Another year, another set of gigs ...
Mine, and occasionally others'.
The true story of how Leonard Cohen learned his guitar style ...
Leonard walked in Murray Hill Park
And heard a young man play
Circled by listeners and courting them
In some mysterious way
With black hair and acoustic guitar
By the tennis courts stood he
Picking out a lonely-sounding
I proper hate those Tube strikers
they've well messed up my day
I'm late for tea at City Hall
I walked most of the way
And then found out the CEO
had nicked my parking bay
On every other day I don't
give them a second thought
They work to run the railway safely?
Nothing of the sort!
I know they're lazy bastards 'cos
I saw the news report
Poetry paints life, cancer takes it
Poetry means it, cancer fakes it
Cancer can not write, create,
Feel or think, illuminate,
Wipe your brow, commiserate
You're fucking rubbish, you are, cancer
Not a writer, player, dancer
Bring nothing useful to the table
Can't tell a joke 'cos you're not able
from the wound.
Disordered file's easy,
Begs us around about
Those little things that make us happy
(4'1, 6, 9)
Plain and quick
Or painful and cryptic
Make my mind tick
Flicking pen, click
Limp as super eels
Troubled by those small sources of cheer
(4'1, 6, 9)
Come back later
Rather to my surprise, this little poem of mine won a place as a 'featured entry' on Hour of Writes for the theme Winter of Love, and will be published in its magazine, Ephemera:
'Tis the season for reckless folly
To deck Mr Hall from Accounts
For showing you how his sausage rolls
'Tis the season for making out
You've a large and loving family
With perhaps the odd eccentric
Looks like this, does it, liberation?
Isolated from supplies, routes closed, blown from the skies
Barrel bombs bowled along alleys
Enclaved civilians tweet from their graves, farewells from beneath
Rubble, the stones where their homes used to be
Aleppo cries, crumbles, defeated, they see
Tyranny returning, triumphant, burning
Inhabitants gathered, culled, or running for their lives
Out of the city, fleeing as they wouldn't if they had actually been freed
No, this is not what liberation looks like.
While identical in its pathology to general breast cancer, Big Breast Cancer has its own peculiar symptoms and foibles.
Big breast cancer:
Basically, biologically, clinically
Bog-standard breast cancer
But brings complications
Bad bastard cells
Build big clumps
Burrowed, buried, concealed
Beneath buxom cover
Before being caught