The Power of the Ballad

lighters

The Power of the Ballad

We all grew up with those slow, slow songs
That would start so low and so far.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
With piano or strumming guitar.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
And they’d start so low and alone –
But we waited for strings and we waited for drums
That the first verse would only postpone.

We all grew up with those slow, slow songs
That would start so low, but they’d build.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
Be it yearned or lost or fulfilled.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
And they’d always start so low.
But we knew there were strings and we knew there were drums,
All to come as the slow songs grow.

We were so young, too young to know,
That that’s not the way that our love must go.
We should have been so angry, shrieking out with rage –
Instead of slowly dancing, or shrieking at the stage.

We all grew up with those slow, slow songs
That would slowly grow as they’d build.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
Be it spent or hungry or willed.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
And they’d always build so good.
Cos we knew there were drums, and we knew there were strings –
And the strings entered here, as they should.

We were so young, too young to know,
That that’s not the way ev’ry time would flow.
But DJs gave us no-one else to lead us by their lights,
So who else could we turn to through our adolescent nights.

So we all sang along, sang along –
Cos who wouldn’t want to feel like they belong ?
So we sang and we sang, and still we got it wrong,
So we thought we had to listen even harder to the song

We all grew up with those slow, slow songs
That didn’t stay low, cos they’d build –
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
Be it craved or broken or thrilled.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
And they didn’t stay low for long –
Cos we knew there were strings and we knew there were drums,
And we knew that the climax was strong.

We were so young, too young to know,
That that’s not the way when you start off low,
But that’s what we thought, cos that’s what they’d tell:
That it builds and it builds till it surges in a swell.

So we all sang along, sang along –
Cos who wouldn’t want to sing out with the throng ?
So we sang and we sang, and still we got it wrong,
Even though we did it all like they did it in the song.

But there must be other songs we can play –
There must be other songs where it doesn’t go this way.
But if we trust the ballads, then will the answers come ?
Or will our eyes be closed as we’re swaying to the drum ?,
That starts its beating here.
Cos we may come and go, but the ballads persevere.

By the time we hit the middle-eight,
We maybe should have learned
As our lighters sway, but always late:
Behind the beat, with fingers burned.
By the time the raw falsettos flood
From songs that start so low,
Our doubts are drowned in pulsing blood.
I guess it’s time to play the solo.

We were so young, too young to know,
That that’s not the way that the songs should go.
They should sometimes start fast, and should sometimes never build,
And should sometimes anticlimax or suddenly be killed,

But we all sang along, sang along –
Cos who wouldn’t want for their love to build so strong ?
So we sang and we sang, even though we knew it’s wrong,
And still it never played out like it plays out in the song.

But there must be other songs we can play –
There must be other songs where it doesn’t go this way.
There must be other songs where our love strangely comes –
So unclose your eyes and ungate your drums,
And let them ring out clear !
For the ballad is done, but we all still are here.

We all grew up with those slow, slow songs
That would end so high, but they’d fade.
And they ev’ry damn one were all about love,
Till the coda would close the parade.

Rhino Dancing

pink sugar
Pink Sugar by Olivier Ponsonnet

 

Rhino Dancing

The best thing about her ?  Whenever she speaks
The tip of her sweet nose will flex up and down.
But only the button, you should understand –
The subtlest of bounces beyond her command.
Crowning her philtrum and charming her cheeks,
Her pogo-ing hooter is hitting the town.
Her bobbing proboscis is truly quite stellar –
But if she don’t realise, I ain’t gonna tell her !
You have to be close up to see it in action,
And more when she smiles and less when she frowns.
A wonderf’ly random and quirky attraction –
Who says the best noses are sported by clowns ?

Unrequited

hope
Hope in Satin by Duffy Sheridan

 

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.

 

 

A Little Way Off

The Letter
The Letter by Duffy Sheridan

 

A Little Way Off

Watching you daydream is like watching flowers bloom in slow motion.
– Russell McLondon

When your eyes unhook their gaze,
Slipping back in time by seconds,
When your thoughts roam out to graze,
Something not-remembered beckons.
You are taken through by where-knows what ?
It’s all so ev’ryday except for when it’s not;
Just like random numbers, only with less plot.

And your smile is only-just;
Never meant for those who see it.
And your breath is held in trust;
Softly, slowly, then you free it.
Waiting for your day to recommence,
You’re floating off beyond the realm of making sense;
Just like in the movies, only less intense.

 

 

How to Make Love with an Alien

octopus
Octopus by Hajime Sorayama

 

How to Make Love with an Alien

A siren may serenade – softly she sings,
A banshee may let-out a climactic wail,
An angel may hug with her feathery wings,
A mermaid may wrap with her muscular tail,
A harpy may shriek with her passionate lungs,
A centaur may whinny her amorous cry,
A gorgon may kiss with her two-dozen tongues,
A faun-maid may stroke with her flocculent thigh.

But humans, ah, humans, the uppermost rungs,
The strangest of lovers of all you could try.

 

 

…but then again, too few to mention…

embarkation
Embarkation of St Ursula by Claude Gellée

…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.

Monæsthesia

synaesthesia

 

Monæsthesia

The number one is many things:
The first, the last, a third of three,
But never red or cold or soft to me.

And as for feelings Monday brings
Like boredom, stress and starting new,
It’s never musk or Mendelssohn or blue.

My numbers do not stretch in strings
That always and precisely wind
In fixed meanders hanging in my mind.

And yet, for you each letters sings
As glad or cautious, salt or sweet.
To you, my view of life is incomplete.

How am I to love you back ?
My thoughts are elementalized,
My triggers compartmentalized,
And never transcendental accidentalized.
And you with yours all out-of-whack
With P’s as quartz and Q’s as jet
In ways I’ll never really get
When white is white, and only black is black.

I must admit, it kills me
When I think of how I’m blind
To the wiring of your mind,
And the way your neurons spill and slide.
But then again, it thrills me
When I think of how my touch
Can bring about so much besides,
With all your senses catching rides.