Sing it if you want to, Cos I can’t even stop you. Pay me my royalties, Do with it as you please. Just don’t go switching lyrics, Or stray from the original. Don’t change it up too much without permission – Stay traditional. But otherwise, it’s yours to sing – It’s all of yours – cos here’s the thing – It’s just one more addition to the public offering.
For once a song is out there, Then it’s out there for ev’ryone – It’s out there for evermore, They’re all out there together. Until I’m dead for three score ten And then it’s all for free forever. But until that day, If the author gets their pay, Then the artist gets to sing away. Permission isn’t ours to grant, And nobody tells anyone they can’t.
If I were to say today If I was, Would I generate a buzz At my un-subjunctive ? I doubt it. Not to be presumptive, But the world can live without it. The less-pedantic folk Have been dropping weres for years – Not to provoke, But only, it appears, That they never learned a diff’rent way. And who’s to say that what they say is wrong ? Their meaning is as clear To an ever over-fussy ear, And all thanks to its context – That complex glue that helps us get along. To make a counter-factual phrase, They have no need for prissy rules That sound like strays from olden days – They do it fine with simple tools, Without the fuss, Without the spleen, And ev’ry single one of us knows wholly what they mean.
Don’t weep for changes in our speech – It changed for you – In all those words they wouldn’t teach That once were dangerous and new. They horrified your grandpapa, of course – They made him jar, they made him hoarse. But you knew better than your betters – Broke the fetters on the Non-U, Took these immigrants upon you, Gave them voice and gave them force, You let them all rejoice And hoped they stung – Rolling their illicit letters Round and round your tongue.
So if I was to use the was Is it because I like the buzz ? But then again, perhaps It’s more an unintended lapse, And not a careless slur. Or maybe I prefer The ever-simple sound of was – I like the way she does, So let her purr. If that be all it is, Or if that is all it be, Let’s let the was be fancy-free – As it were…
The Thousand-Years War did not come to an end, So they say – it just came to a stop. When the gold and the men and the food has all gone, Then the number of battles must drop.
The sheep were untended, the cattle were stray, While the geese were so full they must walk, For there’s none could survive, save the crickets and mice, When the harvest remained on the stalk.
So famine and fasting would follow the fighting, As fighters would follow their swords – And even the nobles ate turnips and gruel, While the ravens were dining like lords.
For year after year, as the sun dried the ground, So the raiding would start with the Spring, Till the storms and the Autumn at last gave a rest, Till the battles that next year would bring.
When home for the Winter, the men would greet newborns, And plant in their wives their next growth – But all of the fighting brought all of the dying, And birthing was slower than both.
So fathers and brothers, on hearing the muster, Rode off with the equinox sun – Then followed their heirs, from the firstborn and eldest – To younger – then youngest – then none.
The plague swept the camps and the swords swept the necks, And the romance went out of the roam, And the tales and adventures for telling through Winter Would often not make it back home.
Then even the daughters, for lacking their brothers, Would join for the pride of the shire – When even the women were thrust into arms Then you know that the world is on fire.
The war couldn’t last now, with nobody raising The next generation to fight – So either the feuding must splutter to ashes, Or burn all to keep it alight.
The Thousand-Years War did not come to an end, So they say – it just came to a stop. Now folk and their cattle are slowly increasing, And harvesters bring in the crop.
But I hear my countrymen, those who came home, As they tell of their travels with sword. And what of our enemy ? Cheated us victory !- Grandsons are dutif’ly awed
The war has been wounded, and needed to heal, But it’s now getting frisky for gore – Were years of futility not pain enough That we’re keen for a thousand-odd more ?
The first to life in the late of Winter, The first to bloom in the newborn Spring – While all the seeds are stilly sleeping, Through the soil is something creeping. Beneath the frost in the frigid hinter, The bullets sprout as the robins sing – From snowdrop first to tulip last, By foxglove-time their time has passed.
But don’t bring bulbs indoors for Winter, Don’t make the life for them too soft – Or soon their show will disenchant, With the leggy leaves of a spider-plant. Don’t force a bulb to be a sprinter, Rushing blooms to get aloft – They shoot too soon, they shoot too bright, Their heads too big, their stalks too slight.
The first to life in the late of Winter, The first to wilt in the newborn Spring – While those outside are stilly sleeping, From the pots comes something leaping. Far from frost in the humid hinter, The sissies sprout as the carols sing – From one-week first to next-week last, By snowdrop-time their time has passed.
Gideon, Gideon, scourge of the Midian, Judge of Manasseh and tough as obsidian. Beating the wheat, he’s a young man of might, So Yahweh descended with orders to fight: To turn back the raidings of Midianite, And break down the altar of Baal.
