Wish You Were Here

When I'm here, and I think of you, I remember that I'd never heard of this place when you were alive, but I remember all the things you liked, the sort of people, the sort of food, old houses, dogs, coffee, all the things you liked, and I know you'd have loved it here, so when I'm here I think of you, all the time, and wish you were here.

Parkstreet 

Reading

 

He called himself a writer, but never seemed to write much. He claimed he was learning how to write less, that his long term goal was to write a one word novel. He bragged that he was making progress, that his latest novel was down to two lines.

Chapter 1

"Why don't you ever visit me?", she asked.

"Because I love you", he replied.

He said he was struggling to find an apt title, and a publisher who understood his minimalist style, who understood that two lines told enough of the story, yet allowed the reader the freedom to imagine the rest. 

"Why would anyone buy a book that tells them everything?", he asked, apparently quite sincerely.

It became a habit to take coffee with him each week, eager to hear how little he had written over the last seven days, if he had completed a one sentence novel. 

I found myself yearning for that one word novel, wondered what that word could be.

He reminded me that even a one word novel, no matter how perfect, would be a work of fiction, just another story, not an answer.

Parkstreet 

Ko-Fi

Not A Trout

I am not a trout, to be played until I'm weary, then cut loose, with a scarred lip to remember you by.

I am not a trout.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

Bewitched

 

Her legs,

Magic wands,

Casting spells

That turn me

Into

An idiot.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

This Christmas Morn

 

On this Christmas morn 

I await,

As an innocent

But convicted

Condemned man awaits,

The sound of the drum 

Of the hangman. 

I await 

The strike of the clock,

The time to walk 

From my cell

To join my family

For lunch.

Parkstreet

Tap

 

When I think of her I could weep,

But I

Am an old

Broken

Garden

Tap,

With a correctly sized spanner

Attached

By a piece 

Of wire. 

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

In The Morning

 

In the morning I felt like my body was covered in tiny silver paw prints, as if a newly minted kitten had frolicked all over my dreams then fallen asleep beside me, breathing her warm shiny joy into my ear until her gentle tinkling woke me.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

The Politics Of Failure

Delivering a speech

In an empty town hall,

In an electorate

Of no one,

In a city of distraction,

In a nation of indifference.

The politics of failure,

Life.

Parkstreet

Blues, Not Art (lyrics)

 

(vocal)

It’s blues, not art, it’s just a song

It’s blues, not art.

It’s true that my heart feels like pain in the dark

But it’s blues, not art.

It’s just how I’m feeling

When my love’s coming down.

(spoken)

So I’m drinking in the bar where dreams go to die

Just looking for a woman to tell me some lies.

Oh lips and eyes and hips and thighs,

The song lives, beauty dies.

It’s just how I’m feeling 

When my love’s coming down.

Give me this day my daily bread,

Music is the stuff keeps jah love fed.

My doctor tells me I’m clinically dead,

‘Cos all the blood runs to my heart, none to my head.

It’s just how I’m feeling,

When my love’s coming down.

It’s blues, not art, it’s just a song

It’s blues, not art.

It’s true that my heart feels like pain in the dark

But it’s blues, not art.

It’s just how I’m feeling

When my love’s coming down.

Blues, Not Art is a minor key blues, played in a tangoish sort of style. 

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

Daniel

 

When I pull on my shoes

I recall

A bit of a poem

Written by my friend

Daniel.

He said,

In his poem,

He was so happy

That he’d fall asleep 

Without checking the bed

For spiders,

For once.

Every day, 

As I check my shoes

For spiders,

I think of 

Daniel,

And 

Happy

Days.

Parkstreet

Poetry Distillation

 

“I love you”,

She said

Sadly. 

Parkstreet