I need a moment to acclimatize
I need a second to close my eyes
Just deafen my ears to the sounds of my screams
Just remember the magic of midnight dreams
I need a song. I need a dance.
A rose, a kiss, a little romance
A full moon, a shooting star
A wish granted and a really fast car
I need the wind rushing through my hair
I need an open road to nowhere
I need the pulsing sound of heavy bass
I need a stupid smile to split my face
I need a laugh. I need some time.
A night on the town. A lover of mine.
A full moon, a shooting star
A wish granted and a really fast car
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Innocence
The gift of a child’s laughter
Clear eyes and happy ever after
Dream impossible dreams
Nothing is at it seems
See the world in Technicolor
Sing out loud lah-di-dah
Temporary grief and sorrow
Play today like there’s no tomorrow
Make a wish and make a fairy
Dance on flowers and eat magic berries
Grown ups filled with sad despair
Faithless whispers of old prayers
No pot of gold at rainbows end
Sprout platitudes and condescend
I’d rather stay a child inside
Then keep my dreams lifelong denied
Clear eyes and happy ever after
Dream impossible dreams
Nothing is at it seems
See the world in Technicolor
Sing out loud lah-di-dah
Temporary grief and sorrow
Play today like there’s no tomorrow
Make a wish and make a fairy
Dance on flowers and eat magic berries
Grown ups filled with sad despair
Faithless whispers of old prayers
No pot of gold at rainbows end
Sprout platitudes and condescend
I’d rather stay a child inside
Then keep my dreams lifelong denied
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Mummy
Mummy, I have nightmares alive inside my head
Mummy, there are monsters living beneath my bed
Mummy, you told me they weren’t really real
Mummy, did you lie to me, because I can feel
Their cold hands around my throat when I try to scream
And hear their laughter in the dark when things are not quite what they seem
Mummy, you can’t protect me with sweet sung lullabies
You can’t keep the lightning from tearing up the sky
Mummy, I know you love me, but its time to say goodbye
Mummy, will the angels come when it’s my time to die?
Mummy, there are monsters living beneath my bed
Mummy, you told me they weren’t really real
Mummy, did you lie to me, because I can feel
Their cold hands around my throat when I try to scream
And hear their laughter in the dark when things are not quite what they seem
Mummy, you can’t protect me with sweet sung lullabies
You can’t keep the lightning from tearing up the sky
Mummy, I know you love me, but its time to say goodbye
Mummy, will the angels come when it’s my time to die?
Insomnia
Sink into oblivion
Dark, dream filled obsidian
There be monsters here
Gentle ogres, tyrant kings
Dragons blowing silken soft smoke rings
What are the things you fear?
Gossamer winged nightmares
Gallop from their lairs
No white knight to save you here
Dark, dream filled obsidian
There be monsters here
Gentle ogres, tyrant kings
Dragons blowing silken soft smoke rings
What are the things you fear?
Gossamer winged nightmares
Gallop from their lairs
No white knight to save you here
Monday, December 7, 2009
IOU
It was a week of madness
Marked by medical ineptitude
And patience stretched beyond limits
A fortress of maternal solitude
Where only a mother’s love would soothe
The raging fever of the youngest son
It was a week of testing
How far would a mother go
To protect her child from harm
An army of silent strength
Gathered at her back
So she could hold a child in her arms
It was a week of fever
Where blood ran to boiling
And the flames licked the rafters
A debt of gratitude
Owed to those to stood firm
And shouldered the weight of one who lay fallen
Marked by medical ineptitude
And patience stretched beyond limits
A fortress of maternal solitude
Where only a mother’s love would soothe
The raging fever of the youngest son
It was a week of testing
How far would a mother go
To protect her child from harm
An army of silent strength
Gathered at her back
So she could hold a child in her arms
It was a week of fever
Where blood ran to boiling
And the flames licked the rafters
A debt of gratitude
Owed to those to stood firm
And shouldered the weight of one who lay fallen
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The little engine that could
The little engine that could
Well I wish that little engine would
Put on a hefty burst of speed
And huff and puff away from me
So far it’s cost me days of sleep
And mountains of promises of keep
I haven’t seen my kids in days
For which they plan to make me pay
In Barbie Dolls and Ben Ten toys
Little pink ribbons and stuff for boys
I need to sleep perchance to dream
But oh how far away that seems
Well I wish that little engine would
Put on a hefty burst of speed
And huff and puff away from me
So far it’s cost me days of sleep
And mountains of promises of keep
I haven’t seen my kids in days
For which they plan to make me pay
In Barbie Dolls and Ben Ten toys
Little pink ribbons and stuff for boys
I need to sleep perchance to dream
But oh how far away that seems
Armageddon and the Gerbil
All nighters
Time is relative
Hour long meetings that stretch for days
Weekends that flash by in seconds
And deadlines that loom with intensity
Starting slowly and building to speed
Faster than a speeding bullet
When sleep becomes superfluous
Exhaustion passes after 24 hours
Running on caffeine, nicotine and junk food
What day is it?
I can’t remember
They merge and blur into single seething mass
And when the time comes to lay my head to rest
I cannot stop the relentless mental churning
A hamster caught on a spinning wheel
Running faster and faster
When the wheel stops his legs keep on running
And running
Towards a finish line
That exists only in his dreams
Hour long meetings that stretch for days
Weekends that flash by in seconds
And deadlines that loom with intensity
Starting slowly and building to speed
Faster than a speeding bullet
When sleep becomes superfluous
Exhaustion passes after 24 hours
Running on caffeine, nicotine and junk food
What day is it?
I can’t remember
They merge and blur into single seething mass
And when the time comes to lay my head to rest
I cannot stop the relentless mental churning
A hamster caught on a spinning wheel
Running faster and faster
When the wheel stops his legs keep on running
And running
Towards a finish line
That exists only in his dreams
Friday, November 6, 2009
Silkworms
A treatise on the phenomenon of silkworms. These creepy crawlies form the longest lasting true underground currency in schools across the country. You can’t purchase silkworms at pet stores, silkworms are handed down from schoolboy to schoolboy in clandestine playground negotiations. Hence the shoebox currently in my kitchen.
As an adult I cannot understand my childhood fascination with these most tedious of pets. Nonetheless I recently found myself responsible for the well being and continued existence of twenty odd worms housed in an old shoebox. I wonder if my parents chose the houses in which we lived based on their inclusion of a mulberry tree on the premises. I think I shall add it to my house hunting wishlist.
Currently I leap from my car in the middle of rush hour traffic to madly attack Mulberry trees that border on highways, byways and in other people’s gardens. I have denuded my neighbour’s Mulberry tree, probably planted for the express reason of feeding silkworms’ voracious appetites.
Now I have become a nighttime Mulberry tree raider. Passersby watched me puzzled. Neighbourhood security guards have graduated from watching me with suspicion to outright amusement.
Now I stand and stare hopelessly at a box filled with moths and about 10 million eggs. Perhaps they have a high infant mortality rate? Otherwise silkworms look set to take over the world. Google is filled with comments from anxious parents on how to rid their homes and gardens of the silkworm invasion. I vaguely remember when I finally bored of mine, setting them free on our Mulberry tree. This is apparently NOT a good thing to do. Now you know.
As an adult I cannot understand my childhood fascination with these most tedious of pets. Nonetheless I recently found myself responsible for the well being and continued existence of twenty odd worms housed in an old shoebox. I wonder if my parents chose the houses in which we lived based on their inclusion of a mulberry tree on the premises. I think I shall add it to my house hunting wishlist.
Currently I leap from my car in the middle of rush hour traffic to madly attack Mulberry trees that border on highways, byways and in other people’s gardens. I have denuded my neighbour’s Mulberry tree, probably planted for the express reason of feeding silkworms’ voracious appetites.
