Poetry Corner

[Dean]

Off with the cellophane,
peel off the band.
A long silky cigar,
rests in the hand.

Out with the cutter,
snip off the cap.
A sniff down the barrel,
this'll be a fine chap.

Relax in a soft-chair,
with a drink on the porch.
Whip out the lighter,
fire up the torch.

Embers all aglow,
as you toast up the foot.
Developing some ashes,
creating some soot.

Take a puff from the stogie,
held back with the lips.
Contemplate the whiskey...
all your future sips.

Open your mouth and
exhale with ease.
Fragrant thick perfume,
gone with the breeze!

[cohibaIV]

:thumb:

[Montesmoke]

Very good dean:cowboyic9:

[did64]

Not bad at all Dean. Dominating the metre.

[Robusto]

Nice one! :biggrin1:

[Robusto]

TOYTOWNSHOWBIZ
(Lyric from a song I wrote, 2006)

There's a bar downtown
Where the lights are low
Molly serves up the drinks
And keeps her eye on the show
We're in her favourite band
And she grips tight in her hand
A special gift from all the crew
Who like to show her right on cue

A life in TOYTOWNSHOWBIZ
A life of weekend fizz
That blows away the lacklustre
Every-bloody-day bluster
That takes the mind away
To where you easily play
You easily play away
You play away

A dose of TOYTOWNSHOWBIZ
For some it's really gee whiz
For others it's a lifeline
A sort of mini sublime
It's like a slap in the back
Against the government crap
It makes you brother with brother
To keep great time with each other

A life in TOYTOWNSHOWBIZ
A life of weekend fizz
That blows away the lacklustre
Every-chuffing-day bluster
That takes the soul away
To where you easily play
You easily play away
You play away

And if it takes ten minutes
To trot out something abys(mal)
Like this, and like the previous
About madness and bereavement
There's something simply achieved
That leaves you with no need
To scour the theory book knowledge
That you left back in college

Because when Molly gets jiggy
She droops a dangling stogie
And her entourage all savour
The last hemi-semi-quaver
And the beer is all on her
It's frothy 1664
She spills all over your jeans
And Molly kneels to rub you clean for

A life in TOYTOWNSHOWBIZ
A life of weekend fizz
That blows away the lacklustre
Every-fucking-day bluster
That takes your body away
To where you easily play
You easily play away
You play away :cowboyic9:

[cohibaIV]

:bump2: :top:

[Montesmoke]

Would like to here that song:smoke:

[Willie1]

Whether it be a mighty churchill
Or the humble mini cuban cigarlios
whether it be Cuban, Dominican or Honduran
Or it be made by machine or man

Some people say I'm an old fogie
Just because I enjoy smokin' a stogie
When I'm in my room smokin up a fog
I enjoy the fine aroma of good stogie smog

I would rather have a cigar everyday
To enjoy a puff and to watch the world go by
I don't care what non-smiking fogies say
Because I'm gonna keep them smokin' stogies anyway

Willie :smoke:

[Robusto]

THE CITY OF LONDON CREMATORIUM

In the East End
They've done the shire horse glass hearse thing
Since before it was trendy.

And next Thursday, although this is about death,
I shall meet again
Lost Essex cousins who perch on designer leather sofas
(Exclusive, mind. No Land of Leather-ette cheap stuff here)
A shiny catalogue of Chardonnays and a scrum down of Ray Winstones
All from central casting.

For cousins are a funny thing.
Especially if, like me, your families were estranged.

At the very least, this will be a day off work. Yay!
But it will be dignified and religious.
At first…

My final aunty, my Dad's sister, just died.
So my Dad's Cockney blood gathers as a tribe and parties.
A knees up with a bought-in tribute Pearly King and Queen.
(From Devon).

The background is of Poplar terraces bombed in the war
Of holidays in Kent as kids to pick hops
Of made-it working class east London Conservative minds
Which mostly bowls along OK.
Even the Adoration of the Iron Lady you take by gripping your fists in your pockets
Until you hear the idle chat
Where all the foreigners ought to be sent home on the next banana boat.
Even though new Universities rise now from the banana boats' old moorings.

Learning has replaced slavery and subservience in much of the East End.
Thank fuck for that, hey.
Thank fuck.
But it's possible the Winstone-Chardonnays don't know that.

But you let this talk go. You can't contest it here. Not right.
Because this aunty looked after you for months when you were
A small child
When things went nuclear, and nuclear again, at home

So I'll do my practised arsey thing
Of wearing the mask that looks just right
Yet wetting myself paddyfield at the stuff I see and the things I hear

And boy! It works better to present as a musician in these moments
Rather than as a teacher.
I played it that way at the Land of Leather myself.

