He was a brand victim
He was a victim of the Brand
And if you saw him you'd convict him
Of falling victim to a fashion crime
Some times men can be so egotistical
Sometimes they love their own image far too much
This was the case with old Narcissus
Who with his own reflection fell in love
Now Old narcissus was a victim
He was a victim of a crime
Old narcissus you'd convict him
Of being in the right place but at the wrong time
Who was it pulled the plug on the space project?
Who was it said to explore space was a crime?
Well that man at NASA was a brand victim
And he fell victim to a tear in space-time
You know God he is up there in his heaven
Twiddling his thumbs wasting time
Because down here man is a brand victim
And Adam fell victim to the original brand crime
Adam and Eve had no fashion
For that trade they simply had no time
But they fell victim to their passion
And then they fell victim to the fig-leaf brand crime
I wish I could tell you a story
How we all had common sense all the time
Unfortunately for us, Adam, Eve or Narcissus
I've fallen victim to my own lack of time
Wednesday, 8 May 2019
Brand Victim
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Tuesday, 7 May 2019
The lion and the Griffin
The lion and the griffin
They were fighting
For the shield of St George
When Hercules walked down
To the Danube
And said to them both climb on board
Well down in the reeds
He met St Christopher
Carrying on his shoulder
The Saviour Our Lord
And Hercules said to the child
Well come on now
And climb on board
And as he was crossing that old river
The tide was strong, the river broad
And then he met old Moses and the Israelites
And so he said to them
Climb on board
Old Moses he proved very useful
He cut back the tide with his sword
And down with the flapping fish
They met Atlas
Who said my shoulders are strong
So climb on board
Now down on the river bed
It was muddy
And Atlas began to sink
Under his hoard
Until who should he meet
But a great sea snake
Who said my back is long
So climb on board
Now they all slithered along quite safely
And they thought
All of their problems were cured
Until they met old Satan
Hiding in the river basin
And he whispered to them
Climb on board
So they went down
That old plug hole
Where it is the whirl pool of the world
But down at the gate
Satan met his check mate
In the fine figure of the Lord
Now He said to Satan
Give them back
Their souls are mine I am assured
And so they had a fight
In the darkest time of night
And in the morn
The Lord said to them all
Climb on board
So he brought them up
The plug hole
And tread down on the head
Of the serpent
And they all rose alright
In the new day's light
Out on the other river shore
Thanks to you we have been saved
Thanks to you we are cured
And the Lord said in response
That is nonsense
Anytime you need me I can be called
Just look up and pray
And climb on board
They were fighting
For the shield of St George
When Hercules walked down
To the Danube
And said to them both climb on board
Well down in the reeds
He met St Christopher
Carrying on his shoulder
The Saviour Our Lord
And Hercules said to the child
Well come on now
And climb on board
And as he was crossing that old river
The tide was strong, the river broad
And then he met old Moses and the Israelites
And so he said to them
Climb on board
Old Moses he proved very useful
He cut back the tide with his sword
And down with the flapping fish
They met Atlas
Who said my shoulders are strong
So climb on board
Now down on the river bed
It was muddy
And Atlas began to sink
Under his hoard
Until who should he meet
But a great sea snake
Who said my back is long
So climb on board
Now they all slithered along quite safely
And they thought
All of their problems were cured
Until they met old Satan
Hiding in the river basin
And he whispered to them
Climb on board
So they went down
That old plug hole
Where it is the whirl pool of the world
But down at the gate
Satan met his check mate
In the fine figure of the Lord
Now He said to Satan
Give them back
Their souls are mine I am assured
And so they had a fight
In the darkest time of night
And in the morn
The Lord said to them all
Climb on board
So he brought them up
The plug hole
And tread down on the head
Of the serpent
And they all rose alright
In the new day's light
Out on the other river shore
Thanks to you we have been saved
Thanks to you we are cured
And the Lord said in response
That is nonsense
Anytime you need me I can be called
Just look up and pray
And climb on board
Labels:
lion
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
About love
I don't know what we're going to do about love
I don't think I can figure it out
Like pieces of a puzzle with some bits left out
I don't know what we're going to do about love
I don't have a clue
In the sky of blue
I don't want it back
Like a night of black
I don't want it green
Like a field I have seen
