Overreacting a Bit

I have a compulsive fear of philosophy,

Existentialism makes my skin go prickly

And any notion of something bigger

Makes my heart flutter for a moment or two.

Didn’t used to be like this, hell no!

I was happy with the philosophies I had

Nothing scary, nothing bad,

Confident in my identity and all that;

Then this summer, this bloody summer!

I became fantastically afraid of everything.

Oh well, it’s going good otherwise.

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I Went to a Marvellous Party: A response to the Noel Coward song of the same name.

I went to a marvellous party

It really wasn’t so great,

For people from parliament

Came by in their garments

From the family tailors

I hate –

Ghastly golds and silvers and bows

With black coats covered in snow

And hats made from tropical birds,

But haven’t you heard?

Lord Arnold came in already drunk on gin

With a girl on his arm from some family farm

That he’d found in the local Inn;

And the state he was in my God I cried

I looked him up and down

Gave him a frown

‘You’re divine it’s true,’ I lied.

 

But it was a marvellous party,

For Beryl from the herald

Came by with a pen in her hair

And lipstick all smeared on her face;

Oh what a state! She’s seen Tenerife

In the spring, she’s seen India in the fall

But London at midnight

Was the single sight that

She loved that most of all –

I believed her barmy, totally mad

I chalked it up to the wine and the

Many pills that I’d had!

And the line that escaped me

That set the beast free

‘You’re an amalgamation,

A collected mass of some

Ghastly creature from the sea!

What with the colours from France

And the scandals from Rome

It’s a wonder you had the dignity

To walk out of your home!’

And thus the blood was boiling

Several centigrades high;

Such an explosion or exquisite implosion

Would surely make the night.

 

It was marvellous though

Can’t remember nought

But I think that it went down

Better than I thought,

For I found my shoes on the roof

And Alfred asleep at my door

And several pictures

Predicting the ruin

Of some men from the House of Lords.

It’s clear from sparse recollection

That I was the belle of the ball!

And I couldn’t have liked it more.

This is a Thing

The parrot women with their pails

In the middle ages all have ale

To waste away the Friday after next,

The voted in the ex-president

Of somewhere without precedent

Cus he was the only one to read the text.

 

The rebel man with his masonry

Did something out at sea

That no priest in any case would dare to do,

But it was Roman in religion

And English in tradition

Trying to find the drug to get over you

 

Na-na-na’s come from the radio

Like Spain or Mexico

With the water wobbling like the pigs

In the restaurant with the concert

Concertina player happy with his dollar

And change.

 

Night life, fireflies, somewhere in Greece

Ruined by my being overly obese,

The horn player compliments my choice in dress

But like an envious romance

We argue when we dance

And then find ourselves in needless distress.

 

I’m cautiously optimistic, hyper realistic

Happy with the walking stick

To travel over mountain and monument alike,

But I know how it feels

When you’re in heels

And you get out on the third strike.

I’m Not Bragging, But (Classical Edition)

I sailed with Odysseus

I out-sang the siren

I lead blind Homer

To the asylum.

 

I crowned the emperor

I gave Virgil a line

I taught Apollo

How to keep time.

 

I decked Zeus

Hercules fell to his knees

I broke poor Jason

When I stole the golden-fleece.

 

Medusa lost her head

When I came to Rome

I used her disappointment

To turn a Minotaur to stone.

 

I won the war of Troy

In a matter of weeks

I took on Paris

Then I took on the Greeks.

 

I was around a while

All the legends are mine

Many heroes fell

But I had a pretty good time.

Romance

I’d take you where the sun hangs high

Where the sea birds shelter in the shade;

I’d steal you from the winter

Where the day only fades.

 

I’d give you promises I couldn’t keep

And every smile is as hollow as a jewel,

I’d let you play the master

If you’d let me play your fool.

 

I’d dance with you till the pale dawn

And tell you about our future

I’ve drawn the map, found the route

And I’ll be there with you.

 

And I’d let you stand with the stars

Leaving me on the shore;

I’d give you the chains

That don’t bind me anymore.

 

And I’d cry your tears in the morning

When I think that you’re not there;

It’s not that I want your sorrow

It’s to let you know that I care.

Getting Out

I need to run, and scream,

Howl out in the grey morning

Like a cat walking along the roof

Wet with last night’s shroud of rain.

I’d talk in puzzles and optimisms,

Listen to the advice of those younger than me –

Act without following the script.

I’d be so archaic as to take the train,

And roar through the night on the way

To another place, another country,

And then finally live the life I’ve written before.

Moaning

Ever get those moments where you think you’re gonna break

And what you’ve been planning falls dead on the deck

With an albatross around its neck, and you’re struggling

To find shore? Long questions and short answers

When everybody wants to know what’s coming next –

Well what do you expect? I could answer with adventure,

A flightless bird whose certainty leads to doubt

And even then I’m not so sure. I want to laugh

And collect in my arms what makes me feel alive

But I forget all that when I’m lost, and joy

Slips by. I don’t know. I just graduated.