I Found Loving. Da, da-da, da-da-da-da-da

If you are in a family room with fifteen cousins
How many do you know?
I know none

But it's incredible that in that number
There is always someone
Who visibly shares some of the same blood
The same nose – or the same facial expressions
Or body movements with you

And you end up looking at a man
Who is like a Jack Lalanne
Of your brother, your Dad and your sons
All CGI'd and rolled into one.

Break out the cigars. Only the best Havanas.

And RIP My Aunty Rene.

BJO - OCT 06

[Robusto]

A COUNTRY COWBOY'S HORN

Needs Alan Jackson type vocals.
Music in Elton John 'Country Comfort' territory.


I sit and / watch the jackals / pant along the a / dobe?
My FM's / spittiing where the / signal's gone ast / ray?
I'm feeling / happy and I / know it
And I / really want to / show it
Cos the / Man In White came / visiting tod / ay?

He had a / basket full of / fishes and some / terracotta / dishes?
Some / sandals and an / ivory sa / rong?
He / said he played the / banjo but had / left it in his / trailer
So in / stead stood up and / sang a simple / song?


(Spoken in a VERY deep voice): And it went:

CHORUS:
/ Turn to me and / you'll be strong
/ Turn to me, I'm / never wrong
/I can heal the / error of your / ways?
/Turn to me if / you feel lonely
/Turn to me, your / one and only
/Saviour who can / show you better / days


(Hold the same chord forever here)


(Spoken - BASSO PROFUNDO): Two weeks later

I sit and / watch the horses / charging round the farm
My stetson's / dirty with the / dust from down the lane
I'm feeling / horny and I / know it
And I / really want to / share it
With the / Nun In Black who / hitched a ride to / day

She had a / back pack full of / buckles /? some / buzzers and some / joy balls
A / rubber mask and / fluffy bearskin / rug?
She / said she was a / flautist who played / major scales with / oomph
And / then she grabbed my / microphone and / frugged

(Spoken - BARRY WHITE): And she sang:

CHORUS:
/ Turn to me and / you'll be strong
/ Turn to me, I'm / never wrong
/I can heal the / error of your / ways?
/Turn to me if / you feel lonely
/Turn to me, your / one and only
/Saviour who can / show you better / days


(Move from, say, a G up to an A here ? and hold for ages)

(Spoken - very low-slung balls now): Then later in the fall

I sit and / spy the fishes / darting through the / rocks
My leather / jacket's creased ar / ound each elbow / patch
I'm feeling / torn in two and / know it
And I / really want to / show it
So I de / cide that now self- / service is the way

I drink a / little ginger / beer and puff a / maduro brown cigar
I fold my / moleskin work gloves / in the drink dis / penser
I play some / scales along the / dashboard in / every major key
And then I / turn on my trusty P/A and I say...

(Spoken - Testosterone tsunami) Sweetheart ? Trust me and go with all of what I have here for you?

Pause...

CHORUS:
/ Turn to me and / you'll be strong
/ Turn to me, I'm / never wrong
/I can heal the / error of your / ways?
/Turn to me if / you feel lonely
/Turn to me, your / one and only
/Saviour who can / show you better / days

/ Turn to me and / we'll be buzzing
/ Turn to me, I'm / high on loving
I'll / let you feel the / error of my / ways?
/Turn to me if / you feel randy
/We can always / share this shandy
/I'll keep growing / with you all my / days.

BJO - FEB 08 :cowboyic9:

[Robusto]

THE KISSING GATE

I found your bolt hole down St Martin's alley
Some lurchers growling by a stately home
I walked around the churchyard to a driveway
Autumn silence, sunshine, still and quite alone

You showed me where the marquee will be standing
Loading champagne from your taxi to a barn
You'll walk along the pathway to the horse field
And lead the wedding party to your mother's lawn


The minstrels walking by you, showering petals
Petals dropping on your bridal train
The bridegroom laughing, shining like a penny
We'll see you kissing at The Kissing Gate


The band will park and load up from a driveway
That leads across some ploughshares by a lake
A curtain will be lifted to reveal us
Playing Superstition over wedding cake

I guess you'll take that taxi to an airport
Departing on a sultry honeymoon
With lovemaking in many different poses
With passion and with lust around your room

But will it be all over in an instant?
Will someone else replace the bride and groom?
Will Wanderlust replace the furtive couplings
In clifftop cars or lovers' back bedrooms?