Give it to me yellow
Like an evening mellow
Give it to me strange
Because I need the change
Give it to me odd
Like I believe in God
Don't give it to me pained
Because I'm already chained
I don't know what we're going to do about love
And I know this needs to be changed
I just don't know how
I know its rearranged
Like the stars and the plough
I know what I thought I knew
About all the times we've pulled on through
But I don't know now
What we're going to do
About love
I don't think I can figure it out
Like pieces of a puzzle with some bits left out
I don't know what we're going to do about love
I don't have a clue
In the sky of blue
I don't want it back
Like a night of black
I don't want it green
Like a field I have seen
Give it to me yellow
Like an evening mellow
Give it to me strange
Because I need the change
Give it to me odd
Like I believe in God
Don't give it to me pained
Because I'm already chained
I don't know what we're going to do about love
And I know this needs to be changed
I just don't know how
I know its rearranged
Like the stars and the plough
I know what I thought I knew
About all the times we've pulled on through
But I don't know now
What we're going to do
About love
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Hopes and Fears
Willow cotton on the ground
The river path gravel
Without much sound
Beside the birds who awake
And found
The glassy river reflects the ground
And trees shudder in the echo of cold
From the days long gone but still bold
Which made them strong to withhold
The coming rains from clouded folds
And animistic rites of passion
Stand hard like a hair style fashion
Upon the things that I once said
Arising from a sun soaked head
Meaning less my birth right fixed
By the fens and rows of sticks
That make up pens for men and bricks
To live within their courts of tricks
And out perform each other's trades
Sparkling in some dark charade
Of Gods and ghosts and other shades
Of all the hosts upon this stage
I see beyond the curtained wall
To the time before the fall
When Adam and Eve were quite enthralled
By the wind that cannon balled
And knocked down flat their ideas
Of each others hopes and each's fears
For before the fall they both had ears
But neither had eyes to see nor tears
The river path gravel
Without much sound
Beside the birds who awake
And found
The glassy river reflects the ground
And trees shudder in the echo of cold
From the days long gone but still bold
Which made them strong to withhold
The coming rains from clouded folds
And animistic rites of passion
Stand hard like a hair style fashion
Upon the things that I once said
Arising from a sun soaked head
Meaning less my birth right fixed
By the fens and rows of sticks
That make up pens for men and bricks
To live within their courts of tricks
And out perform each other's trades
Sparkling in some dark charade
Of Gods and ghosts and other shades
Of all the hosts upon this stage
I see beyond the curtained wall
To the time before the fall
When Adam and Eve were quite enthralled
By the wind that cannon balled
And knocked down flat their ideas
Of each others hopes and each's fears
For before the fall they both had ears
But neither had eyes to see nor tears
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
No longer yours
The emotional manipulation
I don't want anymore
Let me paint you a picture
I'm not yours
The flights down staircases
Flinging open doors
Let me paint you a picture
I'm no longer yours
Birds in the bright sky
Can breathe outdoors
Inside I was your prisoner
But now I'm not anymore
The Devil's in the detail
Of all the letters you can check
I've heard about God up to my neck
And I can't stand the hypocrisy anymore
I'm no longer yours
I don't want anymore
Let me paint you a picture
I'm not yours
The flights down staircases
Flinging open doors
Let me paint you a picture
I'm no longer yours
Birds in the bright sky
Can breathe outdoors
Inside I was your prisoner
But now I'm not anymore
The Devil's in the detail
Of all the letters you can check
I've heard about God up to my neck
And I can't stand the hypocrisy anymore
I'm no longer yours
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The truth does not lie
Truth was like a tiger
Stalking in the long grass
It crept up on me like a fugitive
Furtive in its glance
I didn't trust it to begin with
Did not want to go along
With its plan or schemes
It wanted to break free from jail
But I was hooked on a captive's false dreams
Eventually I succumbed
To its undeniable logic
When you eliminate all other explanations
Only the truthful facts remain
And when that became clear
I willingly followed in its pursuit
On a jail break from falsehood
On the trail of right and good
Stalking in the long grass
It crept up on me like a fugitive
Furtive in its glance
I didn't trust it to begin with
Did not want to go along
With its plan or schemes
It wanted to break free from jail
