Giveamanabiro
Uh oh, someone's been at the poetry again. These are a week old now, I wrote them on the train back from Worthing. Only one has a title.
Tina and Ike
She hits a note so high
That he will never reach
Cool, he looks, like he don't care,
Under deep voice and solid stare,
Rolling like a river
She's floating like a bee, singing like a butterfly
Energy, vitality, staggering in the beat
In the eye of the man
She sings his words, he writes for her,
he fights for her,
He cannot put her down.
She's virtued by her soul, the most
She attracts so many
He will never know what people say,
And think, when he is not around.
What he doesn't know hurts him.
He hurts her.
-----------
If you had a beautiful bird
Would you sing to it?
Every tune it called?
And what if it sqwauked every time you tried?
Then sang until its voice died?
Would you sing to it, when it can no more?
Or wait for it to sqwauk?
-----------
Slurp, slurp, on the train,
Slurp, slurp, behind my brain,
Slurp, slurp, slurp, bloody slurp.
GET A FUCKING ROOM.
-----------
Couples, couples, everywhere,
In every corner of the fayre,
It's so hard not to stand and stare,
Or show disgust
Or jealousy
Of public lust
-----------
What is in a name?
You will know mine
if you cross it out.
A face, a family, a life.
It's not ours alone, not history,
not set in stone,
until you die.
Take your name, and make it yours,
A family tie, worth fighting for,
Not lists of dead in fucking war.
It's not a badge or blood or race,
It's the brothers and sisters we love.
You will know our name, McCartney.
-----------
And one I'm writing tonight,
Bob sings tonight,
no lies, no alibis,
just Bob.
-----------
That's it for poetry. It's nice to be blogging again. Am very pissed off that am not going to Scotland. Very, very pissed off. I was under the impression that other people were in the same boat as me, but have just learned they're not. Turns out, the only thing they were in that I've been in was their fucking bath.
I plan to resume a service of classifieds soon, and make that my blog theme for now on.
Laters
Iain
Tina and Ike
She hits a note so high
That he will never reach
Cool, he looks, like he don't care,
Under deep voice and solid stare,
Rolling like a river
She's floating like a bee, singing like a butterfly
Energy, vitality, staggering in the beat
In the eye of the man
She sings his words, he writes for her,
he fights for her,
He cannot put her down.
She's virtued by her soul, the most
She attracts so many
He will never know what people say,
And think, when he is not around.
What he doesn't know hurts him.
He hurts her.
-----------
If you had a beautiful bird
Would you sing to it?
Every tune it called?
And what if it sqwauked every time you tried?
Then sang until its voice died?
Would you sing to it, when it can no more?
Or wait for it to sqwauk?
-----------
Slurp, slurp, on the train,
Slurp, slurp, behind my brain,
Slurp, slurp, slurp, bloody slurp.
GET A FUCKING ROOM.
-----------
Couples, couples, everywhere,
In every corner of the fayre,
It's so hard not to stand and stare,
Or show disgust
Or jealousy
Of public lust
-----------
What is in a name?
You will know mine
if you cross it out.
A face, a family, a life.
It's not ours alone, not history,
not set in stone,
until you die.
Take your name, and make it yours,
A family tie, worth fighting for,
Not lists of dead in fucking war.
It's not a badge or blood or race,
It's the brothers and sisters we love.
You will know our name, McCartney.
-----------
And one I'm writing tonight,
Bob sings tonight,
no lies, no alibis,
just Bob.
-----------
That's it for poetry. It's nice to be blogging again. Am very pissed off that am not going to Scotland. Very, very pissed off. I was under the impression that other people were in the same boat as me, but have just learned they're not. Turns out, the only thing they were in that I've been in was their fucking bath.
I plan to resume a service of classifieds soon, and make that my blog theme for now on.
Laters
Iain
posted by Steve Harmison | 1:26 AM
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