Now I have become a nighttime Mulberry tree raider. Passersby watched me puzzled. Neighbourhood security guards have graduated from watching me with suspicion to outright amusement.
Now I stand and stare hopelessly at a box filled with moths and about 10 million eggs. Perhaps they have a high infant mortality rate? Otherwise silkworms look set to take over the world. Google is filled with comments from anxious parents on how to rid their homes and gardens of the silkworm invasion. I vaguely remember when I finally bored of mine, setting them free on our Mulberry tree. This is apparently NOT a good thing to do. Now you know.
Enter Sandman
Small boy aged 7 has developed a strong affinity for hard rock. In an attempt to educate him on the nuances of musical influences we cranked up the volume on Metallica Enter Sandman. “As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…” “Now,” said I, “This part of the song is actually a prayer.” Little did I know where that would lead.
Small boy aged 7 spent several days playing the song over and over on the iPod. This afforded me some quiet in the car and I wasn’t about to complain. And then… I got the call every parent fears, “This is the headmistress. Could you come and speak to me please?”
Teachers, especially headmistresses, have a way of asking you to do something that leaves you no option but to meekly comply. This is how I found myself facing Mrs. Popplewell and the school priest, Father Ian, across the immense expanse of her table.
“We encourage the boys to suggest prayers for us to include in the services,” said Father Ian. I must have looked a bit confused here, but Mrs. Popplewell jumped into what was becoming less of a dramatic pause and more of an uncomfortable silence. “Your son came in with a prayer yesterday.” I nodded helplessly, my stomach sinking slowly down into the depths of my body seemingly attached to a giant iron anchor more at home from the Titanic.
Apparently, small boy aged 7 requested the prayer “As I lay me down to sleep.” If he had left it there it would have been fine. However, he put on a deep voice a la Metallica and once he had finished the prayer then launched into an a capella version of Enter Sandman complete with head banging and air guitar accompaniment.
Mortified doesn’t do it justice. Neither did the mildly hysterical amusement that bubbled through my system. I readied myself to launch into empty promises of boy bands and nursery rhymes when I realized both Mrs. Popplewell and Father Ian were shaking in laughter themselves.
Things sure have changed. My headmistress was a humour amputee. There’s hope yet. Nonetheless, I think we’ll be listening to Gregorian Chants from now on.
Small boy aged 7 spent several days playing the song over and over on the iPod. This afforded me some quiet in the car and I wasn’t about to complain. And then… I got the call every parent fears, “This is the headmistress. Could you come and speak to me please?”
Teachers, especially headmistresses, have a way of asking you to do something that leaves you no option but to meekly comply. This is how I found myself facing Mrs. Popplewell and the school priest, Father Ian, across the immense expanse of her table.
“We encourage the boys to suggest prayers for us to include in the services,” said Father Ian. I must have looked a bit confused here, but Mrs. Popplewell jumped into what was becoming less of a dramatic pause and more of an uncomfortable silence. “Your son came in with a prayer yesterday.” I nodded helplessly, my stomach sinking slowly down into the depths of my body seemingly attached to a giant iron anchor more at home from the Titanic.
Apparently, small boy aged 7 requested the prayer “As I lay me down to sleep.” If he had left it there it would have been fine. However, he put on a deep voice a la Metallica and once he had finished the prayer then launched into an a capella version of Enter Sandman complete with head banging and air guitar accompaniment.
Mortified doesn’t do it justice. Neither did the mildly hysterical amusement that bubbled through my system. I readied myself to launch into empty promises of boy bands and nursery rhymes when I realized both Mrs. Popplewell and Father Ian were shaking in laughter themselves.
Things sure have changed. My headmistress was a humour amputee. There’s hope yet. Nonetheless, I think we’ll be listening to Gregorian Chants from now on.
The wrong side
Small girl aged 3 requested toast with Bovril on top for an after dinner snack. As her maternal parent, I obliged and threw in an extra piece for small boy aged 5 for good measure.
Small girl aged 3 narrowed her baby blues as she reviewed the toast laid before her. “Mummy,” stated small girl aged 3, “This is not right. I told you to put the Bovril on top of the toast.” Bemused I looked down at her golden head and explained that as she could clearly see, the Bovril was in fact on the top of the toast. “No! No! No!” small girl aged 3 cried as huge tears filled up her eyes.
This is when I looked to the paternal influence for guidance. Displaying a unique talent for understanding the rationale of small girl aged 3, he bent down and asked, “Did Mummy put Bovril on the wrong side?” The sense of relief in small girl aged 3 as palpable. “Yes!” she exclaimed as the tears rolled in great pearls down her cheeks.
I was floored. This was where I walked away to leave the father to make a new piece of toast with the Bovril on the top. In retrospect I wonder small girl aged 3 has conducted an experiment vis a vis dropping a piece of toast on the floor to see that it landed Bovril side up ergo her mother had put it on the wrong side.
Small girl aged 3 narrowed her baby blues as she reviewed the toast laid before her. “Mummy,” stated small girl aged 3, “This is not right. I told you to put the Bovril on top of the toast.” Bemused I looked down at her golden head and explained that as she could clearly see, the Bovril was in fact on the top of the toast. “No! No! No!” small girl aged 3 cried as huge tears filled up her eyes.
This is when I looked to the paternal influence for guidance. Displaying a unique talent for understanding the rationale of small girl aged 3, he bent down and asked, “Did Mummy put Bovril on the wrong side?” The sense of relief in small girl aged 3 as palpable. “Yes!” she exclaimed as the tears rolled in great pearls down her cheeks.
I was floored. This was where I walked away to leave the father to make a new piece of toast with the Bovril on the top. In retrospect I wonder small girl aged 3 has conducted an experiment vis a vis dropping a piece of toast on the floor to see that it landed Bovril side up ergo her mother had put it on the wrong side.
Monday, November 2, 2009
New Day
Sitting here just wasting time
Guess I’m doing just fine
For a first day
A new way
I miss your voices
Wonder at my choices
Miss the scent of cigarettes
Miss the friends well met
New names, new faces
New pens and parking spaces
It’s quiet in here
A breath of fresh air
No idea of where it’ll take me
All I can do is wait and see
A tingling expectation
Waiting at the station
For my train to come
Guess I’m doing just fine
For a first day
A new way
I miss your voices
Wonder at my choices
Miss the scent of cigarettes
Miss the friends well met
New names, new faces
New pens and parking spaces
It’s quiet in here
A breath of fresh air
No idea of where it’ll take me
All I can do is wait and see
A tingling expectation
Waiting at the station
For my train to come
Oink
When last time I heeded the call to try something new
I made a mistake that caused amusement to all but a few
I’m glad to say that all seems to be well
Not another descent into polyester hell
No-one died to give me a parking spot
It’s got my name on it and that’s saying a lot
I don’t wish that I were there
But I do wish that some of you were here
I think you’d like the quiet of the place
A different kind of change of pace
There’s a baby pig that walks around
A porcine mascot from lost and found
God knows how large he’ll grow to be
I guess I’ll have to stick around and see
I made a mistake that caused amusement to all but a few
I’m glad to say that all seems to be well
Not another descent into polyester hell
No-one died to give me a parking spot
It’s got my name on it and that’s saying a lot
I don’t wish that I were there
But I do wish that some of you were here
I think you’d like the quiet of the place
A different kind of change of pace
There’s a baby pig that walks around
A porcine mascot from lost and found
God knows how large he’ll grow to be
I guess I’ll have to stick around and see
Monday, October 19, 2009
To Gandalf
Named for a wizard
With magic of his own
That he carried into the heart
Of the place he called home
The spirit of a warrior
Brave and true
In the face of danger
He stood by you
With the wind in his face
And the world at his feet
He finally succumbed to sleep
When those same dreams
Call to your soul
He'll be waiting there
To lead you home
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Topless Dancer
A word of advice before I go
Beware of sycophants bowing low
Their loyalties are quick to fade
And then they’ll twist their sharpened blade
A yes-man poses far more danger
Then those who question and are quick to anger
Their only thoughts are for themselves
They’ll see you burn in the fires of hell
And they’ll laugh and say they knew it all along
Be careful it’s not you dancing to their twisted little song
Beware of sycophants bowing low
Their loyalties are quick to fade
And then they’ll twist their sharpened blade
A yes-man poses far more danger
Then those who question and are quick to anger
Their only thoughts are for themselves
They’ll see you burn in the fires of hell
And they’ll laugh and say they knew it all along
Be careful it’s not you dancing to their twisted little song
Seven years
Seven years I’ve bled for you
To satisfy your hunger
Seven years I’ve wept for you
To quench your thirst
Seven years I’ve sweated for you
To meet your desire
Seven years I’ve fought for you
To win your futile war
Seven years and I’ve got from you
Betrayal.
