I AM CHARLIE
I dreamt I saw Charlie last night
Alive as you and me
Charlie, I said, you’re surely dead
I never died says he
I never died says he
From Paris out to New Orleans
From Rheims to San Jose
The lousy bastards shot you dead
I never died says he
I never died says he
It takes more than guns to kill a man
Let freedom be the key
When working men stand up to them
That’s there you’ll find Charlie
I never died says he
I never died says he
(with apologies to Phil Ochs/Joe Hill)
SMOKING WITH JOE
Joe said it was rubbish
I agreed, but then he said –
No, I meant it was rubbishy.
What’s the difference?, I asked
But he didn’t reply.
I need a cigarette, he then said
Who is going to oblige?
They stunt your growth Joe,
I replied, measuring him casually
With my trained carpenter’s eye
Tall he was, a redwood among men
He could do with some stunting, I thought
Pulling a pack from my jacket pocket.
Here, take two, I said,
They’re very small
Do you know something? he said
When he had one going –
The other one stuck safely behind a rather large ear
If I had a pound for every fag I smoked
I’d be a very wealthy man.
OP’s you mean, I remarked.
OP’S, he looked insulted
I wouldn’t touch them with a barge pole!.
MY G STRING IS BROKEN
We slept in a pension where I tuned my guitar
My G string had broke when she said ‘have you come far?’
From Wexford to Paris, I’m thinking, how far is that in the dark?
I suppose five hundred kilometres would be near the mark.
Then she reached over and twanged at another string
‘How long do you intend to mess about with that old thing?’
I felt like telling her ‘that old thing’ had aged better than she had
And its antecedents weren’t at all bad
But I just said ‘That thing was plucked by Elvis, I’ll have you know,
When he was bopping out Blue Suede Shoes all those yonks ago!’
This ‘thing’ didn’t feel quite finished when I read it again, so I revisited it overnight. I think it reads better now
I NEVER WALKED A MILE
I never walked a mile
Without thinking of you
I was always walking towards your smile
Towards your twinkling eyes so blue
I never dreamed a dream
Without seeing a vision of you
I was always the cat who got the cream
When I awoke and found my vision true
I never told a tale
That didn’t have you in it
My laughter as I recalled
Was at least three times every minute
And now that you are are gone
I find myself walking even more
My journey it will be long
Until I find that ?&@%*** stevedore.
ANOTHER CURE FOR WRITER’S BLOCK
Saying Zanzibar seven times
Very slowly
Is good for writer’s block
Z-a-n-z-i-b-a-r, Z-a-n-z-i-b-a-r
Zzz-aa-nn-zzz-iiii—-
Fuck, fuck, fuck
THEIR LOVED ONES
Ah yes,
‘Their loved ones’ and
‘Hard-working families’
These days are much-bandied-about phrases
Scattered like rice at a wedding.
But what of the lazy and the unloved-
Who will rise and sing their praises?
MONEYBALL-ISATION
I wrote moneyball-isation
And found it rhymed with realisation
Without contemplation
And expectation
Play-station
Desecration
Anticipation
Organisation
Citation
Deviation
Levitation
Meditation
Naturalisation
Dehydration
Bloody hell!
It just goes on, and on, and on
And on
… on
A.. ..
Consternation!
A LOAF OF BREAD AND A CAN OF SPECIAL BREW
He sat on a seafront bench
A loaf of bread and a can of Special Brew
By his side,
Speaking to someone who wasn’t there.
Thoough these day you can never tell
Whether they are or not;
He may have had a mobile phone in his ear.
Then he spoke to me;
‘What are you fucking looking at, blue?’
Yeah, I thought, that figures,
‘And a happy New Year to you too’
ALGORITHM
No human being can
Write fast enough
Or large enough
Or small enough
Nor love long enough
Without limit
GOLEM HEIGHTS
Ah Golem, they call you Yossele
They say you can make yourself invisible
And raise spirits from the dead
Then you rest on the Sabbath
On your dark and bloody bed
Ah Golem, kneaded into your shapeless husk
Created by the sages
Return to your dust.
Ah Golem, man of clay
You bowed before us once
Give us our bread today.
My Writing Life 