A Brother's Prerogative

Small boy aged six and I
See eye to eye
On protecting small girl aged 2
From the likes of boys like you
Should one attempt to garner a kiss
From our beautiful and sprightly Miss
At that point a brother’s true nature calls
To rise up kick the offender in the balls

Funny

A funny day
Ha ha and peculiar
A funny feeling
Like a wish you were here
Head in the clouds
I can’t seem to touch ground
Maybe the wind will blow me away

Take the Stairs

Small choices
Define a man’s life
Like a smoke break
Or working late
The express elevator
Stopped
Solitary confinement
41 hours later
The doors open
Tomorrow
He’ll choose the stairs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_bMhNI_TY8

Phnom Penh

I wonder if Miss Sander
Is back at work today
Or sitting by the waterhole
Watching hippos play?

I wonder if young Julie
Is feeling in the mood
To chat to yours truly
While I snack on city food?

I wonder if she’s missing
A big Mac now and then
Sometime reminiscing
About curry from Phnom Penh?

I wonder if she’s cooking
Meat cut straight from the hoof
Or if the chimney’s smoking
From flames burning through the roof?

Morning People

Each morning I wake blinded by the light
Engulfed in flames are my dreams of the night
There is much to be said for the cold clear light of day
But I’d take another hour in bed to acclimatize my head
For getting up is not child’s play
Whatever so-called “morning people” say

Madiba

Mandela’s story as told by a small boy aged 6 in all its glory

Mandela was born
He grew up
Trouble came
When he said that white and black people were all the same
They put him in prison
And then set him free
He became our President
And we all said Yippee!

Monday child is full of grace

Monday
Disagreeable
Mad traffic
Sleepy eyes
Weekend gone
Time flies

Email on request

You sit across from me all day long
You let me know very vocally when anything is wrong
We chat upon the balcony cigarette in hand
Which is why I don't really understand
Why you need me to send an email to gmail.com
Tomorrow why don't you ask your mom?

Pop!

Helium balloon
Rises free in the sky
Playing in the wind
I watch it fly by
A fragile thing
It bursts in a flash
Collapsed into a piece of plastic trash
There’s nothing so sharp
As a well chosen word
I think golden silence
Is by far preferred

To Julie

Has deepest, darkest Africa swallowed you up?
Even your darling brother has heard ne’er a peep
You haven’t been run over by an out of control jeep?
Or mauled by a lion and now in his tum?
Or killed Cliffy and now on the run?
Tomorrow I’ll resort to old fashioned mail
With a stamp and an envelope and the pace of a snail

What’s going on in the goopy green swamp?
Can you hear a hungry hippo going stomp?
Are you singing with the birds in morning chorus?
(Damn, I’ll have to look for a rhyme in the thesaurus)
Are you creeping through the jungle with a really big gun?
Are you having lots and lots of fun?

For heaven’s sake girl, drop me a bone
Better yet, pick up the goddamn phone!

Bloody Hell!

They say things happen not in twos but in threes
Now this very fate has cut me off at the knees
At the risk of sounding totally paranoid
I’m beginning to get really annoyed
It appears someone has been at it again
Pilfering drawers with complete disdain
While I do not mourn the loss of Duran Duran
If we were in Saudi they would cut off your hand
However when it comes to my new Verve CD
I have to send out a truly heartfelt plea
Please please return it to me!
I understand the desire to listen to the Verve
But to nick from me takes a hell of a lot of nerve
As for Duran Duran
You can keep it, you obviously need it
You sad sad man

(or woman – so as not to be discriminatory)

Bonfire of the Vanities

Each month I wait with bated breath
For my Vanity Fair to arrive on my desk
And now it is gone
Please return it to me extremely post haste
Or you shall find yourself down the corridors chased
By a spitting mad vixen with bad PMS
Give it back now and we can avoid this distress

Invoices

If only I was writing with news from the bank
So you could call me with effusive thanks
As your balance shot skywards safe in the black
You could move into a mansion from your suburban shack
Alas, I send this asking for cash
For the copy I wrote for you in a flash
If I sat at your corner with a sad cardboard sign
I hope you'd throw me buck for this little rhyme