But no more
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Curse
May your words come back to haunt you
In the places where you dream
May I have the ultimate pleasure
Of listening to your screams
And mingled with their echoes
Will be the sound of laughter
As I watch your house of cards
Flame up into the rafters
Gold plated silence
Back stabbing
Duplicitous
Gold plated silence
Hide a layer of lies
Behind saccharine smiles
Freedom at a fingertip
Shift the goal posts
New game play
I don’t play by the rules
Not your rules anyway
Got brand new pair of boots
And walking out of you
Last Days
Fractured shards
Upon the floor
Turn the other cheek
Beg silently for more
Give me that cleansing pain
That slice through skin
That sharp stiletto blade
Sharp word-honed razor thin
Give me that purity of pleasure
The waves from oceans deep
Born in dark hidden places
Where stolen secrets sleep
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Bahrain
A flash of blue
Lightning in your eye
Another day gone
Closer to goodbye
A land awaits
Beyond your dreams
Of desert oases
And fragrant streams
I'll be there too
A shadow by your side
Once a maiden
Always a bride
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Atlas
Atlas shrugged
And the world slipped
Off balance
Without the weight
He stood up tall and proud
Free at last
To follow his own path
Random thoughts
Piled in disarray
Neural pathway overload
Something surreal
About not knowing
Why and what and wherefore
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Rats
The captain left the ship
Stranded on the bank
He watched from afar
As his vessel sank
The rats began to squeak
Amongst themselves
Of how to escape the drenching
Of the giant swells
As the ship begins to list
The crew still persist
In believing the craft is sailing
In this regards they are
Most definitely failing
This rat is jumping overboard
Into the swollen sea
Perhaps a life raft will come past
And rescue little old me
Monday, September 28, 2009
Stiletto
Stiletto teeter totter
Celeb wanna-be spotter
Open arms of Mother City
All dressed up very pretty
All hot air and fragile ego
Amass. Amok. Ergo.
We came. We saw. We wept.
We walked. We danced. We slept.
A pretty bird please come to me
I will open the cage and set you free
Just sing your pretty song to me
The fall
A fleeting sense of grace
Discontinued
In the fall
A thousand silent voices
Disembodied
Still call
Echoes of a heartbeat
Pulsing
In the night
Shadows on the wall
Dancing
With the light
A melody that lingers
Poignant
In the air
Traces of a woman's scent
Tantalising
Prayer
Monday, September 14, 2009
Pre-recognition
It’s early in the morning
There’s a pounding in my head
It’s a tactical warning
That it’s time to leave my bed
I’d rather stay and bury myself deep in a down duvet
Than get up and face the dawning of another bloody day
I’m not mathematically gifted
I’m more right brain inclined
So I don’t know how many brain cells
Have died inside my mind
As I’ve sat here in the traffic trying hard to stay on track
When every self survival instinct is telling me to attack
I’m reached my final limit
The straw that broke the camel’s back
I’m ready to up and quit
So cut me a bit of slack
I’m fed up with earning less peanuts than the elephant at the zoo
And if I have to work the overtime than buddy so do you
I’ve been informed politely
Of my working hours
By management decree
And the higher powers
So bugger if I’m working one second more of overtime
And that hour between 1 and 2 is definitely mine
I was not born a sycophant
Don’t ask me to pucker up
I’m sorry I just can’t
Drink from that tainted cup
While I admire your ability to switch sides at the speed of light
Forgive me if I find your sincerity more than a little trite
Our company policy
Is to weed out the bad seeds
I have a funny feeling
That that applies to me
As Shakespeare’s villain smiles and pretty words flip off the tongue
I think it is past time that I made a freedom run
There’s a pounding in my head
It’s a tactical warning
That it’s time to leave my bed
I’d rather stay and bury myself deep in a down duvet
Than get up and face the dawning of another bloody day
I’m not mathematically gifted
I’m more right brain inclined
So I don’t know how many brain cells
Have died inside my mind
As I’ve sat here in the traffic trying hard to stay on track
When every self survival instinct is telling me to attack
I’m reached my final limit
The straw that broke the camel’s back
I’m ready to up and quit
So cut me a bit of slack
I’m fed up with earning less peanuts than the elephant at the zoo
And if I have to work the overtime than buddy so do you
I’ve been informed politely
Of my working hours
By management decree
And the higher powers
So bugger if I’m working one second more of overtime
And that hour between 1 and 2 is definitely mine
I was not born a sycophant
Don’t ask me to pucker up
I’m sorry I just can’t
Drink from that tainted cup
While I admire your ability to switch sides at the speed of light
Forgive me if I find your sincerity more than a little trite
Our company policy
Is to weed out the bad seeds
I have a funny feeling
That that applies to me
As Shakespeare’s villain smiles and pretty words flip off the tongue
I think it is past time that I made a freedom run
Itchy trigger finger
So you know that sinking feeling
When you know shit is going down
And there’s nowhere you can hide
When the storm hits this town
Forget the Blue Monday misnomer
Call it Pink Slip day instead
I’m sure that you’ll concur
That I should’ve spent today in bed
I’ve worked my fingers to the bone
Dug a grave that’s six feet deep
My shot at freedom blown
Oh I wish I’d stayed asleep
Their weapons at the ready
The soldiers stand behind
Their trigger fingers steady
Their manners quite refined
Some will fire bullets
Some will fire blanks
Some will call it quits
But it still smells pretty rank
When you know shit is going down
And there’s nowhere you can hide
When the storm hits this town
Forget the Blue Monday misnomer
Call it Pink Slip day instead
I’m sure that you’ll concur
That I should’ve spent today in bed
I’ve worked my fingers to the bone
Dug a grave that’s six feet deep
My shot at freedom blown
Oh I wish I’d stayed asleep
Their weapons at the ready
The soldiers stand behind
Their trigger fingers steady
Their manners quite refined
Some will fire bullets
Some will fire blanks
Some will call it quits
But it still smells pretty rank
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
An open letter to Virgin Mobile
For the last three years I’ve been a Virgin
But much to my increasing chagrin
The service is awful, the reception is poor
Dick, my dear, this relationship is o’er
No you can’t have me back
Not after 2 hours of bad musaq
Sweetheart, I don’t want to migrate to a better plan
I don’t care if you mother named you Stan
I don’t want to be spoken to like a New York Rapper
With the IQ of a streetside slapper
I don’t want to drown in a sea of benefits
I want service that is not the pits
I don’t want you to call me and butter me up
I want to take my SIM card and cut it up
It’s easier to get a divorce,
Easier to bet on a winning race horse
Than leave the clutches of Virgin Mobile
I might just throw the damn thing in the garbage pile
But much to my increasing chagrin
The service is awful, the reception is poor
Dick, my dear, this relationship is o’er
No you can’t have me back
Not after 2 hours of bad musaq
Sweetheart, I don’t want to migrate to a better plan
I don’t care if you mother named you Stan
I don’t want to be spoken to like a New York Rapper
With the IQ of a streetside slapper
I don’t want to drown in a sea of benefits
I want service that is not the pits
I don’t want you to call me and butter me up
I want to take my SIM card and cut it up
It’s easier to get a divorce,
Easier to bet on a winning race horse
Than leave the clutches of Virgin Mobile
I might just throw the damn thing in the garbage pile
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Witness
Bear witness to my pain
The bleak existence of a slave to brand liberation
Hours dedicated to an erroneous brief
Rewrite, rethink and retch
Tomorrow afternoon a psychedelic foray
Beyond the boerewors curtain
Oh woe is me
Rob is yet to call
Marthinus silent as the grave beyond
The days stretch on and on and on
The bleak existence of a slave to brand liberation
Hours dedicated to an erroneous brief
Rewrite, rethink and retch
Tomorrow afternoon a psychedelic foray
Beyond the boerewors curtain
Oh woe is me
Rob is yet to call
Marthinus silent as the grave beyond
The days stretch on and on and on
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Blonde
