Bob and Diane

in their medium-density fibreboard house
Bob and Diane lived their flat packed lives
mortising each other with heat treated lies
glossed over with painted facsimile smiles

until one day they nailed the meaning of it
they boarded up their double glazed eyes
took their woody station wagon for a drive
and naked in the back seat they came alive

oh goodness said Diane I feel like a goddess
oh goddess said Bob you look like a goldfish
well kiss me on my fishy lips and shift your
gear stick between my legs and gun your

engine in my direction my formula 1 driver
my rally cross lover my getaway bank robber
let’s get outta here and shoot the sea breeze
let’s do the Big Sur my rock star chauffeur

and leave our MDF house back in the south
where locusts can live in flat packed swarms
in the kitchen the bedroom all over the lawns
yes Bob and Diane have repainted their smiles

 

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give peace a chance

we remember our dead
we pay them respect
but the road that we tread
we have to reject

you choose red or white
it’s your chosen voice
you pay your blood money
you makes your own choice

but choose neither one
take a different side
no bombs and no guns
our world pacified

a fight that’s worth winning
borne from circumstance
we’re silently hoping
to give peace a chance

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l’art pour l’art

opened the curtains
what did I see?
a Henry Moore statue
looking back at me

but which was the back?
and which the front?
and how did it get here?
this bronzed art stunt

I closed the curtains
went back to bed
thought about Henry
dreamt of Braque instead

the cows in the fields

the man on the train is weeping falling rain
picking his brain like a pigeon pecking grain
he holds in his hand a picture of a key
and hopes that one day a key will set him free

the girl on the bus is eating pie and puss
doubled up with pain but making little fuss
she holds in her hand a broken bumble bee
and pulls off each leg after saying one two three

the moon in the sky will ask no questions why
untroubled up on high by poets bold or shy
its tranquillity is like a flattened sea
you have to admit you cannot disagree

the cows in the field are semi-demi-monde
fishing for eels in the wavy-gravy-pond
they search in the trees for nuts to throw at me
could this be . . . the way it’s meant to be?

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I used to be a claustrophobic deejay

I used to be a claustrophobic deejay
I’d spin a disc then dive outside
hyperventilating
gasping for air
before the next tune was due to be played
I did this all night long
my heart thumping along to the beat
my head pounding out on the street
it was a crazy situation

but don’t get me wrong
I was electric and semi-eclectic
in my tasteful choice of songs
I played disco and punk
and funk and techno
I even once played al fresco
at a gig in Fresno (no not really)
but that was all before I went wacko
from too much Michael Jacko
and my life became a bad thriller

in my claustrophobic deejay days
I tried to stray from the straight and narrow grooves
by interspersing the unexpected
mixing with the likes of Carl Orff’s ‘Carmina Burana’
or Rick Wakeman’s ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’
just for fun and to give the dancers a rest
from the 125 beats per minute dance floor workouts

and to the twelve inch instrumental version
of Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’
I would take the chance of performing solo
a sermon of sorts from the mount of turning tables
my mirrorballed ideas would flash with the strobes
and set my worshippers alight
to be born again of the night

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Early 80’s – this was the mobile disco I used to run with a friend before doing some club work for a while. The name was shamelessly borrowed from a brand of cigarettes! Can’t remember where the man and woman logo came from but I was into early 20th century b/w design at the time.