Collected Commentary

I am going into town

To see no new people

I am going into town

To see more of the real me

I read your story

Of the grief-stricken young maid

I read your poems

Written on the railroads of USA

I too have stood, and also sat

In cold empty churches

I too have stood, also sat

On the edge of the fens

So we have shared movement

And been

To each other’s houses

To write, to read, to laugh

You are the real thing

And I am the old pretender

You have the gift

And also you have given

I am going into town

To see no new people

I am going into town

To see more of you know who

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Shouldn’t Be Said

This isn’t the song

Which I wanted to sing

That old old story

Of you wearing my ring

No I wanted to sing of avoidance

The avoidance of me by you

I wanted to sing of abandonment

The abandonment,  and you seeing it through

I wanted to hurt you

And you to hurt me too

I wanted to hold on

To your eyes of blue

I wanted to tell you

And you to tell me too

I wanted us to sing on

With both singing true

I wanted to sing of abandonment

The abandonment of me by you

I wanted to sing of avoidance

The avoidance, and you seeing it through

This isn’t the story

Which I wanted to be sold

The sad old glory

Of being left out in the cold

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The Two To One Question

I never did know

How far from the altar

I never did fathom

That old helter-skelter

I asked you once

I asked you twice

I offered you heaven

For a roll of the dice

You said no once

You said no twice

You didn’t believe in me

Or in Jesus Christ

I never did know

How far from the altar

I never did fathom

That old helter-skelter

I walked away once

I walked away twice

I was fearful of leaving

I was fearful of life

You stayed behind once

You stayed behind twice

You couldn’t conceive of me

Or of being my wife

I never did know

How far from the altar

I never did fathom

That old helter-skelter

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Bacchus Hotel

I am the only patron

In the rather swish coffee lounge

I am somewhat intrigued

By the chrome yellow shadows

With neon blue outlines

Now I play shadow puppets

As I choose a replacement dessert

Due to the run on the syrup sponge

The room is an interior designers dream

Or nightmare, depending on your taste

The stamped distressed vegetable crate

Suggests the establishment opened in 1691

I am joined by an old man, with his even older

Greyhound, assuming that is of course

That each dog year is worth x times a human year

The waiter explains to the woman at the bar

That she ought to book her Christmas meal

Sooner rather than later; you know how it is

In the trade, everybody is a salesman, everyone

Wants to make their mark, in full on sodium

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Huttoft Car Terrace

No parking

Between 10PM and 6AM

To the South

At some distance

A promenade of lights

With the windmill’s red lights

On an higher elevation

To the East (straight ahead)

A grey beach

A black sea 

A blacker sky

Above the horizon

To the North

The glow you might be due

From Gods own county

Other than that

Nothing given

Nothing, as well you might expect

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