There’s something about a certain type of blonde
That gets under my skin like a Celine Dion song
Something I can’t quite put my finger on
Something a little off in the interaction
Something that puts my teeth on edge
Something that makes me want to push her off a ledge
Something that puts my back up high
A chilly something in her eyes
Something that begs for a slap in the face
And a sign for let saying Vacant Space
That gets under my skin like a Celine Dion song
Something I can’t quite put my finger on
Something a little off in the interaction
Something that puts my teeth on edge
Something that makes me want to push her off a ledge
Something that puts my back up high
A chilly something in her eyes
Something that begs for a slap in the face
And a sign for let saying Vacant Space
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Babel
I know the heat of the fires of hell
In fact I know them very well
The devil sits just down the hall
Job bags build an enormous wall
Kind of like the Tower of Babel
I’d throw myself off if I were able
My boot sole snapped when I got to work
The power that be is a total jerk
My foot is aching, my head is too
There is no toilet paper in the loo
I’m sitting grafting all alone
Screw this, I’m going home
In fact I know them very well
The devil sits just down the hall
Job bags build an enormous wall
Kind of like the Tower of Babel
I’d throw myself off if I were able
My boot sole snapped when I got to work
The power that be is a total jerk
My foot is aching, my head is too
There is no toilet paper in the loo
I’m sitting grafting all alone
Screw this, I’m going home
Missing
Has anybody seen my mug?
I had some tea in it ‘cause it keeps it hot
I might have left it somewhere and just forgot
Has anybody seen my mug?
It’s just a humble little mug
It’s not great looking, but it keeps things hot
And my mum gave it to me so I like it a lot
It’s a yucky sort of green with a picture of a lion
From the Kruger Park. I like to think he’s smiling
If you’ve seen him lying sadly all alone
Please bring him to me so I can take him home
I had some tea in it ‘cause it keeps it hot
I might have left it somewhere and just forgot
Has anybody seen my mug?
It’s just a humble little mug
It’s not great looking, but it keeps things hot
And my mum gave it to me so I like it a lot
It’s a yucky sort of green with a picture of a lion
From the Kruger Park. I like to think he’s smiling
If you’ve seen him lying sadly all alone
Please bring him to me so I can take him home
Thursday, May 21, 2009
A wounded soldier
Luke, a boy aged four
Came racing through the door
An ice cream held on high
His eyes upon the sky
And not upon his speedy feet
And a slippery spot upon the concrete
So Luke went flying through the air
Mum and Dad could only stand and stare
He landed hard upon his arm
We thought he hadn’t come to too much harm
How wrong we were in retrospect
But not for a moment did we suspect
Two days passed in silent pain
We thought perhaps he had a sprain
But in the middle of the night
We had a horrible, awful fright
His arm had swelled to twice the size
It was time our diagnosis to revise
So Mum left the cricket at half time
Got her car out of a den of crime
Small boy was stowed inside
With a blanket, a story and a porcupine
We made it to Sunninghill ER
Had to double park the car
We rushed in and sat, and sat, and sat
We looked at this and we looked at that
There were no seats in the waiting room
So we sat in a corner made for a broom
To the sound of babies’ painful cries
Mothers with utter exhaustion in their eyes
Doctor Hutton called our names
He’s helped me out before, with older brother, James
Amidst the chaos he is a veritable angel of grace
Calm and sure and pleasant with a smile upon his face
From the moment that he entered, I knew it was OK
And Luke would climb the monkey bars again one day
Thanks to huge bills I now owe
Luke is confirmed as having a fractured elbow
His arm is hung up in a sling
To teach him that it not wise to take wing
When one is not a little bird
But a small boy with the last word
Came racing through the door
An ice cream held on high
His eyes upon the sky
And not upon his speedy feet
And a slippery spot upon the concrete
So Luke went flying through the air
Mum and Dad could only stand and stare
He landed hard upon his arm
We thought he hadn’t come to too much harm
How wrong we were in retrospect
But not for a moment did we suspect
Two days passed in silent pain
We thought perhaps he had a sprain
But in the middle of the night
We had a horrible, awful fright
His arm had swelled to twice the size
It was time our diagnosis to revise
So Mum left the cricket at half time
Got her car out of a den of crime
Small boy was stowed inside
With a blanket, a story and a porcupine
We made it to Sunninghill ER
Had to double park the car
We rushed in and sat, and sat, and sat
We looked at this and we looked at that
There were no seats in the waiting room
So we sat in a corner made for a broom
To the sound of babies’ painful cries
Mothers with utter exhaustion in their eyes
Doctor Hutton called our names
He’s helped me out before, with older brother, James
Amidst the chaos he is a veritable angel of grace
Calm and sure and pleasant with a smile upon his face
From the moment that he entered, I knew it was OK
And Luke would climb the monkey bars again one day
Thanks to huge bills I now owe
Luke is confirmed as having a fractured elbow
His arm is hung up in a sling
To teach him that it not wise to take wing
When one is not a little bird
But a small boy with the last word
Friday, May 8, 2009
The Morning Show
I spent this morning at a radio station
For which I have the utmost admiration
Our client sponsors a stupid sports joke
Quipped by very funny oke
We trooped inside the little booth
And were rudely awakened to the truth
That as chilled out and cool as these guys appear
They’re fucking stressed out when they’re off air
Every single thing is timed to the second
And not as ad-libbed as I always reckoned
Every comment is a double entendre
I don’t know how they do this everyday
My head hurts from keeping track
Of one-liners that roll like water from a duck’s back
They get to work round about four
Imbibe two cups of coffee at the door
That’s round about the time I turn my head
And burrow deeply into my nice warm bed
For which I have the utmost admiration
Our client sponsors a stupid sports joke
Quipped by very funny oke
We trooped inside the little booth
And were rudely awakened to the truth
That as chilled out and cool as these guys appear
They’re fucking stressed out when they’re off air
Every single thing is timed to the second
And not as ad-libbed as I always reckoned
Every comment is a double entendre
I don’t know how they do this everyday
My head hurts from keeping track
Of one-liners that roll like water from a duck’s back
They get to work round about four
Imbibe two cups of coffee at the door
That’s round about the time I turn my head
And burrow deeply into my nice warm bed
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The epic tale of the Pearson wedding
I packed the car and got ready to go
It was time to get the show on the road
Then the geyser blew up and flooded the house
I cajoled and I reasoned with my furious spouse
I called upon the emergency plumber
Who came over, checked it out and said, “What a bummer”
Marc, the spouse, said, “I’m not leaving today”
I said, “Over my dead body do we cancel this holiday”
By the time we left our nerves were frayed
Neither of us like to be delayed
We arrived in the dark to a mountain retreat
To relax, chill out and get something to eat
Chill out we did ‘cause it was Artically freezing
And I couldn’t stop constantly sneezing
We piled back into our poor old car
And followed the rising morning star
We bid civilisation goodbye
And rode off into the untamed Transkei
We passed a sign “133 curves to go”
They weren’t lying either, I happen to know
Each hairpin bend hid cows and lifestock
Enough bad driving to give a taxi driver a shock
Now nobody said the place was urban
Hell, if we’d wanted that we’d have gone to Durban
But nothing prepared me for a trip to the Spar
I’d say a euphemism would be bizarre
Think taxi drivers with trolleys instead
Aiming at your feet and attacking your head
It took years off my life – a bit near-death
With little space to even draw breath
We arrived relieved at Cremorne Estate
And the boys went off to buy some bait
Some stinky sardines that smelt totally rank
And we sat to fish on the riverbank
We sat and we sat and we sat some more
Who knew fishing could be such a bore
“Close you eyes, mom, I got a cool surprise!”
