I never did know about my grandfathers feet
Well they trudged through the snow
Now buried six feet deep
Well I never did know about my grandfathers feet
Well he had six wives, and made six women weep
I never did know about my grandfather's feet
They say he left them somewhere where down
In Mexico,
Well with the poisonous Ivy and the Indian way
I still hear them stepping in a southern comfort sway
Dancing the Tango like a chimney sweep
Well I never did know about my grandfathers feet
I never did know about my grandfather's feet
Some are like the railroad line
They just want to repeat
And others are like the stoned crows sitting on
a tree top seat
Well who ever should where he did go
On his grandfatherly feet?
Saturday, 23 November 2019
My Grand father's feet
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Every corner of the city
In every corner of the city
There's something going down
Round every bend
Somebody is painting the town
Someone's making a friend
What they have in common
That's how the story ends
In another corner of the city
The mourners parade
Someone is fishing casting his line
Someone is cycling the tunes doing fine
In every corner another person
Is calling a friend
But nobody knows how the story
Will end
There's a corner of this city
Where the gargoyles glare
Down from their posts
At the hell down there
And on another roof top
An Angel's hand to a man extends
But nobody knows how the story
Ends
Another side of the wall
the graffiti artists call
Their tags spread over an older
Picture
They scrape it off into dust
Layers of paint like imaginations rust
And attempts to say what they need to express
Nobody shouting or trying to impress
Like giving a little as a branch that bends
This how the story ends
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Once in a blue moon
I saw you out on the blue moon
You came and went
and were gone too soon
Don't invent a reason for your absensence
Just put it down to too much scotch
vermouth or absinth
Nothing going on here,
nothing to see
For a time I was feeling queer
But of that feeling I am free
Lost again as if
As if I had some golden globe
That I could hold and keep near
Like adoration sold
Then I saw you smile like a missile
Through the room
It burst in a candle light
A wicker wax gloom
But the globe kept spinning around
As if a ball on a loom
And each Silver thread was spun
Turned into another moon
Blue was the colour
Then blood red
Then green
And from that I knew an absinth fairy near
Or else a Goblin queen
And she kept up her calling
Her temptation dream
And you were still there smiling
Like the cat who got the cream
You came and went
and were gone too soon
Don't invent a reason for your absensence
Just put it down to too much scotch
vermouth or absinth
Nothing going on here,
nothing to see
For a time I was feeling queer
But of that feeling I am free
Lost again as if
As if I had some golden globe
That I could hold and keep near
Like adoration sold
Then I saw you smile like a missile
Through the room
It burst in a candle light
A wicker wax gloom
But the globe kept spinning around
As if a ball on a loom
And each Silver thread was spun
Turned into another moon
Blue was the colour
Then blood red
Then green
And from that I knew an absinth fairy near
Or else a Goblin queen
And she kept up her calling
Her temptation dream
And you were still there smiling
Like the cat who got the cream
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Dandelion kiss
Everything felt like childhood
The stinging night does sing
About times that I have lost
And about songs that I did sing
The rocks are by the lily
And the stream flows to the sea
And each and every butterfly
Beats its wings to be free
Now the day is like a cumbersome
Toad that I must roll
All along the footpath that is made of gold
And she is like a flower
Growing by the road
I pick her for an hour
Before I blow away her soul
There are headlights in the evening
The foglights shining bright
And I stand up from the ceiling
To the morning's drowning light
French windows are blowing open
And the wind begins to call
These memories into being
From a world outside so cold
I hold her in my pocket
This flower of memory
And I will not forget her
Nor shall she forget me
The day is growing brighter
And the sun begins to shout
About the doors that we left open
When I decided to walk out
Ah but these slides are frozen
And the reel has turned on
And all the vases are broken
And now my flower is gone
Just one final word
Before I do pass on
The singing of the bird
In the lyrics of a song
She was like a Dandelion
Waving her crazy head
And I kissed her in the morning
Until I left her bed
So blow away my kisses
Like the seeds of a Dandelion head
The wind will take my thought dreams
To another land instead
The stinging night does sing
About times that I have lost
And about songs that I did sing
The rocks are by the lily
And the stream flows to the sea
And each and every butterfly
Beats its wings to be free
Now the day is like a cumbersome
Toad that I must roll
All along the footpath that is made of gold
And she is like a flower
Growing by the road
I pick her for an hour
Before I blow away her soul
There are headlights in the evening
The foglights shining bright
And I stand up from the ceiling
To the morning's drowning light
French windows are blowing open
And the wind begins to call
These memories into being
From a world outside so cold
I hold her in my pocket
This flower of memory
And I will not forget her
Nor shall she forget me
The day is growing brighter
And the sun begins to shout
About the doors that we left open
When I decided to walk out
Ah but these slides are frozen
And the reel has turned on
And all the vases are broken
And now my flower is gone
Just one final word
Before I do pass on
The singing of the bird
In the lyrics of a song
She was like a Dandelion
Waving her crazy head
And I kissed her in the morning
Until I left her bed
So blow away my kisses
Like the seeds of a Dandelion head
The wind will take my thought dreams
To another land instead
Labels:
childhood memories
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Wednesday, 20 November 2019
Truly Deeply
I'm fed up with trying to be deep
I'm really sick of it
There's nothing else I need but sleep
But I can't get a stick of it
It's the dripping of the drain pipe
Or the falling of the rain
Call it the windows that need a wipe
Or any other name
The shame of it is maddening
The curse is just the same
And if you try to tell your dad
He just speaks his words in vain
Yes I'm fed up with being deep
I'm not afraid to admit it
It takes a deep man to say he's shallow
And I'm in such low waters
That I could paddle
In fact I could wade to the shore
And remain on dry land
There's nothing much to search for anymore
There's no hidden treasure
In the ocean bed's sand
Perhaps there once was a ship of Victory
But she's long been sunk and salvaged
Her cargo's been reclaimed
No I'm sick to the back teeth of being deep
I want all my poetry renamed
It should be named the pill
Or the heavy eye-lidder
The drowsy smell of flowers
That makes the driver veer off course
On a skidder
And the car crash wreck is a double decker
Like the Ship that sunk in the sleep
Oh yes I've had it up to the neck
Like the drumming wood pecker
I'm so sick of trying to be deep
I'm really sick of it
There's nothing else I need but sleep
But I can't get a stick of it
It's the dripping of the drain pipe
Or the falling of the rain
Call it the windows that need a wipe
Or any other name
The shame of it is maddening
The curse is just the same
And if you try to tell your dad
He just speaks his words in vain
Yes I'm fed up with being deep
I'm not afraid to admit it
It takes a deep man to say he's shallow
And I'm in such low waters
That I could paddle
In fact I could wade to the shore
And remain on dry land
There's nothing much to search for anymore
There's no hidden treasure
In the ocean bed's sand
Perhaps there once was a ship of Victory
But she's long been sunk and salvaged
Her cargo's been reclaimed
No I'm sick to the back teeth of being deep
I want all my poetry renamed
It should be named the pill
Or the heavy eye-lidder
The drowsy smell of flowers
That makes the driver veer off course
On a skidder
And the car crash wreck is a double decker
Like the Ship that sunk in the sleep
Oh yes I've had it up to the neck
Like the drumming wood pecker
I'm so sick of trying to be deep
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Ocean's eleven -or Rhyme of the ancient mariner Revisited
I set off for eleven oceans
After I'd sailed seven seas
Four more I could not fail
I thought it would be a breeze
I was a lonesome vagabond
in search of riches, tourism and drink
But on that eleventh ocean
was where my ship did sink
A-drowning I was ship-wrecked
my raft it was marooned
upon the shore of a far off Isle
by a whale I had Harpooned
For where is this poor countree
that ye have towed me to?
He said well lonesome vagabond
I've towed ye to Peru
Peru I said and startled up
Where canst a man walk home?
Neigh dear lonesome Mariner
For too far have ye now roamed
But Lo what Majestic sky turned out
When I did turn me Head
For Heaven displayed a plethora of stars
One if followed must home me led
To orient I fixed the whale
Again out on the ocean
And told him hence to beat his tail
And thus from this dark Isle we shall give motion
And so on the crew of one did wend
It's starlit toiling passion
For the sea was as green as a wild monster
Calling my heart's courage to ration
Never a boat had thus put sail
Upon these treacherous seas
Nor chart or map to orient
Our pathless way to ease
We journeyed on without rainfall,
Our mouths were parched as sands
And the rats which fled from my raft
The searing heat they could not stand
Then to me appeared a visage of a friend
One I had known but now long lost
A man I had betrayed in love
And now before me visited his ghost
Accusing eyes they pierced me
And cut me to the quick
That I should live, while he had died
No candle burns a faster wick
Then flames in cohorts filled the scene
And seemed to set a light the timber
And in each flame a visage appeared
Of a man who was my crew member
They called to me and cried still worse
Why have you forsaken your brothers?
Because your life and ours were tied together
Now our deaths will be your curse
So, on I fled, crying “take me away from this guilt”
And soon from the air came a wandering dove
The evil which gave voice to these spirits
Had been dissolved by a face of love
The dove joined my vessel and led the
Whale towards dark cliffs,
“It is land “I cried
And so grateful was I
That no line written could tell of my bliss
Thank you said I, but then down did he die
Exhausted upon the deck
My future still lay in the balance, so for luck
I wore the bird around my neck
The Island was old and grey from a distance
But with speed became more familiar
It was the very spot I had sailed from
In June fifteen long years past clear
The wedding guests had arrived and there
I went with utmost haste
Now to you I regale my tale
Of eleven ocean's to which I lay waste
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Meet me on the island
Meet me on the island
I'm drowning, I'm drowning
Meet me on the island
Of a thousand crownings
A thousand brown hens
Crowing the morning
A thousand cockrels
Cock adoodling a warning
Meet me on the island
Of sacrifice
Meet me on the island
Called paradise
I've been over the cold iron bridge
And I've been stuck on
a hot fiery ridge
Been too close to the sun
On my midnight run
Been down to the brook
To read a book
And lay down by the stream
To take sometime to dream
Now meet me on the island
We live in the promised land
We'll row over there one night
Under cover, out of sight
And draw our bows from the withies
And we'll stretch our strings
From twine that bark brings
And make a harp that sings
In the starlight
And you'll brood in the rude rushes
In a hood where you stood under crushes
Of the night when it fell
When we heard the tolling bell
Ring out like a warning through the reeds
So meet me on the island
Where all of it bleeds
And it mixes in the river
And its carried in the flood
I can see your eyes full of water too
Like you could cry by the riverbank
But darling can't you tell
The island is ours as well
So let's keep it a secret
And give thanks
To keep it
Kick out the kites
And Deliver the doves
The gulls are so bright
Silouhetted crosses above
Where the crows crowd in a parliament
And parle about the world outside their branches
They sit on the wires,
like old men around fires
Discussing the government
Like cowboys on ranches
I'm drowning, I'm drowning
Meet me on the island
Of a thousand crownings
A thousand brown hens
Crowing the morning
A thousand cockrels
Cock adoodling a warning
Meet me on the island
Of sacrifice
Meet me on the island
Called paradise
I've been over the cold iron bridge
And I've been stuck on
a hot fiery ridge
Been too close to the sun
On my midnight run
Been down to the brook
To read a book
And lay down by the stream
To take sometime to dream
Now meet me on the island
We live in the promised land
We'll row over there one night
Under cover, out of sight
And draw our bows from the withies
And we'll stretch our strings
From twine that bark brings
And make a harp that sings
In the starlight
And you'll brood in the rude rushes
In a hood where you stood under crushes
Of the night when it fell
When we heard the tolling bell
Ring out like a warning through the reeds
So meet me on the island
Where all of it bleeds
And it mixes in the river
And its carried in the flood
I can see your eyes full of water too
Like you could cry by the riverbank
But darling can't you tell
The island is ours as well
So let's keep it a secret
And give thanks
To keep it
Kick out the kites
And Deliver the doves
The gulls are so bright
Silouhetted crosses above
Where the crows crowd in a parliament
And parle about the world outside their branches
They sit on the wires,
like old men around fires
Discussing the government
Like cowboys on ranches
Labels:
islands,
Relationships
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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