But I was hooked on a captive's false dreams
Eventually I succumbed
To its undeniable logic
When you eliminate all other explanations
Only the truthful facts remain
And when that became clear
I willingly followed in its pursuit
On a jail break from falsehood
On the trail of right and good
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Sunday, 21 April 2019
Times of Yore
And in the aftermath
The whole world quaked
The little birds in the trees sang
Their big world beat
And shoes began their tapping
Down old familiar streets
While the new world was made
In the skipping heart beats
And each place that I had known
Came from some place beneath
The blood extracted from a stone
The thoughts of my belief
I thought that I had known
Just what you were about
But I had read too many books
To be without any doubt
My head was filled with big ideas
And things that I called facts
Just truths that had really been blown
Into God given laws or acts
And in actual fact the tombe
Was written in four acts
One of dancing bees alone
The second of marshaled cats
The third a screaming cacophony
Of Unbridled acts of joy
The fourth like some regret that's known
Only to little boys
And I stood in wonder of all that came to pass
The single voice in a woodland
Calling from the grass
A fallen tree in splender of its dying root
The fire of a birth right won fast
By fierce pursuit
And each were but an emblem of what I could enjoy
When I looked out from castle Eden
At the world He had destroyed
There were no sepulcred temples
Nor thrones of Kings long dead
There were no fire of barren towns
That called for John the Baptist's head
Only the rolling ocean
That answered but for itself
The carol of those lost at sea
Those far from home or health
I wished them on the journey
And sent them Godspeed
The briars and the tourneys
Twisting like the weed
One a rose of wisdom
The other a love sewn seed
Both fell onto fallow ground
Full of envy or of greed
And when they came to harvest
Nothing much of crop was reaped
But for the heads of corn
Whose ears were deaf
And whose eyes did bleed
I searched for the shepherd
Who could rescue the lost sheep
But he told me, friend
I cannot save those who do not bleat
So I called for the lamb
Who was lost and far from heat
And the warmth of the caravan
When the road has worn its feet
I waited in the small hours
Between midnight and the dawn
And soon came the fledgling lamb
Too tired now worldly shorn
We clipped its hooves
And sheered its wool
And once again it joined its flock
One more black sheep to join the herd
One more soul bound to the rock
The whole world quaked
The little birds in the trees sang
Their big world beat
And shoes began their tapping
Down old familiar streets
While the new world was made
In the skipping heart beats
And each place that I had known
Came from some place beneath
The blood extracted from a stone
The thoughts of my belief
I thought that I had known
Just what you were about
But I had read too many books
To be without any doubt
My head was filled with big ideas
And things that I called facts
Just truths that had really been blown
Into God given laws or acts
And in actual fact the tombe
Was written in four acts
One of dancing bees alone
The second of marshaled cats
The third a screaming cacophony
Of Unbridled acts of joy
The fourth like some regret that's known
Only to little boys
And I stood in wonder of all that came to pass
The single voice in a woodland
Calling from the grass
A fallen tree in splender of its dying root
The fire of a birth right won fast
By fierce pursuit
And each were but an emblem of what I could enjoy
When I looked out from castle Eden
At the world He had destroyed
There were no sepulcred temples
Nor thrones of Kings long dead
There were no fire of barren towns
That called for John the Baptist's head
Only the rolling ocean
That answered but for itself
The carol of those lost at sea
Those far from home or health
I wished them on the journey
And sent them Godspeed
The briars and the tourneys
Twisting like the weed
One a rose of wisdom
The other a love sewn seed
Both fell onto fallow ground
Full of envy or of greed
And when they came to harvest
Nothing much of crop was reaped
But for the heads of corn
Whose ears were deaf
And whose eyes did bleed
I searched for the shepherd
Who could rescue the lost sheep
But he told me, friend
I cannot save those who do not bleat
So I called for the lamb
Who was lost and far from heat
And the warmth of the caravan
When the road has worn its feet
I waited in the small hours
Between midnight and the dawn
And soon came the fledgling lamb
Too tired now worldly shorn
We clipped its hooves
And sheered its wool
And once again it joined its flock
One more black sheep to join the herd
One more soul bound to the rock
Labels:
bees
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
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