Can you guess? I got a fresh fish eye!
So the Lexi and I went off for a drink
Leaving the boys with the aroma of fish stink
An hour or two passed with no sign at all
When through the dusk came a clarion call
Which my instincts were to largely ignore
A small boy loomed through the gathering gloom
I felt the keen sense of impending doom
Small boy number 1 was coated in clay
Like some bad Just William cliché
I scrubbed him down stood him under the shower
Getting him clean took over an hour
Which left just the remains of his muddy shoes
Dirty footprints and the faint smell of ooze
By the time the bridal couple checked in
The groom’s mama had already complained of the din
From three small peeps who wake up with the birds
And cannot fathom how they could be heard
We popped open a beer, lit a big fire
And tried to escape the parental ire
Now Matt and Ross from the groom’s side
Had a cunning plan which allowed them to hide
From any unwanted social interaction
And avoid embroilment in any family faction
The bride’s brother avoided the whole situation
By taking his girlfriend off on vacation
Friends and family came for champagne
They came by plane and car and train
Seb and Claire left the London spring
To arrive in weather cold and raining
Sam’s US folks drove down in a manual car
When they’ve only driven an automatic so far
Bonnie and Russell arrived with flair
To find their room keys were not anywhere
Despite all Sam and Andrew’s fears
Their families happily cracked open some beers
And Seb caught a fish of which he was proud
And carried it around and around and around
We took our family to build castles in the sand
And passed an octopus from hand to hand
A herd of cows looked on in bovine bonhomie
As I tried not to shudder and stifled a scream
But Lexi and I spent a happy few hours
Building mermaids and crabs and fairy princess towers
The boys and their Dad found all kinds of stuff
Shells and pebbles and unidentifiable bits of fluff
It was about then that I became a believer
In what Sam refers to as Pondo fever
The complete lack of regard for the hours
A burning desire to stand still and smell the flowers
(Or in my case then be sent on a mission
To steal rosemary from behind the restaurant kitchen)
In flagrant disregard for the law
Which is anyway fatally flawed
We procured some crayfish fresh from the sea
Crawling around happy and free
They scuttled about the back of the car
Sending me running straight to the bar
The kids looked on in morbid fascination
As we drowned them in the kitchen basin
After asking our fellow wedding guests
Which cooking method would be best
Marc decided to surf the net
Looking for a better bet
It was pretty damn gross and made one hell of a mess
But they tasted divine I have to confess
Now Andrew’s method may have lacked class
He stuck a feeler right up its arse
But it certainly worked to remove all the poo
It was simple and effective, if unnaturally taboo
Now the wedding was a day away
And we’d done nothing but eat and play
So the men went off to cut down trees
To make the wedding setting pretty
Sam and I went off to some friends of her folks
Where they sat, drank beer and had a few smokes
But Sam was a bride on one hell of a mission
To conquer the overlocker her overriding ambition
It took a few goes, but soon she was sewing
And the pile of silken scarves was growing
By the time she was done she’d had enough
Of making small talk about all sorts of stuff
I’d said to Marc, “Don’t worry I call on my cell
To ask you fetch us once we’ve said farewell”
Sam suggested we walk down the road
As her patience was about to explode
So she picked her Samsonite suitcase and started to walk
That’s when we realised the cellphone did not work
Two white girls from Jozi out in the bush
The suitcase carried, dragged and pushed
We walked and we trudged about to give up
When at last the network signal went up
We made our distress call and sat where we stood
On a spot of sand and a piece of wood
As the sun laid down her weary head
I empathised and went to bed
At some point I thought I had a bad dream
About a fire and a shout and a piercing scream
Come morning a nightmare was not to blame
Sam’s honeymoon suite had gone up in flames
The room was gutted and white with ash
Lives had flashed before eyes in a dazzling splash
Thank heaven the dress was not in the room
Now the wedding was coming really really soon
On my way back from perusing the mayhem
A call came in that was really a gem
My humble abode back in Joburg city
Had been robbed leaving it pretty much empty
Okay, so that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration
But poetic licence is my vocation
Short of throwing myself off a cliff
I did the next best thing and rolled a big spliff
The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear
The bride then realised the moment was here
Worried that she might make a bolt
Along the beach like a galloping colt
The groom moved the wedding from four to three
Which left one hell of a job for me
And the two other bridesmaids to get the bride
Dressed, made up and into her ride
Thanks Mr Jack and Mr Cuervo
Without you we’d never been ready to go
Admittedly without you she
Wouldn’t have to run off to pee
Instead of walking down the aisle
Where the groom had been waiting for quite awhile
Now Scott acted as one would expect from a brother
Like a filial example of the classic den mother
God help Andrew if he ever makes Sam cry
Cause Scott would give him one hell of a black eye
Sam’s dad looked awfully cute
All decked out in monkey suit
Bonnie, the awesome mother of the bride
Stood beaming and filled with maternal pride
With the sea breaking upon the sand
The bride and groom at last held hands
The best men stood with their umbrellas
The groom was a truly lucky fella
The rain fell down like diamond dew
When he said to her, “I love you”
The vows took the spinster off of the shelf
And were quite nice if I say so myself
By then we were wet from top to toe
No bride was more keen to go
After a hot shower and jeans
And that bride type of gleam
Samantha Pearson seemed to shine
With a ring that said quite clearly, “Mine”
Seb, Claire and I made up the wedding bed
With a heart of flowers and petals up the steps
Claire hung a banner and a load of balloons
We put champagne and wedding cake into the room
It soon became abundantly known
That the wedded two wanted to be left alone
So we left them to their consummation
And went on with the wedding celebration
We left them at it and hit the road
Only 133 more curves to go
Now I’m back at work hard at the wheel
And have to admit I’m starting to feel
That a shack on the beach with a pencil to write
Could just be my ideal kind of life
Meanwhile Mrs. Pearson is having a swoon
Every couple of hours on her honeymoon
It was time to get the show on the road
Then the geyser blew up and flooded the house
I cajoled and I reasoned with my furious spouse
I called upon the emergency plumber
Who came over, checked it out and said, “What a bummer”
Marc, the spouse, said, “I’m not leaving today”
I said, “Over my dead body do we cancel this holiday”
By the time we left our nerves were frayed
Neither of us like to be delayed
We arrived in the dark to a mountain retreat
To relax, chill out and get something to eat
Chill out we did ‘cause it was Artically freezing
And I couldn’t stop constantly sneezing
We piled back into our poor old car
And followed the rising morning star
We bid civilisation goodbye
And rode off into the untamed Transkei
We passed a sign “133 curves to go”
They weren’t lying either, I happen to know
Each hairpin bend hid cows and lifestock
Enough bad driving to give a taxi driver a shock
Now nobody said the place was urban
Hell, if we’d wanted that we’d have gone to Durban
But nothing prepared me for a trip to the Spar
I’d say a euphemism would be bizarre
Think taxi drivers with trolleys instead
Aiming at your feet and attacking your head
It took years off my life – a bit near-death
With little space to even draw breath
We arrived relieved at Cremorne Estate
And the boys went off to buy some bait
Some stinky sardines that smelt totally rank
And we sat to fish on the riverbank
We sat and we sat and we sat some more
Who knew fishing could be such a bore
“Close you eyes, mom, I got a cool surprise!”
