Unrequited
She sent me a poem,
My darling,
A poem,
A poem she sent me,
My sweet Holly Hughes.
“I wrote you a poem,
My darling,
A poem,
A poem I wrote you,
My Michael, my muse.
I hope you can cherish,
My darling,
My poem,
My poem you cherish,
I so hope you do.”
I wish I could cherish
My darling,
Your poem,
Your poem, to cherish
As I cherish you.
…But Then Again, Too Few To Mention
I wonder how we might have met,
If I were not so shy and wet –
We may indeed have had a blast !
Ah well, the moment passed.
I was so young, I was so green,
I didn’t dwell on might-have-been –
The moment came, but then was gone,
And I was moving on.
I wonder what we might have thought,
If I had not adventure sought –
But on came life, so bright and fast,
And so the moment passed.
I was so young, so seventeen,
I had no time for might-have-been –
The cygnet must become the swan,
And soon be flying on.
I wonder if we might have laughed,
If I were not so brash and daft –
I set my lot before the mast,
And thus the moment passed.
I was so young, I was so lean,
I longed for now, not might-have-been –
My time had come to take the conn,
And I was sailing on.
I wonder if we might have sighed,
If only I were not a-stride –
But all the world was deep and vast,
And so the moment passed.
I was so young, I was so keen,
With time enough for might-have-been –
I searched for Zeus and Prester John,
Forever moving on.
I wonder what we might have found,
If I were not so onward-bound –
But dice were thrown and dye was cast,
And so the moment passed.
I was so young and so serene,
And put off thought of might-have-been –
So many sights to gaze upon
Meant I was moving on.
I wonder what we might have said,
If only I had stayed instead ?
We may have loved as beau and lass,
Or let the moment pass.
We were so young, my almost-queen,
So nearly and so might-have-been –
The chances danced, the summer shone,
But life was moving on.
Lullaby
Sleep,
Nemo, sleep,
Long and deep,
Soft and tall.
Sleep,
Slow and steep,
Nemo, sleep –
Shadows call…
Dream,
Of clowns and kings,
And lurking things
Behind the wall.
Dreams –
What brings them here ?
It’s you, my dear –
You dream them all !
Fake !
You make them up !
Let’s shake them up
And have a ball !
Quake,
And dreams will break up.
Time to wake up –
Let them fall…
Wake,
Nemo Dreamo,
Now they seem so
Strange and small.
I wish Winsor McCay had used more positive space in his speech balloons – the text runs too close to the walls.
The Star-Spangled Manna
To Anacr’on in Heaven, in bounty and might,
All night have we drunk from your wellspring of plenty.
But come, can you see by the dawn’s early light
How the cast-offs the shut-outs are bribing the sentry ?
With wearisome head, must quell this new dread
And face down the upstarts who’d stand in our stead,
Yet oft they look on’t us and find us supine –
They’ve come and they’ve seen us, much less than divine.
Unter den Linden
I was walking
Underneath the lindens,
Walking with my true love,
With Summer on the breeze.
We were walking
Walking in Berlin, then,
Walking two-by-two, love,
Underneath the trees.
I was walking
Underneath the lindens,
Walking with my true love,
Past the other fraus.
We were walking
In our finest linens
Walking two-by-two, love,
Underneath the boughs.
I was talking
Underneath the lindens,
Talking with my true love
About my life and times.
We were talking
Of how back in Swindon,
When walking two-by-two, love,
We’d be walking under limes.
Le Voyeur & His Muse
Chatting to Ciaci,
Her cattiness catchy,
She’s dressed in Apache,
And sipping Chartreuse.
And Chach ain’t so scratchy,
Or haggard and latchkey –
He knows how to catch
La Tchatcheuse.
He offers his arm, for
He knows how to charm her,
And though just a farmer,
He sure can seduce.
She cha-chas with Ciaci,
The natch from Karachi,
And soon he shall snatch
La Tchatcheuse.
I watch them a while
Admiring their style,
But I don’t think I’ll
Be goosing their deuce.
I leave her to Ciaci,
Her bold mariachi,
Defending his patch:
La Tchatcheuse.
