my style
I'm more a man on a hill
seeing nothing but mirrors
for miles and miles
I don't like what I see
But I've been lost in a maze
A minotaur's minor tour
of buses of summer haze
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.