Can you guess? I got a fresh fish eye!
So the Lexi and I went off for a drink
Leaving the boys with the aroma of fish stink
An hour or two passed with no sign at all
When through the dusk came a clarion call
Which my instincts were to largely ignore
A small boy loomed through the gathering gloom
I felt the keen sense of impending doom
Small boy number 1 was coated in clay
Like some bad Just William cliché
I scrubbed him down stood him under the shower
Getting him clean took over an hour
Which left just the remains of his muddy shoes
Dirty footprints and the faint smell of ooze
By the time the bridal couple checked in
The groom’s mama had already complained of the din
From three small peeps who wake up with the birds
And cannot fathom how they could be heard
We popped open a beer, lit a big fire
And tried to escape the parental ire
Now Matt and Ross from the groom’s side
Had a cunning plan which allowed them to hide
From any unwanted social interaction
And avoid embroilment in any family faction
The bride’s brother avoided the whole situation
By taking his girlfriend off on vacation
Friends and family came for champagne
They came by plane and car and train
Seb and Claire left the London spring
To arrive in weather cold and raining
Sam’s US folks drove down in a manual car
When they’ve only driven an automatic so far
Bonnie and Russell arrived with flair
To find their room keys were not anywhere
Despite all Sam and Andrew’s fears
Their families happily cracked open some beers
And Seb caught a fish of which he was proud
And carried it around and around and around
We took our family to build castles in the sand
And passed an octopus from hand to hand
A herd of cows looked on in bovine bonhomie
As I tried not to shudder and stifled a scream
But Lexi and I spent a happy few hours
Building mermaids and crabs and fairy princess towers
The boys and their Dad found all kinds of stuff
Shells and pebbles and unidentifiable bits of fluff
It was about then that I became a believer
In what Sam refers to as Pondo fever
The complete lack of regard for the hours
A burning desire to stand still and smell the flowers
(Or in my case then be sent on a mission
To steal rosemary from behind the restaurant kitchen)
In flagrant disregard for the law
Which is anyway fatally flawed
We procured some crayfish fresh from the sea
Crawling around happy and free
They scuttled about the back of the car
Sending me running straight to the bar
The kids looked on in morbid fascination
As we drowned them in the kitchen basin
After asking our fellow wedding guests
Which cooking method would be best
Marc decided to surf the net
Looking for a better bet
It was pretty damn gross and made one hell of a mess
But they tasted divine I have to confess
Now Andrew’s method may have lacked class
He stuck a feeler right up its arse
But it certainly worked to remove all the poo
It was simple and effective, if unnaturally taboo
Now the wedding was a day away
And we’d done nothing but eat and play
So the men went off to cut down trees
To make the wedding setting pretty
Sam and I went off to some friends of her folks
Where they sat, drank beer and had a few smokes
But Sam was a bride on one hell of a mission
To conquer the overlocker her overriding ambition
It took a few goes, but soon she was sewing
And the pile of silken scarves was growing
By the time she was done she’d had enough
Of making small talk about all sorts of stuff
I’d said to Marc, “Don’t worry I call on my cell
To ask you fetch us once we’ve said farewell”
Sam suggested we walk down the road
As her patience was about to explode
So she picked her Samsonite suitcase and started to walk
That’s when we realised the cellphone did not work
Two white girls from Jozi out in the bush
The suitcase carried, dragged and pushed
We walked and we trudged about to give up
When at last the network signal went up
We made our distress call and sat where we stood
On a spot of sand and a piece of wood
As the sun laid down her weary head
I empathised and went to bed
At some point I thought I had a bad dream
About a fire and a shout and a piercing scream
Come morning a nightmare was not to blame
Sam’s honeymoon suite had gone up in flames
The room was gutted and white with ash
Lives had flashed before eyes in a dazzling splash
Thank heaven the dress was not in the room
Now the wedding was coming really really soon
On my way back from perusing the mayhem
A call came in that was really a gem
My humble abode back in Joburg city
Had been robbed leaving it pretty much empty
Okay, so that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration
But poetic licence is my vocation
Short of throwing myself off a cliff
I did the next best thing and rolled a big spliff
The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear
The bride then realised the moment was here
Worried that she might make a bolt
Along the beach like a galloping colt
The groom moved the wedding from four to three
Which left one hell of a job for me
And the two other bridesmaids to get the bride
Dressed, made up and into her ride
Thanks Mr Jack and Mr Cuervo
Without you we’d never been ready to go
Admittedly without you she
Wouldn’t have to run off to pee
Instead of walking down the aisle
Where the groom had been waiting for quite awhile
Now Scott acted as one would expect from a brother
Like a filial example of the classic den mother
God help Andrew if he ever makes Sam cry
Cause Scott would give him one hell of a black eye
Sam’s dad looked awfully cute
All decked out in monkey suit
Bonnie, the awesome mother of the bride
Stood beaming and filled with maternal pride
With the sea breaking upon the sand
The bride and groom at last held hands
The best men stood with their umbrellas
The groom was a truly lucky fella
The rain fell down like diamond dew
When he said to her, “I love you”
The vows took the spinster off of the shelf
And were quite nice if I say so myself
By then we were wet from top to toe
No bride was more keen to go
After a hot shower and jeans
And that bride type of gleam
Samantha Pearson seemed to shine
With a ring that said quite clearly, “Mine”
Seb, Claire and I made up the wedding bed
With a heart of flowers and petals up the steps
Claire hung a banner and a load of balloons
We put champagne and wedding cake into the room
It soon became abundantly known
That the wedded two wanted to be left alone
So we left them to their consummation
And went on with the wedding celebration
We left them at it and hit the road
Only 133 more curves to go
Now I’m back at work hard at the wheel
And have to admit I’m starting to feel
That a shack on the beach with a pencil to write
Could just be my ideal kind of life
Meanwhile Mrs. Pearson is having a swoon
Every couple of hours on her honeymoon
Friday, April 24, 2009
Studio Time
Friday afternoon in the studio
Waiting until its time to go
For the bar to open and the wine to flow
The desire to work has hit a plateau
Bronwyn’s being serenaded with Beatles karaoke
Theo’s singing sounds like a demented banshee
Christina’s cracking jokes, Marais is cracking up
There’s not a single, goddamned, clean coffee cup
Someone tore the fridge door off its hinges
Which upon our wellbeing heavily impinges
There’s no hot water, the coffee machine’s broke
To top it off I’ve run out of smokes
The toilet seat in the ladies
Has been broken once again in two
Ah, fuck it – tomorrow I’m going on leave
It’s as though I’m likely to grieve
To escape the chaos and dip my toes
On a beach somewhere that nobody knows
I’ll see you guys in a week or two
Bet you wish you were wearing my shoes
Waiting until its time to go
For the bar to open and the wine to flow
The desire to work has hit a plateau
Bronwyn’s being serenaded with Beatles karaoke
Theo’s singing sounds like a demented banshee
Christina’s cracking jokes, Marais is cracking up
There’s not a single, goddamned, clean coffee cup
Someone tore the fridge door off its hinges
Which upon our wellbeing heavily impinges
There’s no hot water, the coffee machine’s broke
To top it off I’ve run out of smokes
The toilet seat in the ladies
Has been broken once again in two
Ah, fuck it – tomorrow I’m going on leave
It’s as though I’m likely to grieve
To escape the chaos and dip my toes
On a beach somewhere that nobody knows
I’ll see you guys in a week or two
Bet you wish you were wearing my shoes
Disarray
A fortune lies in golden disarray
Lit by the fading light on another dying day
She walks alone in a breath of air
They pass on by unaware
A goddess walks amongst us still
Caught ‘tween the chaos and the still
Her treasure hidden beneath the deep
Locked in a silent dreamless sleep
A new moon rises in the sky tonight
Her lips shine softly in its gentle light
A fire burns in the depths of her eyes
A comet blazing through a midnight sky
He will never know the taste of her scent
Or lie in her arms weak and spent
That dream has passed and its shadow stains
The secret places where love remains
I watch her from the window where I stand and wait
For a white knight that will surely arrive too late
Lit by the fading light on another dying day
She walks alone in a breath of air
They pass on by unaware
A goddess walks amongst us still
Caught ‘tween the chaos and the still
Her treasure hidden beneath the deep
Locked in a silent dreamless sleep
A new moon rises in the sky tonight
Her lips shine softly in its gentle light
A fire burns in the depths of her eyes
A comet blazing through a midnight sky
He will never know the taste of her scent
Or lie in her arms weak and spent
That dream has passed and its shadow stains
The secret places where love remains
I watch her from the window where I stand and wait
For a white knight that will surely arrive too late
Schlock
I sat my head between my hands
Confused by the ever shifting sands
Beneath my feet and on my brief
This client destined to bring me grief
I've looked at their old CI doc
Waited for inspiration to knock