But after their cha-cha,
He makes his departure.
She orders an Archers
And cranberry juice.
And still she is dancing,
And I chance a glancing –
She has me entranced,
La Tchatcheuse.
I watch as this cutie
Persists in her duty –
She boots up her booty,
And boosts her caboose.
I so want to join her,
But others purloin her.
Don’t fall for their coin,
La Tchatcheuse !
For one day I’ll ask her,
And one day she’ll answer –
And I’ll be her dancer
And then we’ll cut loose.
But right now, I tip her
And try to stay chipper –
I’ll wait for your lips,
La Tchatcheuse !
Penwith Smith
As I was heading to Saint Ives,
I passed a troupe with many lives,
With many plays and songs and dance,
As I was heading to Penzance.
As I was heading to Saint Just,
They played for me, as well they must,
And bid me “Come and join us, Friend !”
As I was heading to Land’s End.
This piece of nonsense was inspired by the famous nursery rhyme, even though that probably refers to a different St Ives (who’d have thought there’d be two saints named Ive ?) The town in this poem is the Cornish seaside resort on the Penwith peninsula, which is also home to the Minack open-air theatre.
Jesus on a Davidson
Riding down Redemption Freeway,
Hair and beard flying free,
I swear I saw the Magic Man
Astride a Liberty.
A Saviour on a V-Twin,
In the Chapter of the Gods –
Where demons are the rockers,
And the angels are the mods.
Like Icarus’s Goldwing,
Or the Banshee’s throaty roar,
Or that bat right out of Ragnarok:
The Thunderbolt of Thor.
I swear I saw the Sunday Rider
Revving past the weekday suits
While tearing up Salvation Street
In goggles, gloves and boots.
Evolution Chant
I am an ape-man,
You are an ape-man,
Just like my great-great-granddaddy ape-man.
I am a monkey,
You are a monkey,
And so is the queen, her ministers and flunkies.
We lost our tails, we lost our fur,
We grew up bigger than we were,
We kept our hands and eyes and hips,
So we’re still monkeys to our pips.
One mill’yon, two mill’yon, three mill’yon, four –
Back in time, back in time, back to before.
I am a mammal,
You are a mammal,
We’re just like my great-great-grand-uncle Samuel.
I’m a reptilian,
You’re a reptilian,
Just like my great-great-third-cousin William.
We lost our scales, we lost our eggs,
We grew up with less-bandy legs,
We warmed our blood and changed our ears,
But we’re still reptiles to our gears.
One era, two eras, three ears, four –
Mill’yons and mill’yons of years by the score.
I’m an amphibian,
You’re an amphibian,
Just like a German, a Chinese, or a Libyan.
I am a swim-fish,
You are a swim-fish,
Just like our sisters, the curvy and the slim-ish.
We lost our gills, we lost our fins,
We grew up with our necks and chins,
We gained our lungs and lost some cones,
But we’re still fishes to our bones.
One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four –
Hundreds of mill’yons of years to explore.
I am a wiggle-worm,
You are a wiggle-worm,
Just like our brothers, who squiggle when they squirm.
I am a wet-sponge,
You are a wet-sponge,
Just like our neighbours, the blond and brunette ones.
We lost our universal cells,
We grew up bony, without shells,
We gained our teeth and gained our butts,
But we’re still sponges to our guts.
One eon, two eons, three eons, four –
Ages and cycles and epochs galore.
I am a germ bug,
You are a germ bug,
Just like the scorpion, the skylark and sea-slug.
I am a virus,
You are a virus,
Far enough back, and ev’rything’s a virus.
We lost our tiny little size,
We grew up big and strong and wise,
We may not think so anymore,
But we’re still microbes to our core.
One bill’yon, two bill’yon, three bill’yon, four –
Back in the days of the yoriest yore.
Feel free to change the opening lines to ‘ape-girl’ if you wish.
Losing my Wretchedness
Amazing space, how blind and vast,
To fluke-up life like me.
I once had faith, but now at last,
I have infinity.
Rhyming Couplets 