PC CPR

My laptop is terminally ill
I hate to harp upon this still
This morning I prepared to boot it up
And pottered off to fill my cup
Upon returning to my chair
I offered up a single prayer
To no avail the screen was black
I called IT cried “Alas, alack!”
They came, they saw, they shook their heads, they left.
I stood alone, utterly bereft
In anguish I gave it one good thump
And then the darling thing came up trumps
I have the gift of IT CPR
I brought back it to life with ne’er a scar
I copied off everything trivial and bizarre
And am checking it in to IT ER

The Shoe

Arriving home a strange plateau
Met my weary eyes
A single shoe laid out for show
In a large men’s size
It took centre stage in my garden green
I wondered if the owner screamed
As dogs 1 and 2 ripped off his shoe

Green grass

Under breath mutters
Bird flutters
At the closed window
Glass cage shutters
Is the grass greener?
Get a window cleaner

Embrace

Its nightmare season
On this city street
Echoes in my ears
Pounding heart beat
Shadows loom
Head spins
Start to swoon
Running on empty
Desperately seeking
Can’t catch
That breath
Elusive air
If I manage to scream
Will anyone care?
Coins in my pocket
Nerves jangling
On the edge
Sweet sweet daylight
Chase away the demons of this night

Oh Jessica, Oh Jessica

Explain to me this bizarre male saga
Over an actress named Jessica Alba
I call her an actress in the loosest of terms
A definition the Academy confirms
She is brainless, talentless and totally inept
But, and here’s the crux, she has really really cute breasts
Which only serves to underline
The sad sad state of the average male mind

"Relax" said the nightman

These four walls are closing in
Each day further encroaching
On my personal space
This place is Hotel California-esque
In a manner quite grotesque
Distorted reflections through the glass
We blithely continue playing this farce
I think people are tunneling under the desks
Escaping their cubicle – quite obsessed
Others, like me, are too depressed
We’ve given up fighting and are far too stressed
If you have a comment on my campaign
Put your 10 cents in the jar and move away

Los desaparecidos

Where are you?
Swallowed up in the deep dark
Los desaparecidos
Missing, I presume
The silence creeps
Insidious scenarios
Breed in the hours before dawn

That dank tunnel calls
A belly black descent
There is no turning back
To seek that pinprick of light
Casting a giant shadow show
Against the walls
It’s cold in here
Echoes of my heartbeat
Footfall
A ghostly chase
At a dismal crawl
Relative time
Warps continuity
Do you hear me?
Do you miss me?

On PMS and Werewolves

The black dog throws back his heavy head and howls
Festoons of saliva drip from his jowls
Insatiable hunger pangs crippling agony
He’s on the move and stalking me
I crawl in the wet dank undergrowth
Stifle a quickly muttered oath
My scent too strong to miss
Wait for that final hot breathy kiss
No wagging tail, no dog this
No childhood memory to reminisce
Bide my time, this to shall pass
Not the first time, not the last

I wanna be a Cowboy baby!

If I'd been a 1920s flapper
I'd have made a pretty hot slapper
If I'd been born in 1960
I'd probably have been a hippie
With flowers in my hair
Staging sit-ins in some square
But I am a boomer baby
I survived the 1980s
I play loud music unapologetically
And dress (well - and this is what my friends say) eclectically
When I grew up I wanted legitimate employ
Dammit I wish I'd been a cowboy!

Asprin Flowers

By Scott Harrison

Aspirin grows on trees

Flowers and trees get stressed out too

Let’s keep it between me and you

Blinding migraines, panic attacks

Terrible paranoia of a chopping axe

Popping pills is not a wholly human foible

Plants take them too when things get unbearable

They go one step further and make their own

A pharmaceutical lab in their very own home

The BBC says they make their own aspirin

I wonder if they make their own Valium

Ode to the adjective

Descriptive

Subjective

Obstructive

A dangerous tool

For an unwitting fool

Three legged race

Tightly wound

Need to unwind

Not my fate

As I now find...

Small boy aged six

Must be at school

So early I deem it to be cruel

And unusual punishment

I hated sports day in my time

Jolly hockey stocks etc.