To no avail, so I
Borrowed the SAT CI
I've written some copy for you to insert
I pray there's not another revert
For I've thumbsucked this schlock out of the air
Although I'm pretty sure you don't really care
Anyway I'm going to go away
So it won't be my problem come next Tuesday
Confused by the ever shifting sands
Beneath my feet and on my brief
This client destined to bring me grief
I've looked at their old CI doc
Waited for inspiration to knock
To no avail, so I
Borrowed the SAT CI
I've written some copy for you to insert
I pray there's not another revert
For I've thumbsucked this schlock out of the air
Although I'm pretty sure you don't really care
Anyway I'm going to go away
So it won't be my problem come next Tuesday
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Empty brief
Yellow envelopes have multiplied
In chaos 'cross my desk
Renewal packs and thank you notes
Give the wicked little rest
In the plethora of yellow
I have yet to find
A letter welcoming me
For the very first time
Should you have a copy
of an AA welcome note
Please send it my way post haste
before I miss the boat
In chaos 'cross my desk
Renewal packs and thank you notes
Give the wicked little rest
In the plethora of yellow
I have yet to find
A letter welcoming me
For the very first time
Should you have a copy
of an AA welcome note
Please send it my way post haste
before I miss the boat
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Ode to the Black Sheep
You harbinger of evolutionary advance
You renegade against the stagnant status quo
Oh, Ovian herald whose blackened countenance
Dares where others will not go
What courage is born within your noble breast
To take the road less travelled by
And put those less certain to the test
As one who never walks if he can fly?
What different drum that guides your errant path?
What beat unique that drives the beating of your heart?
You renegade against the stagnant status quo
Oh, Ovian herald whose blackened countenance
Dares where others will not go
What courage is born within your noble breast
To take the road less travelled by
And put those less certain to the test
As one who never walks if he can fly?
What different drum that guides your errant path?
What beat unique that drives the beating of your heart?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Burning Man
He burnt to death they said
No tears of grief they shed
But anger boiled up strong and true
Amongst his loyal and trusted crew
Four daughters and wife
He left behind in this life
And those who should stand by them now
Have abandoned the premise of their vow
He deserved it, they whispered desk to desk
No-one deserves a death so grotesque
No-one should die screaming in pain
No-one should die their life in vain
He was a good man and like us all
He suffered one dreadful fatal flaw
And in one final ill-thought deadly deed
He died in a blinding flash of speed
But those who lived to tell the tale
Fall like vultures on every small detail
Those who drive after too much too drink
Who have looked death in the eye and given him a wink
They are riding on stallions eleven hands tall
A haughty spirit comes before a fall
No tears of grief they shed
But anger boiled up strong and true
Amongst his loyal and trusted crew
Four daughters and wife
He left behind in this life
And those who should stand by them now
Have abandoned the premise of their vow
He deserved it, they whispered desk to desk
No-one deserves a death so grotesque
No-one should die screaming in pain
No-one should die their life in vain
He was a good man and like us all
He suffered one dreadful fatal flaw
And in one final ill-thought deadly deed
He died in a blinding flash of speed
But those who lived to tell the tale
Fall like vultures on every small detail
Those who drive after too much too drink
Who have looked death in the eye and given him a wink
They are riding on stallions eleven hands tall
A haughty spirit comes before a fall
Atlas
This oppressive weight crushes down on me
Atlas stood his ground unyielding
My muscles scream at breaking point
Choke on the tears that stream into a pool at my feet
And a rainbow rises in the air filled with promises it can’t keep
The men on the chain gang sing as they raise their arms
And batter the very earth with their melodies
A taste of freedom on the open road
The shackles an iron reality unrelinquishing
They cut into the softest skin and draw the reddest blood
Leaving sticky footprints on the tarmac drying in the sun
I see the pity in their eyes as they shake their heads as I pass
They wonder how I came to have a starring role in this farce
Atlas stood his ground unyielding
My muscles scream at breaking point
Choke on the tears that stream into a pool at my feet
And a rainbow rises in the air filled with promises it can’t keep
The men on the chain gang sing as they raise their arms
And batter the very earth with their melodies
A taste of freedom on the open road
The shackles an iron reality unrelinquishing
They cut into the softest skin and draw the reddest blood
Leaving sticky footprints on the tarmac drying in the sun
I see the pity in their eyes as they shake their heads as I pass
They wonder how I came to have a starring role in this farce
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Dry Run Blues
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye
Wish I had a Zanor in my pocket on standby
On the list of popular people I am way down low
Cause there ain't no way they'll make me wear yellow
There's a flock of little butterflies swarming in my tum
Thank god the kids are being fetched by my mum
My CD is working on a top secret mission
Putting me in the unenviable position
Of sitting through an interminable dry run
Not exactly my idea of having loads of fun
I'm tired, irascible and starving to death
But I'll be here til I draw my last breath
Some slick client service serpent
Will need to repent and repent
For throwing a frothy I really resent
With threats of imminent unemployment
He'll paying for it don't fret
Like an elephant, I never forget
Wish I had a Zanor in my pocket on standby
On the list of popular people I am way down low
Cause there ain't no way they'll make me wear yellow
There's a flock of little butterflies swarming in my tum
Thank god the kids are being fetched by my mum
My CD is working on a top secret mission
Putting me in the unenviable position
Of sitting through an interminable dry run
Not exactly my idea of having loads of fun
I'm tired, irascible and starving to death
But I'll be here til I draw my last breath
Some slick client service serpent
Will need to repent and repent
For throwing a frothy I really resent
With threats of imminent unemployment
He'll paying for it don't fret
Like an elephant, I never forget
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Looney Tunes
Looney Tunes
Looney Times
Warner Bros nightmare
Fucking insane deadlines
Beret wearing above the line
Creative nemesis
Little Acme anvils raining from the sky
Keep me leaping from toe to toe trying to get by
My neck is getting sore from looking up too long
Waiting for the piano and my last and final swansong
My meds have run out
I'm running on empty
Adrenaline and caffeine
40 odd cups of tea
Screw Alan Carr and his well meaning book
I need another smoke in a hidden little nook
Where nobody can find me to drop another bomb
I'm having a breakdown with remarkable aplomb
Looney Times
Warner Bros nightmare
Fucking insane deadlines
Beret wearing above the line
Creative nemesis
Little Acme anvils raining from the sky
Keep me leaping from toe to toe trying to get by
My neck is getting sore from looking up too long
Waiting for the piano and my last and final swansong
My meds have run out
I'm running on empty
Adrenaline and caffeine
40 odd cups of tea
Screw Alan Carr and his well meaning book
I need another smoke in a hidden little nook
Where nobody can find me to drop another bomb
I'm having a breakdown with remarkable aplomb
Friday, January 23, 2009
Buzz, Buzz - Your Dead
One buzzing bee
Sat on my knee
One buzzing bee became two
And soon a hive was in my loo
Buzzing, buzzing everywhere
In the bath and in my hair
I tried to do the humane thing
And set about the task of smoking
The little buzzing blighters out
To no avail it didn’t work
Busy bees their work don’t shirk
The beeman came last Thursday eve
To persuade the Queen to up and leave
But she’s a stubborn little girl
Without the requisite forehead curl
She refused to even budge
So the Beeman had to give her quite a nudge
All this while I stood quietly reeling
At the extent of her palace in my ceiling
Fair means or foul I made my stand
You could say I finally showed my hand
Simply out, she had to go
Which is why I called in the Beeman Pro
He nodded once, he nodded twice
He killed a thousand bees with one device
Now my bathroom is as silent as the grave
A memorial to the all the bees I tried to save
Sat on my knee
One buzzing bee became two
And soon a hive was in my loo
Buzzing, buzzing everywhere
In the bath and in my hair
I tried to do the humane thing
And set about the task of smoking
The little buzzing blighters out
To no avail it didn’t work
Busy bees their work don’t shirk
The beeman came last Thursday eve
To persuade the Queen to up and leave
But she’s a stubborn little girl
Without the requisite forehead curl
She refused to even budge
So the Beeman had to give her quite a nudge
All this while I stood quietly reeling
At the extent of her palace in my ceiling
Fair means or foul I made my stand
You could say I finally showed my hand
Simply out, she had to go
Which is why I called in the Beeman Pro
He nodded once, he nodded twice
He killed a thousand bees with one device
Now my bathroom is as silent as the grave
A memorial to the all the bees I tried to save
It's a chick thing
“Please excuse me, ladies and gentlemen
A personal emergency has arisen
That requires my immediate attention
And as such a timeous conclusion of this session.”
