Enchanted

I visualise the silkiness
Of the form of clay,
That houses thy soul today
And
Silent love it does display
And
You say tis enchantment,
Comes my way

Fuck all those sappy ballads,
and all those shitty torch songs.
wish with all my heart, I hadn’t lost you.

Show me the lyricist,
and I’ll strangle them.
Want to stuff every note
down their gullet.

Love is not the greatest thing,
It’s hell, when your broken hearted.
And yet when I’m lonely ,
I’m forced to listen to the great Miss Cline.

I have to admit Roy Orbison still tears me apart.
Bollocks to Piaf
I have many, many regrets.

.
.
BLUE JEAN BOY

all those words
in your head-
why were they
never said?
you weren’t sure,
is that why-
were you just
far too shy?

now she’ll never
get to know
of the love
you didn’t show:
of the thoughts
kept inside,
feelings you
tried to hide-

yet, you lived
for those nights
when you’d be
by her side-
there was no
greater joy
than those nights
that she called you
her blue jean boy…

Now they don’t want me, now they don’t care
might just as well go back to bed, up those wooden stairs.
They took it all away from me, everything I knew
now it’s all gone and there’s nothing I can do.
I wondered if it would happen, ever happen to me
and now that it has, the future’s hard to see.
There has to be a reason, why it’s me this time
don’t think I want to know, just want to save my mind.

Through the darkest blue of midnight
I see the winter of life's song,

I hear the sweetness of a melody
in a time that is all wrong;

I can hear off in the distance
a knowing tune that whistles, free
and, I can hear a song that's wrong, you must agree.

Notes are played, by memory
while not adhering to the score,

I hear a tune that waits for no one
for those who wait, on the dancing floor,

Arise the Picaresque..

I see the words fall from your lips,
and I spirit them away.
You said they were not of worth,
could sometimes go astray.

At night I brush your gold grey mane,
and steal a little more.
You laugh as I hurried to hide,
contempt knocking me to the floor.

Could I scribe a poem,
with words made from your hair.
Maybe write the love song,
with your smile always there.

Correct me if I’m wrong,
but stall me not.
I’m trying now to be strong,
asking what we forgot.

hard-ass bleachers

stranded in the bleachers
show is playing out

batter in batter’s box
pitcher winding up for the throw

get that ketchup off my hotdog
smother it with mustard
hold the onions, too

ball twists its way to the plate
batter swings and misses
umpire says, “Strike one!”

crowd is restless
I order another cold one
pitcher’s smug grin
reads catcher’s signal
and throws once more
umpire says, “Strike two!”

throw back the velvet glade
you need no key
the eyes
fire
shinning like the flash
on your sleeve

pick locks
and stop watch

memories buried
like a funeral cairn
I cant lock you
out not ever

On this cold clear winter night
when three quarter moon holds sway
and casts on all a bluish light
almost as strong as break of day

Out in a terraced open field
uncovered patches now are seen
for the snow's begun to yield
uncovering the clover's green

Trees, unlike when they had leaf
as entities in the forest stand
by white they're given sharp relief
like marchers in a jumbled band

You bathe me in your glow
the warmth of your voice
gentle and dripping

the halo of fire about
the crowns rising like red birds
in the dust smote skys
like red stars spiralling
in the rust of galaxies

I am drowned in my past
and you are a swimmer
my mermaid dreamer

how it all glimmers
in this seasons cold
wrapped with the darkness
erasing happiness

words given and I reach
losing more of the wall
your dance
flights about me
this longing I never knew
tears me free