Beaten down in my youthful prime

I ran the three-legged race

With the tallest girl who ever graced

The playing field

Bear in mind that I was 3 foot three

I barely came up to her knee

We never made it past the start

Or get the bloody knots apart

The saga is not yet complete

While watching older son compete

Younger son must get in the saddle

I think I’m up the creek without a paddle

Once reunited we must race

To their father’s work family day

On Sunday there’s another party

At which I must be hale and hearty

I shall have to don my uber woman mask

And embrace my ability to multi-task

A day of silence

A day of silence

Savour the quiet

A voice stilled

The space filled

With colour

Whispers in the wind

The tales of tall old trees

Cicadas playing violin

Birds flying on the breeze

Sultry summer days are coming

The earth crying out in thirst

We watch the clouds scudding by

Waiting for that pregnant burst

And hot hard drops of rain to fall

Plop, a pause, Plop, another …

Then all at once the curtain falls

And the dance begins

Cartoons on Business Cards

Start a revolution

Many Happy Returns

A pyre of flame
A crowd of people singing my name
Take a breath
And make a thousand secret wishes
Candy and chips load up the dishes

She wants a fancy cake
Ice cream and magic shapes
She wants a Princess encased in cream
More presents than she ever dreamed
Streamers, balloons and a musty smelling clown
Guaranteed to turn a frown upside down

Small girl stands face contorted with fear
She cannot extinguish all the fire
Face burning bright to the laughter of her peers
How many boyfriends does she have this year?

These days I hold my breath to see
If a lover is waiting in the wings for me
Pretend that’s it’s not such a dig deal
Don’t really want the whole birthday spiel
But, that small girl inside these womanly curves
Still deserves to be a Queen for a day
And invite her friends to come and play

Another year older and deeper in debt
Light up another cheap cigarette

Warrior

America home of the National Guard
America Warrior
Patriot and proud
Makes me shed a tear
For the boys of yesteryear
In my motherland
Stood gun in hand
We denied they were ever there
Now who are they?
Defending what?
I know not one single man
Who would lay down their life for this land

To Sam in lieu of a brief cont.

I am plagued by an indescribable sense of loss
Your faces confined to memory
Where are you now?
Have you forgotten us?

Warren, do you remember days gone by
You'd stop past us with an easy smile
We wait breath bated to see you again
Brief in hand - and a short work potent while
To make things pretty
On Carnival City

Sam, I've struck out on Lucky Strike
But I just might have a Super Light
With your name on it
Maybe you can come down
In a little bit?

Divine

Call it karma
Divine retribution
When opportunity knocks
Remember when
You stabbed me
Right between the shoulder blades
With your power hungry mania
When you stole my spirit
In broad daylight
A smile upon your lips
A scorpion to my frog
The tide has turned
Old friend
This time it seems
I am on top

To Marais in the spirit of post-rationalisation

My words of wisdom
Pearls before swine
Place them in the layout
And don't start to whine
I know they are long winded
Bullshit artistry
All about living positively
Yet keep your counsel to yourself
And put your comments on the shelf
When you're finished this job completely
Perhaps you will make me another cup of tea?

To Sam in lieu of a brief

I can't wait to work on Carnival City
Which makes it all the more a pity
That I sit at my desk without a brief
It almosts makes me cry with grief
If you send me one by tomorrow morning
I can give Marais ample warning
To create something magical
To hold MVGs everywhere in thrall
And if you come down Traffic to provoke
Perhaps we could share a quick smoke?

Moonlit

I awoke on this
The first day
Looking like Medusa
On a good day
Painted on lips
Long black lashes
Fluttery for flattery
Cosmetic touches
Keep this girl
From Monday’s clutches

These late nights
Moon lit
Paid off
Just a little bit
Little rhymes
Sent etherwise
An unexpected
Windfall
Surprise
Surprise

Weekend Murmurs

Friday night
A door slams
A fright
A jump
A guilty face
Did I interrupt a tête-à-tête?
An office bound flirtation
Out of hand
A glass too many
And la la land
A bucket clasped to breast
He leads her to an early rest
I shudder now to try and think
How her head must ache
From too much drink

Saturday dawned
Too bright
And too early
But the promise of a bluebird song
Hurried small feet along
And we rode in the soft summer morning
A stallion neighed without warning
A small boy’s smile near split the sky
A moment of joy money cannot buy

Sunday
Lazy day
To the beat of a bongo drum
Played by a Rastafarian
We swung gently
under the tall tall trees
Rocked to sleep by voices
murmuring on the breeze