Will private passion haunt you at St Martin's?
The backseat rammings force your private fate?
To break the vows you made beside the altar
You fall once more beneath The Kissing Gate

I'll watch you as we play our tunes this evening
I'll wonder if you'll stay the course, or run
The path that keeps you where you are, devoted,
Or leads you on the frantic chase to fun

For passion comes, and passion goes
Not hewn from stone, our needs will grow
We need to love, we need to feel
Sap rising, power at the wheel
It's hard to sit and see love go
In ways that show more ebb than flow

Your passion drives you to your self-made fate
By kissing with a new love
Underneath The Kissing Gate

BJO - SEP 07

[Deano]

As it is the apt month.

Robert Frost, October.

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
one from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if the were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the all.



Now all I need to find is my Emily Dickinson reader...

[Robusto]

Spinning John Lewis

I'm spinning around
I'm so back and forth
It's like I'm on the horse
Cos my mind is so off course

I'm your knife grinder
The sparks kick me forwards
To my wits' end in a way
And they cause me great pain

The isolating sadness
Of occasional madness
Tucked away in a unit
Which hums of moist tunic

My children look at the ward fishtank
They don't know where they are
Dad could be in a Travel Lodge
Or a gite somewhere in the Var

Daddy is smiling
There's nothing wrong at all
Let's have a cuddle
Let's find us a guppy

Let's do Art Therapy
Alone with a teacher
Tense string section music
As you paint a fish finger

Do you feel OK now?
Never felt better!
Time to go home now
Get it all back together

The feel of our bedclothes
The smell of her hair
The door that's unlocked
The food I am free to prepare

Replace the strip lighting
The strangers who scream
The women who harm themselves
Again and again

The room where the smokers
Would roll up all night
The fire alarm shouting
The windows screwed tight

And every morning since
When I make my toast
My stainless steel Dualit 4 slice
Reminds me the most

Cos I bought one soon after
I was back home and dry
There's one in that kitchen
Where I'd sit and sometimes cry about
What happened within me
To send me so completely awry


When you crumble into pieces
You're on a clich?d roller coaster
And you wash up in John Lewis soon after
Just to buy a gorgeous toaster

BJO - OCT 06

[Willie1]

Some awesome posts here guys :cool: :smoke:

Willie

[Robusto]

There's a hell of a difference between poetry and song lyrics, I think.
Don't you? Discuss!

When I'm listening to music, I'm clocking chord sequences and melodies in my head. I'm more locked into song tunes than words. I can love certain songs without having ever churned over the lyrics.

Poetry is a different fish altogether, I reckon. I haven't moved on much since A Level English and my degree, but the poetry for the latter was in French and I paid it lip-service, really.

My favourite British poet is Dylan Thomas. It's liquid stuff. Sound poems, really. I also like Betjeman, but it seems a bit cheap.

I faff around with words during crap TV shows mostly. The One Show. Now that IS shite, so I'll jot down some nonsense during it when I'm in the mood and chuck it in a lyrics box. Same thing with tinkering with tunes. Nothing gets erased because one day something might come along and join the dots.

I don't judge what I do to have any particular merit, but the media shows me talentless bastards getting away with murder every day in songwriting and just being lucky.

The pleasure isn't in the profit. The pleasure is in the doing.

[Willie1]

I agree with you Bry wholeheartedly :smoke:

There have been times that I have written a poem that was also good lyrics for a song, but this has only happened a few times :)

Willie

[Robusto]

Saw your guitar in your profile pics, Willie.
Nice one. :cowboyic9:

[Willie1]

Thanks Bry :), I'll post a better pic of it onto the profile once I get moved back to my old house again :)

Willie

[Robusto]

Any sounds, my friend?

[Robusto]

I'd like to build a humidor
And furnish it with 'gars
Like Romeos and Partagas
And Montecristo bombs

I'd like to teach the world to smoke
A Hoyo de Monterrey
I'd like to hold it in my hands
And toke it all away

I'd like to see the world for once
All tripping on cigars
And blowing smoke rings in the air
And having herfs in bars

(That's the leaf I smoke)
I'd like to teach the world to puff (that the world smokes today)
In perfect harmony

(Lead singer and background singers singing simultaneously)

I'd like to teach the world to blow
In perfect harmony

I'd like to build a cigar bar
And flash my big cheveta
Sell Cohibas and Bolivars
And Romeo y Julietas


If you think that's turgid, listen to this:

http://www.geocities.com/holidaysfun/teachworld.html

[cohibaIV]

:thumb:

[Robusto]

It's bollocks, CIV! :biggrin1:

Sylvia Plath. Come on down!!!!!

[Wildwood]

"I'd like to teach the world to blow"??

Yeah, well, I suppose I'd second that...:biggrin1: