The Weather Man (Today We Set Sail)

We cannot be together, you and I:

We cannot be apart,

Everything I've ever said to you,

I meant with all my heart.

I meant that I loved you so,

And I honestly meant it when;

I say we can never be together,

Never ever again.

So take your platter attitude,

Your a buffet, with a complete lack of will,

I gorged myself, I had more;

But now I've had my fill.

Your pretty, your perfect,

A catch, and any man can see,

I see this too, but I'm not any man,

And no any-man is me.

So forget me, move on,

Or risk turning Tangerine-sweet into tangerine-sour,

And by-and-by I'm gone, just as the days

Fade out, within the witching hour.

I may never return, and never whisk you off you feet,

I may never protect you from your fears;

But live each day with a smile of no regret,

And I will live with these lonely tears.

Your body is an anchor, mine the sail,

We cannot survive together,

Our spirits would fail, tear us apart,

Nothing lasts forever.

We cannot be together, you and I,

We have to be apart,

But everything I said to you,

I meant with all my heart.

A path that crosses twice will only lead in circles.

People always want

When they know they cannot have,

And people always take

More than they will need;

Of the seven deadly sins

It is always envy, lust and greed.

They swallow up a soul,

They hide away what was pleasure,

They keep you wanting more,

And to dust they turn your treasure.

See what made you happy

Has long since fell from reach,

Leaving all behind in search of more

Your left alone, stranded on a beach.

If you had listened to wind,

That whistles in the wood,

The simple joy that brings the love

You would have had: you would have understood.

But now the current in the glen

Picks up in the deep and off you sail,

This place is lost;

It shall never be again.

A Kodiak Moment

I could crush you in an instance,

My little friendly fly,

Instead I let you be;

I let you fly, fly, fly.

You grow big and bold,

Around me flying,

Testing and trying,

You only see the soft warm fur,

And not the inside, cold,

The animal: the bear.

You prod me and push,

Your greed has gotten the best,

You want more than the flowery lush;

But with it comes the rest.

Teeth, too much and I will bite,

You do not cage what cannot be,

Your life has gone on much too long,

A meat stamp saying; 'trite'!

Don't push it, don't push me,

No one outlives the bite.

The First Coach of the Morning

A deathly silence

In a waiting room,

Silence

Like everyone was leaving for good;

Itching,

Itching and shuffling,

Itching and shuffling

In their there seats.

Creeping,

Creeping eyes,

Creeping spidery eyes,

Creeping spidery eyes on doors

And walls,

On windows;

Digesting my substance,

Sucking it out from my skin,

Leaving me wrinkled and empty.

Creeping,

Creeping and slinking,

Like a scream

The creeping slinking rustle of a crisp packet;

Creeping and slinking around the room,

From their bench over there,

By the stairs;

Where the stares breed stares.

The creeping slinking rustle

Like the pitter-patter of mice feet.

I sit, unnoticed, seen,

And ignored,

With every inch of me examined

And judged.

The sun sits on top of me,

Baking me,

Like a meringue,

Slowly, so ever so slow,

And the silence only gets louder,

And the stares become sinister

As paranoia creeps up the stairs;

And I sit there baking alive in the sun,

Half dead,

I sit there and I don't move,

I sit in silence;

Just a fly on the wall.

There Is Always A Sequel

People ask me nothing;

I have no answers to give,

To any questions that can be asked.

Can you answer?

Then answer this,

And lets start at the bottom,

With the easiest of all,

Can you tell me what our purpose is,

Can you tell me why we live?

You can utter a pretty argument,

That looks pleasing to the eye

And might fill a big dusty book.

Why? This life,

Our existence, it does not give a fuck!

For what reason do we look for love,

For what reason do we feel emotion?

Do we live to fight and kill each other,

Do we live to expand our theories?

Should we live to smile

Everyday?

To never grow old or get sick,

What will we do when they drop that bomb,

Or there is no more room at the Inn?

No questions have ever really been answered,

Only guessed at, because

No one really knows where to begin.

Please don't ask me for any answers,

I only know as much as you.

They never reveal the plot,

Never in the first half,

So lets stick around for part-two.

The Baby Blackbirds Nears It's Winter

As little Katia rocks our shores,

A baby blackbird puffs up,

As he lands within the lawn.

I look from out the window

And wonder for a minute;

Will these little birds in the garden,

Survive the cold winter.

I sit, elderberry pips in teeth

And purple stained fingers,

Watching the early Autumn winds,

Dance gaily through,

Those sleepy Summer trees.

And all around there is a journey beginning,

A transition, through time and through space;

But I'm lost, on the wrong track,

Keeping the wrong pace in the wrong place,

And I don't know if I will ever find my way back.

I shall keep walking into the Winter's light,

And keep that baby blackbird in mind,

For he is either food for thought,

Or in the distant sweet Spring's

Sweet spring-song I shall find.

Will he hear me there,

Among the fresh grass-shoots too?

I doubt it so, for hungry I shall be,

In the shadows and trees

As I am used to,

And always shall forever be.

Yet in this early Autumn wind,

I can hear the call

Of a home I do not know,

I hear this call

And like a dog to his master, I just want to...

I can't find my way back,

If I can't ever remember leaving,

I'm just that little baby blackbird,

Out in the Winter's snow, freezing

The Line Up (Wooly-back Big Brother)

He wakes up every morning,

A quarter hour before going to bed,

And hangs his washing

By an open fridge instead.

He learnt to swim,

From a wayward motorboat,

And he always bathes, in a duffel coat.

Now, when he goes out,

On a date with a lady,

He always gifts her,

A large jug of gravy;

But if they spill just one drip,

For them,

It's a punch in the lip,

For he learnt that from the land navy.

Now he has got green hair,

And eyebrows that meet,

But nothing distracts,

From him having hands as feet,

This doesn't deter him much though,

As he is the only woman I know,

Who talk on the phone, knit, make tea and hang the washing (by an open fridge),

All in one go,

So it only goes to show...

That we all know what we know,

And if haven't seen this girl,

With the beard that meets half-way,

And the bottom so rotund,

You could balance the dinner tray,

Then it is probably because they don't want to meet you.