A catch of conversation
Between a mother and a son
The question of fraternal duty
To ensure his sister’s chastity
When masculine temptation calls
Small boy just smiles and quietly states,
“Mum, I’ll kick him in the balls!”
I train them young
And keep them keen
She’ll stay untouched until 18

Annual Appraisals

It’s that pucker up time
of year
When the only words to pass your lips are
“Yes sir”
When your tongue bleeds bitten
hot liquid drops
of unspoken words
Leaving a bitter taste
Soft feathers of wings clipped
Fall in a soft storm to the floor
Eyes shut tight
As you take more
Punishment
Golden silence reigns supreme
Mute you stand and scream
Daring to believe
It might be worth it
To simply stand and take it

Hang Dog

On Monday morning bright and early

A new traffic lady, I’ll her Shirley

Which is not her real name

I wouldn’t like to name and shame

By Wednesday afternoon she

had endeared herself to few

She yelled across the studio “Hey you!”

When at last someone yelled back

Her veneer summarily began to crack

On Thursday morning in our email box

We found a missive full of shocks

Shirley went AWOL or MIA

Wednesday was her very last day

The consequences have been dire

She’s left her teams deep in the mire

They’ve spent the week immersed in Facebook

Without any work at which to look

However, and here’s comes the thing

She never told them anything

Now there they sit on a giant backlog

With faces well described as hangdog

A Beautiful Revolution

http://www.abeautifulrevolution.com/

Small boy aged 4

Smoke Break

Rocky by Scott Harrison

Flight of Fancy

I left my words
Underneath the stars
The sky and sun
Now they’ve become
One with the world
And the stories they told
Have aged and weathered
Turned and blossomed
Into young green leaves
The sweet spring wind
Whispers the tales and verse
To the bees and the birds
Shhh child
Be quiet and still
Let them take you on a flight of fancy

Small Boy

Small boy aged six
Is upping sticks
And moving out of the house
He’s going to live in a tent out back
And creep back
Mouse quiet
In the dark
Or when Ben 10 is going through his paces
Or he needs a cuddle
And help tying his laces

Random Acts of Kindness

A quantum physics moment
A casual spark
between strangers transforms
the dark
of a day of madness
Some small random act of kindness
We sat bumper to bumper
I let you squeeze in
You blew me a kiss
And gave a cheeky little grin
I don’t know your name
But I know who you are
And I thank you for that moment
While I sat there in my car

Action Man

The fragile political hierarchy
Between client and crew and agency
Befuddles me
Client speaks to agency sotto voice
Agency to director in due course
Director to crew – do not interfere
Do not speak too loud or stand too near
Get a Grip on yourself
Set the scene
Mask the lights
Got Speed
Freak
And Action
Man
The Big Mac
We stand
Our ground
As the heavens weep
And the earth trembles
To hear him speak
Behold my children, behold!
For one walks among you now so bold
Who runs with the lion and hunts the dawn
A voice thunders in the dark waterfall of night
A solitary birdsong a herald to the light

In memoriam

She steps up onto the ledge
And never once looks down
She raises her face to the sun and the sky
Warming her skin in the clear light of dawn
In that split second she knows she could fly
Shrugs off this mortal coil
Stands up straight and strong
Spreads her mighty wings
As she takes flight
I swear I can hear the strains of angel song

Flower Child

I spent last night sitting on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Reminiscing ‘bout the times not so long ago
When we walked down Polk Street in San Francisco
We danced with red devils and caught the streetcars home
If home is where the heart is that’s where I want to go

It crossed my mind that I was born in wrong time for me
I see myself a flower child and a blissful happy hippie
I’d lie on the grass in the Golden Gate Park
And watch the lollipop faces streaming by
I’d build the world a brand new home and furnish it with love
I’d be sitting in the morning sun
Sitting when the evening come
Just sitting on the dock of the bay
Wasting time

Sunday Night Tummy

It’s that time on a Sunday night
When I start thinking of turning off the light
And turning in and shutting my eyes
And hoping for a dream in which I fly
I’ve been told by a reputable source
Whom I know I can trust absolutely of course
That people stop dreaming of flying up high
When they of their creativity fall shy
It saddens my heart to think of their feet
All wrapped up in their bedroom sheet
By shutting the door on imagining
They’ve cut themselves off from the world within

