Tag: Song




The giddy minstrel lived on fruit

Flies, moguls, caprice and hunks

Of Cheese and Bread


She did not give a damn about


Anybiddy said


Once munching on an oligarch

She tittered and got silly

Convulsed in laughter and bit off

A substantial lump of Willy






a place for us?


no place for us,


no place for us.

Take my hand

Sit and stare

Take my hand

Share your fear


We’ll find

a new way of dying

We’ll find

a new way of crying


No time,

No hope

No rhyme.

…it ain’t no sin

The Poor Poet by Carl Spitzweg


The deep, odd, shock of it hit me in the sun

On the shed path, marooned on a concrete crack

Freed up took in the scene, shocked, turned;

Trundled, older, balder, back up the ramp

Freewheeled, calmer, silent, down the ramp

Came to rest beside the stable table,

Tossed my hair (singular) in the blue breeze

And wiped the puss from Barney’s weeping souls.

The moo-cows are gone home to roast

No more mutinous idiots barge in

Decide to play this game of life to win


Talk is Buses:

Pubic transport

Greenline fine?

Not grotesque

But Divine



Careless Blister


No more routinely ruptured mornings –

Quite a happy prospect!

‘…Nora seemed dead on leaving.’

Meaning Wot?

Everyone is blessed: half-dressed.

Trussed and preyed on that one for another day.

Tricateurs with Secateurs;

Kiss my anus, Janus;

Facebook guttersnipes,

fishwives swimming in shirk infested waters.

We do not do blood.



A post



Ivor Cutler, poet and songwriter, in 1997.

Ahoy! Sentient Being Ahead…

back 3

Over in the corner you make out a stranger,

you make out a stranger across a musty room,

and suddenly you know,

you know even then,

he needs a wheel and a chair, and a pen…

Mornlight Drive

"Solitude" by W B Leader circa 1890

A blind, dead driver

in front

slows and

indicates all options

before a left at the lights opposite

a set sun of cheap stuff

and loss leaders

that call the believers

and sinners to shop.


Icaro cayendo / falling Icarus

All the trees

are brown

and the

carpet is grey.

I went


a splash

on a summer’s day…

Send in the Drones

A honeybee (Apis mellifera)

Wasn’t that sick?

Are you aware?

Me lying dead on the ground,

You in mid-air.

Send in the drones.


Didn’t it miss?

How can they prove?

One who keeps tearing around,

One who can’t move.

Where are the drones?

Send in the drones.


Just when I’d stopped opening wars,

Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,

Making my entrance again with my nonchalant air,

Sure of my lines,

No one is there.


Don’t you love force?

My call I fear.

I thought that you’d want what I want.

Sorry, my dear.

But where are the drones?

Quick, send in the drones.

Don’t bother, they’re here


Isn’t it sick?

Isn’t it clear,

Losing my timing this late

In my career?

And where are the drones?

There ought to be drones.

Let’s get out of here.

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