It’s hard to keep a professional demeanour
When your underwear has committed a misdemeanour
To smile while a knife appears to be embedded in your flesh
Where your underwiring has escaped through the mesh
Of your expensive French made designer lingerie
Leaving your cleavage in lopsided disarray
Keeping with a smile firmly on one’s face
Begin desperately seeking any sort of place
That might sell a lady’s brassiere
From this day on I’ll keep one spare
In my car, my bag, my desk
To re-render my figure statuesque
It could have been worse I could surmise
My panty elastic could have expired
And I might have fallen to my knees
With the sudden intrusion of a chilly breeze
You see, instead of all this tiresome whining
It’s always best to find a silver lining
A personal emergency has arisen
That requires my immediate attention
And as such a timeous conclusion of this session.”
It’s hard to keep a professional demeanour
When your underwear has committed a misdemeanour
To smile while a knife appears to be embedded in your flesh
Where your underwiring has escaped through the mesh
Of your expensive French made designer lingerie
Leaving your cleavage in lopsided disarray
Keeping with a smile firmly on one’s face
Begin desperately seeking any sort of place
That might sell a lady’s brassiere
From this day on I’ll keep one spare
In my car, my bag, my desk
To re-render my figure statuesque
It could have been worse I could surmise
My panty elastic could have expired
And I might have fallen to my knees
With the sudden intrusion of a chilly breeze
You see, instead of all this tiresome whining
It’s always best to find a silver lining
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Happy New Year
It’s the New Year and I’ll back at my desk
Already thinking that I need another rest
I had two whole weeks in which to do nothing
I lasted three days before I had to do something
So I painted the kitchen, my hair and my nose
I put all my books in neat alphabetised rows
I filed all the paperwork from years gone by
I danced for hours under the summer night sky
I trailed around from store to store
And still the kids’ schools demanded more
Glitter and pens and forgotten school stuff
Until quite frankly I’d had enough
Now I sit here at my trusty keyboard
And although flooded with work am insufferably bored
I want to jump up and down on the trampoline
Spend hours watching old movies on the silver screen
Why is it that the time slips so easily past
I wish I could make the moments last and last
Already thinking that I need another rest
I had two whole weeks in which to do nothing
I lasted three days before I had to do something
So I painted the kitchen, my hair and my nose
I put all my books in neat alphabetised rows
I filed all the paperwork from years gone by
I danced for hours under the summer night sky
I trailed around from store to store
And still the kids’ schools demanded more
Glitter and pens and forgotten school stuff
Until quite frankly I’d had enough
Now I sit here at my trusty keyboard
And although flooded with work am insufferably bored
I want to jump up and down on the trampoline
Spend hours watching old movies on the silver screen
Why is it that the time slips so easily past
I wish I could make the moments last and last
Bees
There was a buzzing near the rooftop
A sound that drew my eye
Up to where the window meets the wide blue open sky
Mi casa is su casa for a hive of honey bees
It would have been polite for them to ask please
I am a modern woman of independent means
I do not run away from trouble screaming screams
No, I closed the door upon my unwanted house pests
It was time to evict them, my ears deaf to their protests
Three small interested parties stood waiting patiently by
I told them clearly not to enter and never their mother to defy
I must not have said it loud enough for not 2 more seconds passed
Before small boy aged four opened that door pretty fast
I need not tell you what occurred
He cried out like a little bird
I laid the phone to Bee Removal 101
And called instead Bee Medical rescue 911
In some weird twisted work of fate
I have a family member who thinks bees are great
She said to me to smoke them out
That it would work without a doubt
So I fired up the Weber and lugged it up the stairs
I caught those busy little bees completely unawares
I thought that this was the opportune time
To fill in the absent husband of mine
“Good God!” he exclaimed as I explained the plan
“Please tell me you didn’t and called a bee man!”
“Well, actually. Honey,” I purred down the phone
“It’s currently in process and that’s what happens when you leave me alone.”
Despite his extremely negative prognosis
I did not burn the house down in my bee ridding process
It still smells of smoke, but the bees have moved on
And I basked in the thrill of a battle well won
Now a week down the line I not so sure
That a fire in the loo was a failsafe cure
The bees are moving back one by one
I think the next plan is to buy a big gun
A sound that drew my eye
Up to where the window meets the wide blue open sky
Mi casa is su casa for a hive of honey bees
It would have been polite for them to ask please
I am a modern woman of independent means
I do not run away from trouble screaming screams
No, I closed the door upon my unwanted house pests
It was time to evict them, my ears deaf to their protests
Three small interested parties stood waiting patiently by
I told them clearly not to enter and never their mother to defy
I must not have said it loud enough for not 2 more seconds passed
Before small boy aged four opened that door pretty fast
I need not tell you what occurred
He cried out like a little bird
I laid the phone to Bee Removal 101
And called instead Bee Medical rescue 911
In some weird twisted work of fate
I have a family member who thinks bees are great
She said to me to smoke them out
That it would work without a doubt
So I fired up the Weber and lugged it up the stairs
I caught those busy little bees completely unawares
I thought that this was the opportune time
To fill in the absent husband of mine
“Good God!” he exclaimed as I explained the plan
“Please tell me you didn’t and called a bee man!”
“Well, actually. Honey,” I purred down the phone
“It’s currently in process and that’s what happens when you leave me alone.”
Despite his extremely negative prognosis
I did not burn the house down in my bee ridding process
It still smells of smoke, but the bees have moved on
And I basked in the thrill of a battle well won
Now a week down the line I not so sure
That a fire in the loo was a failsafe cure
The bees are moving back one by one
I think the next plan is to buy a big gun
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)