I know one boy who flies every night
In between the stars so bright
He was born 4 years ago today
With the innate urge to run and play
He filled my heart with so much pride
As he took in his stride his first real horse ride
The smile on his face took my breath quite away
I know where we’ll be each and every Saturday

Wrapping torn lies strewn round my floor
And robots and transformers lying in the door
But more than the presents he found
The love from those who love having him around
The fact that knowing his mum and his dad
His grandfather, granny, grandma and granddad
His cousin, his aunties and godparents near and far
Think he is the very best boy by far
Far outweighed the red guitar for our very own super Rock Star

I’m away from the office for most of Monday
No briefs had better go astray
No car accidents or other mishaps
Better befall any one of my chaps
I’m off on a shoot and I have to say
That I am excited in a sweet childish way
Being me I did check the important facts
Like is there going to be enough delicious snacks?

Now tired inertia has truly set in
It’s time that I went and turned in
I’ve got that funny feeling deep in my tum
You get on Sunday nights that signals the end of the fun
I’ve had it since school days – do you know what I mean?
The knowledge that things are not quite as they seem

A herd of seahorse

My head is filled with bits of fluff
Cotton wool and other stuff
I stayed up until almost two
Because I had important things to do
I made an awesome robot cake
And my colleague here thought I could not bake
It’s covered with cream cheese icing in blue
And jelly tots and Smarties with absolutely none for you

A fractal, tactile symphony
It’s a mystery to me
I’m quite at sea
When it comes to post rationalizing this pretentious AV
Ignite, tonight
I just might
Spontaneously combust
Is the demographically correct poet
Literate, good looking and perfectly articulate?
I wonder if I qualify for an honorary PHD in generating bullshit?

So I’m sitting here feeling dizzy
With some marketing types in IT
In chinos, shirts and ties
Who never quite meet your eyes
I think they hide behind
Big words and catchy little anagrams
To hide the fact they really don’t understand
The animatics are fantastic
Award winning and very slick
But where is Africa catching on fire
A sure fire way to alight my ire

Now a herd of wild seahorse
Are galloping through the land
And Neptune looks on benign
His scepter in his hand
A little lost mermaid surfaces
And then dives quickly beneath
The waves, she’s no where near ready
To sacrifice her beautiful tail for a pair of human feet
While I understand the longing to waltz upon the land
Why give up the deep blue sea for an ungrateful man
So she could dance the night away
But had no voice to say
“He’s mine” and so some other girl stole him right away
And now the little mermaid has a pair of Jimmy Choos
And a handbag from Gucci so she can never loose
Her perfect composure as she stares across sea
And leaves her footprints in the sand as she
Wonders what became of her palace beneath the waves
And the pearls and pretty fishes whose company she craves

I’m taking the small boy aged 4 on an awfully big adventure
A great white steed awaits who carry will him swift and sure
I’ll carry the echo all through my life of the pure sound of his laughter
I hope his friends all liked the cake and left not a crumb
I really want to be his absolutely perfect mum
His brother aged 6 is moving out
He’s ranted and raved and had a shout
He’s going live in a tent in the backyard
I think I’ve just been handed the red card
Equivalent in small boy parenting
I’ll spend tonight in abject pleading groveling

The road to hell

Driving down the road to hell
I’m plagued with good intentions
I think this is when your friends
Are supposed to start an intervention
Basically I came to work with the purest of intents
To restrain myself from giving my art director my ten cents
Worth of copywriter creative critique
He does not really like it if I question his technique

Now the technique of teenage dating
Had not changed much in passing years
There are still notes passed in class
and broken hearted tears
The phone that never stops ringing from the time
you’ve walked in the door
They’ve chatted all day already
and now they want to talk some more!
The love letters decorated with hearts and kissing couples
That’s the kind of thing right there that gets a kid in trouble
But things would be much simpler if
as grown ups we could say, “Hello
Would you like to be my girlfriend,
please tick yes or no?”

