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

Ko-fi

Poetry Distillation

 

“I love you”,

She said

Sadly. 

Parkstreet

The Old One Two

 

At the time

He thought

Nothing could hurt him

Like that

Ever

Again.

The only thing

That came close,

The second blow

Landed,

Two decades later

When he realised

He had been

Right.

Parkstreet

Toast 25/12/2020

 

It’s been a bitch of a year,

We’ve all shed twenty twentears, 

Who’d have thought we could feel 

Irrational rage

For supermarket zombies who

Must . . .  eat . . .  bolognese?

And who’d have thought

A grown man

Could just think of a thirty five year old soap opera

And weep inconsolably? 

Molly! 

It’s been a bastard of a year,

We’ve all felt twenty twenfears.

If I were to die in lockdown,

If I were to fall,

Would I make a sound?

Would I make a sound? 

It’s been a cunt of a year,

But we are all still twenty twenhere.

It’s been like the Star Trek episode where the alien intelligence takes over everyone’s minds and controls everything we think and feel and say and do, but eventually the alien is

Banished

And we are left 

With the tatters

Of our illusion 

Of control 

And the lesson 

Is self forgiveness.

And soon Rob will pull something 

From the bottom cupboard of the dresser

And pour some glasses

And he’ll say, “it’s old, but it’s good”,

Putting a few months

Into perspective.

And next week 

There’ll be a new episode.

And a new adventure.

Will I make a sound? 

Parkstreet

(This was performed with a version of Roads by Portishead woven into the text, accompanied by ukulele.)

A Farewell Flag

 

She’d made her bed

Before she left 

For the hospital.

A farewell flag.

Parkstreet