Bright Young Things

Blessed are those

Who stick up their nose

At people who wouldn’t drink a drop;

They party till dawn

Then party some more

And god forbid that they ever stop.

Advertisements

Lust for Adventure

It is a winter of inquiry and romance

And against better judgement I read the news,

Nothing much is going on but the offers to fly

Are enticing. I’d rather gaze at the fair Italian moon

Than the crimson wash of the Manchester sky.

I’ve got excitement within my reach,

But as soon as my heart starts to pound

I retreat into the crescent arms of early night.

I’d rather feel an African joy than the woes of a northern boy,

But my hands are pale like a river

And the choirs in my town are solemn and repressed.

I’m sure I’m awake to the fire of Elvis

And the conversation of Richard Harris,

But the wind that follows the car are ribbons reaching home.

Good Morning

I’ve kept the curtains open

So as to rise with the sun.

It comes cold and golden into my room,

And grows as the Mersey River runs.

 

It is only just gone five

And the songs of morning birds arrive,

The roar of speeding trains

Has yet to break through the tired day.

 

I’m happy to know the world still sleeps

And I sit in bed awake,

Still too lazy, maybe, to leap up to my feet

But pleased to steal what there is of life to take.

High Society

Let me enter the stunning worlds

Of rich circles in high society nights

And let my clothes be torn

And my hair pulled by the wind

So as to invite looks of disgust…

And then I’d start to sing

Awful cackles of misshapen carols;

Then let security chase me

As I slam into tables,

Step on champagne glasses,

Break a window,

Headbutt an aristocrat,

Then leave without a fuss.

Christmas in a Convent circa 1923

Well, the snow aint falling this year

Inform the orphans we’ll be penalizing all signs of Christmas cheer;

And Sister Maria stole my last bottle of beer,

What a lousy way to spend Christmas Eve.

 

Father Cohen fell down the chimney

And we’re not entirely sure he’ll recover from his injury;

Little Timmy just won’t stop sinning,

It’s a pretty lousy way to spend Christmas Eve

 

I’m bored of burning Christmas wishes

I’m tired of hearing the children sing as they wash the dirty dishes;

I’ve just been told my brother’s sleeping with the fishes,

It aint the best way to spend Christmas Eve.

 

Oh Sisters, I’m packing my bags

I’m sick of looking at the rosy red faces of you old hags;

I’m climbing out the window and I aint looking back,

There’s no better way to spend Christmas Eve.

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.

The Graduate

All these contemplative melodies

Can soothe obsessive maladies

That tremble and shake me to my bones,

But all the words of vagabonds

Burn so bright and then they’re gone

And I’m back to being fearful and alone.

 

Twisted rhythms, crooked rhymes

Help me through the trying times

When my head is spinning like a moving wheel,

Cold nights fall to dawning days

They throw their jewels then fade away

And I’m left wondering how I really feel.

 

I envy Ahab and his whale

Even one so doomed to fail

A prisoner determined to succeed,

At least he had a goal to chase

I’m sitting in a silent place

Waiting for a call to come to me.

 

I’ve got confusion coming from my eyes

Towards the charming cloudy skies

About which road I should follow all the way,

Like anyone thrown out to the world

Left to voice their own concerns

I’m struggling to find a thing to say.