Speaking of feet in mouths I empathise
I undertook for my 4 year old’s party to provide
Some things to eat and more to drink
A cake and sweets and what do you think
About it, if the cake was a robot, well?
I think it’s fab. Yeah really swell
Can you detect any rising panic there?
Of course I can do it, I won’t turn a hair
Which is why I must give thanks to Scott
Who has drawn me an awesome cake robot

I have been having a post-modernist discussion
About literature and poetry and a child’s imagination
How stories are woven from the magic of the air
To create a reality that is almost but not quite here
I realise what a privileged life I have led
With a father who read me poetry before I went to bed
The Highwayman and Edward Lear
Treasure Island and Edward Bear
Stories of heroes both alive and dead
Who never ever ever in the face of danger fled
And when the wind is a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
And the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas
And the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
Then I hear the highwayman come riding, riding, riding
I hear him come riding up to the old inn door
He doesn’t live on celluloid
And cannot by any man be destroyed
For he lives in my heart and every night
He gallops through my dreams in sheer delight

Betelgeuse Betelgeuse Betelgeuse

The Energizer Bunny is practicing his drum roll
Inside the confines of my head
I don’t mean to be a party pooper
But I wish he’d go somewhere else instead
The rhythmic pounding of his drum beat
And the pitter patter of his little rabbit feet
Are driving me completely out of my mind
I think its punishment for the gig I declined

Some American Indian tribe
Who probably on magic mushrooms imbibe
Said that one should only speak
When one had something important to say
If I followed that rule I’d be silent all day
Still there’s a lesson in there somewhere I’m sure
Not to waste words that will never be heard
There are times when it’s better to commit to the wind
One’s practiced laments at someone else’s sins
How high one’s horse is, is a matter of perspective
And hardly one that you could call objective
My 16 hand Arabian stallion
May only appear as some Shetland pony rapscallion
Aside from which I’m a lousy jockey
Better suited to playing hockey

I’ve reading a list of what constitutes the perfect man
I think the whole thing is a bit of a sham
I’ll take a bet it was written late one boozy night
After some chick had been in fight
There’s a response too from a misguided guy
Who could patent his particular bunch of creepy pick up lines
A word to the wise, don’t grab her ass
Or make some bigoted asinine remark
Or rabbit on endlessly about your car
How much money you make
And how you once met some star
She couldn’t care less or about as much you
Care about the fact she’s wearing Jimmy Choos

God, I’m hungry I can’t even think
About what type of guys Peroni drink
The thing about free food is this
You have to wait around for it
Then queue in line and hand over your ticket
It reminds me of Betelgeuse in the waiting room
Between the after-life and the recently occupied tomb

“Hey Vix, can you quickly give me a line?
The deadline’s at 3 and I’m running out of time”
Sure thing, but it works quid pro quo
Can you whip me up a design before you go?
Oh yeah and Milo over there was just thinking
If I had a headline or some body copy writing
We could stick it over there where it won’t get in the way
I guess its not like anyone’s gonna read it anyway
So yes I am feeling put upon and completely secondary
Post rationalizing designs and feeling contrary
I’d just like another semantically minded person
To give me some well deserved consolation

A sudden flash of memory
Just crept up upon me
One of those funny little moments
That pepper the life of parents
One boy of 6, one boy of 4
A girl of 2, need I say more?
Each has a DVD safely in his or her paw
All of which apparently made it in the door
The girl has hers; she’s kept it in sight
She wants to watch Barbie tonight
The boys don’t have the faintest clue
Did I have it? No did you?
I line them up and patiently trace
The steps they took to reach this place
Exasperated I berate the boy of 4 with these words of truth
A 2 year old girl kept hers safe, why can’t you?
He shrugged and gave me the smile I so enjoy
“I don’t know,” he says, “’cause I’m a boy?”

Beware the Jabberwock, my son

Sun came up on Tuesday morning
Hit me right in the eye without any preemptory warning
My car needs to go into ICU
To pay for the damage I’ll probably write an IOU
The email’s not working and IT won’t answer calls
They’ve stuck up a disclaimer on all the restroom walls
Sadly my biggest problem has nothing to do with mail
I’ve encountered a critical error and my PC is about to fail
Of course everyone of you who uses Apple Mac
Will be gearing up at this point for another PC attack
I beg you save it for another day
I’m not in the mood for sharp word play

The bathing ape is biding his time
Our problem child client had committed the ultimate crime
Against creativity and all things bright and beautiful
Despite all that whatever he does will turn out truly wonderful
I know he feels that his integrity has been brought into question
But now is perhaps the time to exercise discretion
Let’s make the client happy so they will go away
And come back to worry us again on some other distant day

(I’m trying not to smoke another cigarette
I don’t think its working and I’ll succumb I bet
Out of sheer frustration and general ennui
What more can you expect from a member of the bourgeoisie?)

