Put a lid on it

Sometimes we need to step back,

reflect and ponder for a little bit.

Our heads and hearts may clash and crack

but will stabilise if we put a lid on it. 

Bubbles burn in a manic kettle

with steam yearning for release.

It's time to listen and help them settle

in a safe place to keep the peace.

Home

Widely unpublished 

Your 'song'

I hate your 'song' but I'll sing along

as I need to further my career.

I've got nothing of my own

but you do, and I have an idea.

Let's burn your beats, blitz your bass,

a tinkling piano will take their place.

Change the key, and loosely speaking 

any sense of a melody.

A charity needs a bleak soundtrack,

and my throat has the perfect crack 

to carry emotion and create the notion

that your 'song' is really mine.

You need the cash, you've had your time,

euphoric nights have come and gone.

The good news is you'll keep the credit

and thank me when I'm number one.

Home

Widely unpublished

Minor chord

The eeriness of a minor chord,
a strum of sadness; dark and moody.

Black keys dominate heart rate and fear
when terror and tension gradually grow.

High or low and regardless of tempo,

a minor chord is a sharp-ended warning.

Something or someone is around the corner 
but who or what, we may never know.

A minor chord can be a snapshot of peace,

lost in thought in a spiritual space. 

One or two notes are jigsawed in place

to thaw any angst when it threatens to roar. 

Maybe it's thunder or a menacing sunset,

a subtle rhythm, creeping and crawling,

deep underneath its ubiquitous fret,   

a minor chord is beautiful and never boring.

The bald revolution

Look at you, Mr Kajagoogoo,
you're back in the 80s but not by choice.
It's time for baldies everywhere
to rejoice at the sight of sprouting hair.

You look like an unbulbed lampshade,
a thatched cottage with years of neglect.
We've stolen the scissors, blades, clippers,
your scalp is choking beyond repair.

Furious flicks, the stress of not knowing,
rumours of a shampoo shortage are growing.
The strenuous shakes as your curtains close,
every day will be hide and seek.

To think you used to mock and squeak
as you rubbed my head then ran away.
Now my glorious bonce is a gift from God,
the bald revolution is here to stay.

Home

Hand relief

Turn me on and watch me gush,
raise the pressure, feel the pleasure.
Tender rubbing, there's no need to rush,
so oscillate at your leisure.

Keep me running, keep me going,
Keep me coming, keep me flowing.
Wow, what a splash, I like your style,
haven't felt one like that for a while.

But there's no room for complacency,
so be pro-active and use protection.
Remember, I have many clients
so you need to practise regularly.

No reluctance, no defiance,
because even if I kill every germ
I can't confirm they won't reattack
so don't be a stranger, I need you back.

The coolest couple

We'll be the coolest couple,

married on a cold, calculated date,

looped in a palindromic calendar,

to-and-fro at a robotic rate.

A triumphant strategy so oh-so-clever

that no-one will turn up on this day.

No cake, no speeches, no first dance,

no father to give the bride away.

We'll be the first item on the news,

I see what you did there, they'll say.

It will all go viral, millions of views 

back and forth and round again.

Good luck to those robots in 3030

who spot what we did in 2020.

Earth will be eerie and at least half-empty,

the planet singed and fucked by then.