It's only words
MINUTES
Here I am
This collection of emotions and motivations
Floating alone
In a pool of people and pollution
Tragedy and beauty
And when I get too wet or too cold
I get out, and dry myself and go somewhere warm.
Whilst very small, the pool and the water, and me and its depth
Were one and the same.
Walked along, into the water. Gradually walking out again.
Kicking the water, playing in the water. Running away from the water.
Then I learned to swim.
The water and me were then defined.
It was there, I would conquer it.
And if I stopped, my nose would fill, and I would splutter,
And have to kick again.
Swim, swim, swim. That's all we've got to do.
DESKTOP PARTYING
16 hours in a day
with 2 on a bus.
7 in an office.
16-9=7
What happened with the rest?
I hope they were spent messing around.
MY GAIT
It's hard to be happy, and abstract,
when my world is so crappy and dull,
I spend my time on computers,
Hoping their light will plug up a hole.
And it does, for a while,
If you're writing a style,
But when that time passes,
You're left needing glasses.
Cos the world goes all blurry,
and leaves you with Lonely,
So I lie back down, and weight
for love to come back to my gait
BLUE MONDAY
When that song comes on again, I'm going to go mental.
Said the man to me.
We looked for a second, at the DJ, but he wasn't paying attention.
We stood up, even taller, and smiled.
Then fell back down again.
Our arms and legs were moving, but our soul just wasn't there.
So we willed another tune, and bosh.
Blue Monday.
OWN HOPE
The only things I own
Are hopes, not hate and pain
Cos everyone owns pain,
It's why we're all the same.
I borrow it
from time to time
there is a part
which is all mine.
Yet it owns me, cos it's ours
And what is ours, Is part yours
I'll never OWN what is part yours.
But we can share it,
don't you see,
then hope it goes,
but differently.
Hopes are different though,
because they're all unique,
that's why we choose such different things
When thinking what to eat.
I'd like to eat potato, with chili on the top,
Some like to eat salads and pasta.
I'd like to write and make a film, my film.
SLAP HAPPY
flat back, on the ground
ear down, there's no sound
but the bass from above
the instrument of love
It rattles and hums
and throbs til it's numb.
Bom, Bomb, Boowng, buh.
The sound it slips undah.
The musical mole
hits straight in the soul
Here I am
This collection of emotions and motivations
Floating alone
In a pool of people and pollution
Tragedy and beauty
And when I get too wet or too cold
I get out, and dry myself and go somewhere warm.
Whilst very small, the pool and the water, and me and its depth
Were one and the same.
Walked along, into the water. Gradually walking out again.
Kicking the water, playing in the water. Running away from the water.
Then I learned to swim.
The water and me were then defined.
It was there, I would conquer it.
And if I stopped, my nose would fill, and I would splutter,
And have to kick again.
Swim, swim, swim. That's all we've got to do.
DESKTOP PARTYING
16 hours in a day
with 2 on a bus.
7 in an office.
16-9=7
What happened with the rest?
I hope they were spent messing around.
MY GAIT
It's hard to be happy, and abstract,
when my world is so crappy and dull,
I spend my time on computers,
Hoping their light will plug up a hole.
And it does, for a while,
If you're writing a style,
But when that time passes,
You're left needing glasses.
Cos the world goes all blurry,
and leaves you with Lonely,
So I lie back down, and weight
for love to come back to my gait
BLUE MONDAY
When that song comes on again, I'm going to go mental.
Said the man to me.
We looked for a second, at the DJ, but he wasn't paying attention.
We stood up, even taller, and smiled.
Then fell back down again.
Our arms and legs were moving, but our soul just wasn't there.
So we willed another tune, and bosh.
Blue Monday.
OWN HOPE
The only things I own
Are hopes, not hate and pain
Cos everyone owns pain,
It's why we're all the same.
I borrow it
from time to time
there is a part
which is all mine.
Yet it owns me, cos it's ours
And what is ours, Is part yours
I'll never OWN what is part yours.
But we can share it,
don't you see,
then hope it goes,
but differently.
Hopes are different though,
because they're all unique,
that's why we choose such different things
When thinking what to eat.
I'd like to eat potato, with chili on the top,
Some like to eat salads and pasta.
I'd like to write and make a film, my film.
SLAP HAPPY
flat back, on the ground
ear down, there's no sound
but the bass from above
the instrument of love
It rattles and hums
and throbs til it's numb.
Bom, Bomb, Boowng, buh.
The sound it slips undah.
The musical mole
hits straight in the soul
posted by Steve Harmison | 6:49 AM
4 Comments:
my you have been busy, should I alert your employer to this poetic overflow? You know blogging is a disciplinary matter
I wrote them last night, between getting home, being bored and getting stoned. I think it was a constructive use of an eveing. Now though, I'm not working either. I'm wandering about the building, and reading the Guardian on a coffee come-down after a very busy morning. I hate being busy at work, it's so fucking pointless if you're temping.
Laura, I think you should point R. Ragsdale in the direction of Iain's work.
Yeah. I want a Ragsglade. Biggie, can you be my male-fan?
And the DJ wasn't Tom. Alas, the events aren't real.
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