I feel a bit like Alice falling down the rabbit hole
Veering off the straight narrow and losing my control
I cannot figure out if I should be big or small
Can I enter Wonderland or am I just too tall?
I know that I am very late for a very important date
I quite expect the Queen of Hearts me shortly to berate
I wouldn’t like to be beheaded or to have to play croquet
It’s hardly a game in which I am au fait
But I wouldn’t mind a stroll with the walrus down the beach
I’m sure he and the carpenter have a lot that they could teach
A girl like me who’s wandering off the beaten track
Or I could join the Mad Hatter for a little teatime snack
It doesn’t really matter what size I am it seems
After all I’m only a figment of the Red King’s happy dreams

Have you ever watched a lion sleeping in the sun
Ignoring the playful advances of his son
The sheer inertness of the feline form
The enjoyment of a full bodied yawn
The stretch that starts at his very toes
And moves muscle by muscle to the tip of his nose?
I want to snooze in the sun like an African king
Instead of sitting at a desk pretending to be working

The Look

In the thick of a seedy pool hall
It’s not about luck at all
It’s in the way you walk on through
The casual way you chalk your cue
The practiced way your rack the set
And the smile you give as you accept the bet
It’s in the way you shrug and say
“I really don’t think it’s my lucky day!”
It comes down to the way you approach the break
Your calm steady gaze as you make
The shot and the manner in which
You calmly dismiss the competition
It’s our long standing pool playing tradition
The act of coolly psyching out
The opposition, leaving them without a doubt
That they don’ t have a hope in hell
Of playing even vaguely well

So Jules and I we raised some hell
We played pool divinely well
We accepted the challenge with a smile
From some gentlemen totally without guile
We beat them fair and square
With our particular brand of flair
And left them standing at the table
Totally unable to show
The damage to the male ego

The following morning I had to go
To the birthday party as I told you so
My head felt like a helium balloon
Floating somewhere up near the moon
I smiled politely at all and sundry
And downed fresh orange juice with glee
I spent the rest of the day in bed
Nursing a very very poor sore head!

On Friday, my BodyTalk therapist mentioned detox in offhand tones
It didn't communicate feeling ill to my bones
I spent most of the weekend sick in bed
Feeling horrible from my toes right up to my head
I threw up and lay down and then did it again
Doubled up with excruciating stomach pain
I'm still reeling a little from the after effects
A little like suffering vertigo if you’re a tyrannosaurus rex

Luke’s turning 4 as I think I’ve said
And I’ve avoided a party this year, instead
We’re taking the Gang to Buddy Bear
To make their own best friend forever
I hope I get the invites out in time
Or I’ll be a Mum cut down in her prime!

I got a little something to put a spring in my step
For spring day a fabulous strawberry punnet
The peacock’s been getting into the spirit of things
Parading his tail feathers and puffing out his wings
The pea hen doesn’t seem so keen
I think she likes to keep him mean
Aside from which it’s cold outside
Especially for a child bride

I realise that my cigarette addiction
Is more than a physical affliction
I smoke because I’m bored
Because for 10 minutes I’m assured
Of something to do and someone to chat to
Of getting some sun and some fresh air
Imagining what I would buy if I were a millionaire
So I succumbed and had a puff
Only to realise that I’ve had enough
Of tobacco breath and that queasy feeling
Now I’ll spend the next week climbing the ceiling

Marias should count his blessings one to ten
That I don’t have PMS and hate all men
He needs to start watching his choice of words
When describing chicks, girls and birds
Actually it’s just me he’s out to offend
Or simply put, to drive me round the bend
I think it’s time I put my status into play
And delegate some work his way
He’ll need to love me then I think
Especially if he plans to have a drink
At the bar when it opens at 4
I have the power to shut the door
On those aspirations and call the CD
To turn Marais into a very very busy little bee