Seventy-seven years have passed
And you still interpret the world
In bouquets of orange
Writer’s block is real
The absence of words still heavy
Nudging creativity to nothing
These whispers
These whispers
Forget I’m dead
And they talk on as if
I dared to care
And my reflection
Says I’m still here
Cowboy time
The time is ten to ten
I want whisky on tap
It’s cowboy time
And then
We saddle up and ride
Don’t give me that side eye
I’m the man with the wit
And the battle stride
You may say I’m a misfit
But just like you, I was born to die
Affliction
What I see is an ape afflicted with the human condition
Standing naked and harbouring delusions of a mission
And this naked ape, he thinks he’s the final step in evolutions transition
He believes he is free from the animal he used to be
What would make a man take such a leap?
When humanity will surely become his prison
Stupid
There is something intelligent about an animal that only considers it’s next meal and contemplates when and where it might next sleep. The irony is that that intelligence wouldn’t be recognised as such if it wasn’t for a species such as us to be stupid enough to consider all of this in the first place.
Misfit
These are lyrics in my mind, more so than poetry.
I miss having something to miss
I’m a loser
A misfit in ordinary clothes
better call the doctor
I’ve been drinkin’
Gotten to my liver
I keep getting these shivers
I’ve gone blind
Is it any wonder
I never see eye to eye
I’m a loser
A misfit in ordinary clothes
I miss wanting to quit
I want to quit not quitting
Ain’t touched a blade
Since I don’t know when
Wonder what’s wrong with that
Is it the alcohol
Or am I really fine
It’s too late in the day
I can’t tell if it’s not okay
I think I don’t know
A single fucking thing
I’m just a misfit
In ordinary clothes.
Wind
The wind against my face
With no one around
To see I’m part of the human race
Going at my own pace
I don’t care for empty platitudes
I don’t wanna talk to you
I’ll be alone in my own mind
And I don’t care cause I got the time
I don’t keep on your watch
I don’t walk the line
Not so linear
In this head of mine
I’m always in the wrong place
For I don’t fit in, anyway
So what do I care if I step behind
Never keeping up
With you men in your ties
It’s just a noose around your neck
I’m running loose
Cause, what the heck
I don’t need those shiny shoes
I won’t slick my hair back
And look like you
I’ll listen to Bob Dylan
In my car with the window open
On a winters day
Cuz we got the blues
And only the wind knows what to do.
Screws loose
An old one for today’s post
Me mind is racin’ two times a dozen
Bloomin insane!
Thats what the doctors’ll say
Bloomin doctors!
White coats!
Nah they wear flashy suits
Tie an all
What business they got wearing them?
They aint bloomin business men!
Lock me up and throw away the key!
Thats what they’d go and bloomin’ do!
Me? on a psych ward? Kiddin’ me aren’t ya?
t’ fookin sane for this lot
Got a few screws missin’
I admit
But they’ve only fallen behin’ bloody bed
I tell ya, my room is a right bloomin’ mess!
Eee! If me mother were to see it
She’d ‘ave a fit
Bloomin’ mothers
Always got somethin’ to complain about
Oh my, she don’t beat around the bush
No, comes right out with it!
“Ya flats a tip! Looks like a bomb site” She’ll say
Well i don’t mind
As long as i can find me screws
Before the bloody doctors
Notice i got ’em loose
chaos
Candy clouds
Chills and thrills
Rollercoasters
Swirls and whirls
carousels
Tea cups
Hypnotising
Swirlifying
Wordifying
Purifying
All too electrifying
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