... yes we both know what memories can bring, they bring Diamonds and Rust.
Nothing specific as such. Lots pending.
| [An old one, written sometime around end 2002.] A common hour A winter night The city, Calcutta. They were together Their state, naked Their love, deep Their passion, silent. A convoy passes by Its siren claiming alert. And tangled up in love Neither of them hears it. Labels: Poetry |
| Toddler puppies on the road, Lorries full of junk and load, The paper-boy just dropped his pocketful of news. And what's your views? I sing to you baby the happy happy morning blues. Pass the wine, don't be afraid, Breakfast's being served by the barmaid, And she doesn't care who's winning now or gonna lose. It ain't no use. So I sing to you baby the happy happy morning blues. Buzzhead kid, he had a gun, Shot 'em all in the morning sun, Then killed himself, bleedin' from some ol' time bruise. Well, that's the news. And I sing to you baby the happy happy morning blues. Met Rip Van Winkle, he was walking down. Said "Wassup, Rip?". He said, "Lookin' for a clown, Who can pay my taxes without a frown, And take my girl around the town, While I'm busy sleepin' there, way way down." "Finish this song, 'tis takin' too long, It's time now for another song, And anyway it's evening, boy", says my girl, now loose. So wear your shoes, I just sing to you baby the happy happy morning blues. |
| (Or, misapprehensions of a desolate lover) Tonight, I don't mean the world to you. Acquaintance. Common talk. Like common salt on your dining table. But, my love, A night will come Silent of them all, When you will think of me While writing your next poetry. Labels: Poetry |
| There's nothing to keep There's nothing to throw There's nothing to wear Nowhere to go There's nothing happening Or coming soon The sun is gone And there's no moon And there's no darkness Nothing in my head There's nothing at all The music is fuckin' dead Labels: Poetry |
The color of love is red Your skirt Your polka-dot shirt Your spent night's unmade bed. The color of love is black The night that follows me The ghosts that follow you Or whatever you lack. The color of love is blue Are you in the bathtub now? With the stranger who knows you well And maybe he loves you too. The color of love is white You in your wedding dress And I a fool A fool To think of you tonight. ~o~ Labels: Poetry |
