Lazy Boy

Busy days
Ain’t got the strength
To blow these blues away
Worth no money
Got no food
This mind state set
With no wants but you.

Smoked Out Slow

Bored with work ‘cause there’s too much to do
Wasting my time instead listening to music
Writing words to fill my head
Filling my soul with the takers of pain
Drinking some smoking then writing again

And imbibing
Deep breathing
To scribble again

Slow music better than no music
Quiet music better than loud
Hot tunes hold my mind in line
This night goes so slow – so unkind
The shakes once again start me shaking
It’s the fault of quick thinking whilst sitting

The tongues through my head
Keep me waking

Drastic action has me waiting
So long that eyes close under eyelids
Strange thoughts prop my psyche
Weird music and thinking
Sad slow – stoppage drinking
pushes time
to just over the brink!

 

June

We’re finally at the end of the crazy-June! Leaving us still with 2 months of silly season (English summer) to go… Where that will take us who can possibly know?!

June Oh June

With your bitch, full, blue moon.
You run on in pieces
in drips so drab
and break up the fun
that we waited to have.
You tyrannous slut
of a month
– Cat June!

Bringing the promise of sun and fun
to dash them and crush us –
you run on and run.
So you’ll guess I’m not pleased with you;
guess we’re not growing
to love your foul days of rain,
while you hide the suns glowing!

Oh June.
Oh my.
What have you become
now so late and wet
were you once called the sun?
I cry for you, baby
and the tears sting my cheeks!
I cry everyday
through your long blasted weeks.

Beck sun

This is an updated post from 2012…

Over (tribute)

Play it slow; wake me when it’s over.
Feel the music lift you, love a supernova.

Sleep is quiet.
Sleep is quiet when I’m with you.

Faking love: Push me I roll over,
feel so warm inside – join me in a Rover.

Floating past, gone further than ever.
Quiet, dark, solitude.
Now the moments over.

Dreaming still,
Standing still, dreaming that I’m with you.
Now the feeling’s over.

Sweet short

Here she sits a lady truly blue
Sweet heart lays in her lap for you
She whispers some sweet treat in time
And blurs the lines of your afternoon

Like something is wrong
In the tune in her song
Like something has left
She has sung it so long

She’s your silent Dido – carved of stone
Living in a life you dreamed was blown
As shadows stretch and rise and die
Your night lights with her white-rose tone

[revisited from Dec 2012]

O

image: Jean-Jacques Henner, words: Bujonswords

image: Jean-Jacques Henner, words: Bujonswords

Mothers of Mope

The marvellous mendicant mothers of Mope
worry about weaning their kids off dope.
Haplessly harried they hardly hold hope
of finding an answer that isn’t looped rope!

Round here the rising sun breaks slow the cloud
which builds through the night
– from the fags dark allows,
yet, none of Mopes mistresses notice,
through rows,
that newly a day is born
– sweet, fresh and proud.

Surely some sapient soul serves to sate
the confusion of questions one’s sure to negate,
in diurnal dialogue done direct and to date…
or so you’d suppose, in most all other states.

Here though, in Mope, the mothers are clear:
we’ll have no free thinking ta! None of that here!
Perish the thought of fresh views or ideas
and hold your big books from coming too near!

The plan goes so simple (it has to it’s true) –
the brideless of Mope know all that they do;
that learning from lessons is theirs to eschew!
Our proliferate pups truly think this their due.

So work on you earners, as hard as you can
Build coin for your country to feed the taxman.
His pennies and coffers are spent
– the grand plan:
Dished out to the mothers
who need what they can!

vicky_2371818b