Dinosaur Dreaming

 I was running in a dream

And suddenly I was out of breath

I stopped and turned around to see a giant 

rib cage chasing  me

Containing the most enormous pair of lungs

I'd ever seen in my life!

It was then I realised 

I'd been running in

Thoracic Park

If not you

 If not you then who?

If not you then who?

If not you, if not you, if not you then who?

Come on hear me cry, come on hear me cry

Come on hear me, come on hear me, 

If not you then who?

I am out of touch

I am out of touch

Swinging round, swinging round

Swinging around my hutch

Come and take your aim

Pull your trigger with your blame

Shoot me down, shoot me down

Shoot me down in flames

If not you, then who? 

If not you then who?

If not you, if not you

If not you then who?

Moon toy

 How was your day?

Oh the Storm moon

Threw me a rose

And oh the home brew

It sure did you true

And I stoned the moon

It was a stone moon

Like I swallowed it whole

Oh I would storm the moon for you

It is a space war

The fight for the stars

Bach to the the future

 What did Arnold Schwarzenegger say when he decided to play a famous classical composer in a new film?

I'll be Bach

The rugby player

 When I was a young rugby player

I would run from post to post

Filled with the Holy Ghost

Like Saint George I was a dragon slayer

I would hew down my enemy 

In the most collosal tackles

And hold them by the knee

Lock their ankles in shackles

And fell them like the trees

While the pitch was my garden

Come winter time or Spring

When the frost would harden

When I was a young rugby player

When I was a young rugby player

My poetry was like Keats so Romantic and daring

Like Tennyson in its grandeur

Like Walt Whitman in Scope

I would look to the further field

And see in there only hope

When I was a young rugby player

Now I'm an old rugby player

My knees are more like rickety staircases

Creaking like a galleon upon a rocky ocean

My back is like a drawbridge rigid when bending

My arms like helicopter blades

Not so flexible for defending

Yet I still rise in the morning with the cockerel

Come home in evening with the cows

Raise my crops on the Rugby pitch

When the storms come I plough my furrowed brows

Now I'm an old Rugby player 

My poetry comes out much more like ee cummings

So modern and irreverent to formal rules some how

I no longer follow that old referee's whistle

When he blows it at grammatical fouls

Ignore Homer and Shakespeare and Wordsworth's Epistles

I prefer all the new poets now

For I'm in the avant-garde vanguard bringing up the rear

In my attack, from the back I haven't any fear

Now I'm an old Rugby player

Outer space

 I thought I was a saint

But it turns out I'm a sinner

Got this black taint

Can't remove with a thinner

I've got pictures I should paint

But I must sing for my dinner

And places that are so quaint

That I'll only reach if I'm a winner

Tell me why this stale mate

In this game of saint and sinner

Did I forget to close the garden gate

On my way to outer space, 

Should I have chosen inner?

The Wigwam song

 All I need's a wigwam

In somebody's garden

All I need is you ma'am

And my tent pole'll harden

All I need's a clay pipe

To smoke my weed in

But you play no hype

You keep on weeding

Houses are short things

Cut like the green grass blade

Cut down tomorrow

Like they've never been made

Why must we live in

Than blow in the wild wind

Carry me to everglades

Green like the grass blades