The idol he smashed, but to Yahweh a snarl – “Prove you are greater than this god of Gog – Keep the fleece dry when the dew tries to sog.” Almighty proven, the lad must take charge He raised up an army, but thought it too large, And kept only soldiers who drank like a dog.
Now here’s an adventure to savour !, To pass a long and lonely night Within a small, strange room – Never mind about the Saviour, Read about the epic fight As Gideon brings Midian to doom !
Gideon, Gideon, hiding his light in a jar, Outnumbered by far, But winning the night with trumpets and pluck If only, if only the tale were all told, Of the faithful and bold, Of defending their homeland with Yahweh and luck.
But next came the slaughter, as wholesale as usual, All egged on by Yahweh at mercy’s refusal – When allies were wetbacks, he butchered the sods. Then forty years later, his reign was still feted – He died in contentment, unpunished and sated As he took many wives and he praised many gods.
Now here’s a tale of confusion… To pass a cold and friendless night Within a sad, sparse room – What moral should be our conclusion ? The lonely will not find much light To lead them out of an early tomb.
I’m not sure which Syllable to stress in ‘Manasseh’, being one of those words I’ve seen written but never heard spoken, but my subconscious wants it to be the second one, perhaps influenced by ‘molasses’. If it turns out to be the first then the second line won’t scan very well, so I guess will need to be changed to ‘Manasseh judge’. Ah, the vagueries of English…
Some of them are king-size, Some of them are slim, Some of lost their handles, Some have chipped their rim. Some, it seems, live in the sink, While some have never touched a drink.
Some have faded transfers, And some have tannin stains, Some have slops and lipstick, And some have glazing veins In the cupboards, out of sight, Are they breeding overnight ?
Some of them are funny, And some of them are cute, Some promote a company, And some an institute. They colonise the hooks and trees, I’m sure I never bought all these…
Some of them are tobies, But do they ever blink ? Better put the kettle on, I need to sit and think. Coffee, sugar, spoon and jug – Now where on earth has gone my mug…?
Ev’ry night I close my eyes And enter in your world of lies – It’s not your scary ones I fear, But all your fantasies and memes – It’s not the nightmares, but the dreams !
I swear, this time, as sleep comes near, I’ll keep my wits and vision clear, However logicless the plot – But how can I, when ev’ry time I doze, My eyes must close ?
And suddenly I’m unconcerned, With senses overturned and shot – As wish- and fear-fulfillments trot. And thus, I find myself a slave To ev’ry passing alpha wave.
So all those lovers, all those highs, Those treasure troves and dragonflies – And all for what ? It’s not to make me sadly wise, For lessons learned are soon forgot.
You took my hope, you took my trust, And strung me on without a fight, Before you vanished into sleepy dust – My innocence once more was sold For mem’ry holes and fairy gold !
And willing dope was I, alright, My self-awareness all a-snore – The fool you fooled the night before, And who you’ll surely fool again, To lead astray down lackwit lane.
Was this your prize ? Was this the reason for your lies, To bring this naive mortal down to size ? But then, when stranded in the dark, I must have made an easy mark.
But worse than that, deep down, must be That knowing all along The one who plays the piper’s song, Who does me wrong with such a glee – It’s all myself and only me !
So many stars ! And the colours too ! Blurring and sharping into our view. But best look quick how these nebulas burn – For sooner or later, the lens must turn.
Mohammad ! Yo, Hammad ! Say, what you so scared of ? You won’t let us see you in pinkie and brow ? What makes you so special You get to be spared of Our constant surveillance from cam’ras and eyes ? The truth is, Mohammad, We’re all of us spied on – We’re all of us public and databased now. So Jesus and Shiva, And Thor and Poseidon, Must get used to gawkers, or dress in disguise.
And as for your theory We’ll worship your likeness – I doubt that we’d give it much more than a glance. For these days, we shrug at The holy or righteous, We’re far too anarchic, and sneerful and clever. We see you, Mohammad, But don’t see your proof. But who cares ? Stop sulking and join in the dance ! Don’t tell us you’d rather Be veiled and aloof, For these days all neighbours must rub by together.
Can gods and can mortals Not laugh at each other ? We’re all of us stupid – the flesh and divine. So let fly the insults – Don’t censor and smother !- Say lard-bellied Buddha and pigeon-faced Ra. From temple to steeple, From Mecca to Delphi, Your noses need tweaking, and so too does mine ! So smooth down the beards And smile for the selfie, And show us your best sides, your je ne sais quoi !
I know, Mo, I know ! When they’re thrusting their lenses, It’s hard to keep posing, it’s hard to stay still. But best grin and bear it And drop our defences – I feel a right charlie – but hey, c’est la vie ! When we lose our senses, Our common and humour, We end up with killjoys who actu’ly kill. (Hey, I once heard you smiled, Though that’s only a rumour… But anyway, Mo, can you take one of me ?)
