beautiful hard

 Beautiful hard

Like a diamond, a gem

Sparkling in my palm

Oh who ever needed a friend

But diamonds, diamonds, rubies and pearl

All these are an infinity in the world of my girl

She is lost in the emerald sea

I search the doom bar

And the mermaid banks

I roll my R's and I give thanks

For small mercies of the gem stone planks

I'll walk for you across the sea

My hard hearted love

My dragons scree

My belief is love

Is hammer and tongs

Oh what does it matter

If I'm right or wrong?

I've been broken in the field of love

The warrior queen has

slashed my shield

She has broken free

She's sailing down the Amazon

At a million miles an hour

And I am like a falcon trailing in her power

Road crew

 Oh they're cleaning the drains down the street

Singing like canaries so sweet

Their hard iron bells

Clang like workers in hell

Dropping pipes with a wing and wang,

a crash and a bang

And a "oh honey can't you tell!?"

Their pneumatic drills

Pirouetting with skill

As the turn of the screw

This and every road crew

Who I ever knew

As they shave off a lump

Or grind down a bump

To make it fit

They might jump

And flatten a hump

Oh all hail to the road crew

They sing as they sting

With hammer and tong

Their black tar rhyme

But who's done them wrong?

No no one in time

Just the prime paint of this song

The white lines they write on our roads

These Shakespeares of tarmac

So white they are black

So dark and yet light of spirit and flight

Or fight on the pavement oh curb on your Kerb

They'll put a curse on both your houses if you try to disturb

Their road work

Their road work

What's it like on the other side of the road?

They won't ever know for their is an endless ode

Measuring time

 One foot in Hungary, one foot in the dark

One foot on a higher plain

One foot in the grave

Six feet of the millipede

The ant on a trampoline

One foot, Rabbit thumper

Hologram I've seen

One foot, two foot, three foot, four

Push me backwards through the open door

Too afraid to step through

Too afraid to fly

Too afraid to live,

You may be too afraid to die

Fear yes in feet, measured in inches or miles

Fear like a far away train

Rumbling for a while

Something on in the background

Through the static noise

I can hear a pin prick

Feel a pea through a mattress

Feel a foot or two

The distance of my heart

 We got the news

On our island

From the rivers

Down to the sea

I am alone 

On my island of the self

I miss someone so much

She is like a ship

Come sailing passed my island

in the sea

So alone in the distance

Of my heart

So alone in the distance of my heart

You say potato I say photo

 I took a photography and cookery night class at the local college. I hadn't done too well in school and had a habit of getting my words mixed up so I was a little worried about the essay writing, but I felt pretty confident on the practical side. So when I read the instruction to now cook the photo in the oven for 50 mins I thought perhaps it could have been a strange request for my end of year roll. On the other hand I was more than willing to dip my baking potato in sodium iodine and to hang it up in a dark room in order to develop it. the results were remarkable, I won the end of year photography prize, apparently my post modern take on potatography went down a storm. Moreover I did exceedingly well in the cookery competition in which I gained third prize for most developed photogenic food category, only pipped to the post by a half baked apple iPhone and a Samsung soufflé. 

Dance hall

 The sound of the feet in the hall

The tap tapping has stopped

On the old wooden boards

Quiet it creaks

And scores in shores,

Like the waves on the sandy beach

The leaping, the sweating, the 

laughing too

The going wrong, the who's who

The meeting of feet,

The look and the move

Swinging of hips

Beating of boots

Pirouetting

Waltzing

Gingerly stepping

Taking flight

Like a swan

And the house is so empty quiet now

Now that the dancers have gone

These bones

 I am a skeleton poet

I have to have lived and died

To write again

Get hold of my bones

Lay them in a line

Try to figure out the sense

Where did I come from

How was this thing arranged?

Everything was blown up you see

When he died

He had to write himself back into life

They rearranged his pieces like a puzzle

A shoulder blade from India

A collar bone from Bangkok

From England his muzzle

A thigh bone from the Russian step

And a rib cage from Mexico

It all came together

An Everyman

So they say

This skeleton poet

Who came to read on that summer's day

He is gone now

Into the grasses

Under the earth for to recline

Forever and a day

Maybe in rebirth you will find

Him writing poems

Again

About this or that or other

About how they sold the Times

About how he loved his mother

And what would a woman

Skeleton say back?

Shake her bones

Rattle the bone sack

Tell us poems are things of clay

The flesh has wrought desire

But words are the bones that hold fast

After the music has been burnt by fire