Poetry

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1. Time Travel and Other Versified Relics

Wicked Cahoots

When he made
his first personal appearance
in the dirty alley
on someone else's rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad
or that my mum liked him
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our "adventures" were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
"I'll call the Police, I'll..."
Wicked cahoots.

The Woodville Hall Soul Boys

Soon after I'd paid
My sixty
0r seventy pence,
I found myself
In what I thought
Was a miniature London.
I saw girls
In chandelier earrings,
In stiletto heels,
Wearing evening
Dresses,
Which contrasted with
The bizarre
Hair colours
They favoured:
Jet black
0r bleach blonde,
With flashes of
Red, Purple
0r green.
Some wore large
Bow ties,
Others unceremoniously
Hanged
Their school ties
Round their
Necks.
Eye make-up
Was exaggerated.
The boys all had
Short hair,
Wore mohair sweaters,
Thin ties,
Baggy,
Peg-top trousers
And winklepicker shoes.
A band playing
Raw street rock
At a frantic speed
Came to a sudden,
Violent climax...
Melodic, rhythmic,
Highly danceable
Soul music
Was now beginning
To fill the hall,
With another group
0f short-haired youths...
Smoother, more elegant,
Less menacing
Than the previous ones.
These well-dressed
Street boys
Wore well-pressed pegs
0f red or blue...
They pirouetted
And posed...
Pirouetted and posed.

Spark of Youth Long Gone

Two days ago, I decided
To realise
Some cherished memories
Of my beloved little ,
So I drank about five glasses
Of Monteviejo
In preparation for
The rediscovery of
The town of my heart.
Firstly, I sat in the bar
Where I used to meet
All my friends,
And was assaulted
By the prices of the drinks
And the volume of the music.
I searched the place
With my eyes
For the innocence and laughter
Of yesteryear, but in vain…
The young people are forced
Into tight little groups
So atmosphere
Is ponderous and alienating.
Where is the fun?
The wild and foolish socialising?
The comic local music?
All gone. I could cry.
Oh, these nerves, this living death.
I am so full of fear,
Lethargy and fury
I can hardly function.
There’s a lack of innocence
Of simplicity
And is this change
From deep within me?
The freedom,
The spark of youth
Is gone
Or have I merely lost it?
Sophistication spoils
The city ravages
Senses refined
By knowledge and wine.

Some Perverse Will

I’m a restless man
I am never
Still
I’m always spurred on
By some perverse
Will
The grass is never
Green
No peace here
To find
Some demon
Of motion’s
At work within my
Mind
No bed is too soft
That I won’t
Abandon
It’s sweet calm
And comfort
For a softer
One
I’m a restless man
I am never
Still
I’m always spurred on
By some perverse will.

London as the Lieu

Until recently, I had the impression
Of decaying
Along with the moral standards
Of contemporary Europe
With London as the lieu
To which all autoroutes lead.

In my room, I was surrounded
By debris
Of my existence,
Lacking the will even to clear
The carpet, whose colour,
Incidentally I came to forget.

I ceaselessly tampered with my hair,
Growing it long,
Having it cropped , hennaing it red,
Dyeing it blue-black, bleaching it near-white;
It fell out in bunches,
Dessicated and exhausted.

My face grew sallow and haggard,
With bloodshot, inflamed,
Glazed, blue-ringed orbs
And bitten, bloated, ravaged lips.
My body lost its athletic aspect
And became shapeless and emaciated.

Lone Birthday Boy Dancing

Yesterday for my birthday,
I started off
with a bottle of wine...
I took the train
into town...
I had half a bitter
at the Cafe de Piaf
in Waterloo...
I went to work
for a couple of hours or so;
I had a pint after work;
I went for an audition;
after the audition,
I had another pint
and a half;
I had another half,
before meeting my mates,
for my b'day celebrations;
we had a pint together;
we went into
the night club,
where we had champagne
(I had three glasses);
I had a further
glass of vino,
by which time,
I was so gone
that I drew an audience
of about thirty
by performing a solo
dancing spot
in the middle
of the disco floor...
We all piled off to the pub
after that,
where I had another drink
(I can't remember
what it was)...
I then made my way home,
took the bus from Surbiton,
but ended up
in the wilds of Surrey;
I took another bus home,
and watched some telly
and had something to eat
before crashing out...
I really, really enjoyed
the eve, but today,
I've been walking around
I've had only one drink today,
an early morning
restorative effort;
I spent the day working,
then I went to a bookshop,
where, like a monk,
I go for a day's
drying out session...
Drying out is really awful;
you jump at every shadow;
you feel dizzy,
you notice everything;
very often,
I don't follow through…

All Through the Ages

All through the ages
I have faithfully waited
Now I'm ready
For you
To make this dream come true
All through the ages
I have faithfully prayed
You'd come and rescue me
You've been
So far away
All through the ages
I have faithfully kept
Myself so pure for you
Except a crush or two...
All through the ages
I have faithfully waited
Now I'm ready
For you
To make this dream come true.

Time Travel

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

In disguise as a young man
In the city
But the bright young lights
No longer belong to me
I’m not a London man
I’m just a carbon copy
Doing some travelling

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

Seeing faces that I knew in ‘77
When I was young
And in love with London town
But please don’t ask me
Where those thirty years
Have flown to
They’ve just gone travelling.

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

Lady, though your sweetness
Is such a blessing
Tender angel
Please don’t lose your heart to me
For I’m a visitor
From a distant generation
Doing some travelling

Time Travel’s set me free
And sunk its
Sharpest hooks in me

Toilers of the Sea

Come away with me
To toil upon the sea
Come away and see
How sweet sea life can be
I’ll sing “Bonny Dundee”
Off the coast of Old Guernsey
You and me,
Are toilers of the sea, toilers of the sea.

Help me put that wrecked
Romance away from me
Help me understand
How it was lost at sea
It wasn’t destined to be
She belonged to another not me
So I let them be
Whatever will be will be
For the salty old likes of me
For toilers of the sea, for toilers of the sea.

I can stand it if you’re
There with me
For the solitary life at sea
Is enough to make you sea crazy
With the whales and gulls for company

We can ponder on
The ocean’s mysteries
I’ll unveil a few of
My old sea stories
You’ll see how kind a tar can be
I promise you’ll be safe with me
When we’re out at sea
As toilers of the sea, as toilers of the sea.

A Song of Summer

Faith, where’s your smile
Don’t be a melancholy child
Can’t you see
That the summer’s come?

Stuck in your room
With your winter curtains drawn
While the suburbs
Are all bathed in sun

No more winter time lows
Only joy now because
We can shake off the blues
Faith, there’s no time to lose

We can go for a cruise
Down the Thames
Or down the Ouse
Or just snooze under summer’s sun

Find a village green
Watch some cricket,
Take some tea, as you please
Summer’s made for fun

Get some sweet summer air
Feel the breeze in your hair
Forget that sad old affair
He’s not worth all the tears

Cast you cares on me
I can set you free
Don’t let me wait too long
Summer will soon be gone

No more winter time lows
Only joy now because
We can shake off the blues
Faith, there’s no time to lose

We can go for a cruise
Down the Thames
Or down the Ouse
Or just snooze under summer’s sun.

Stevie B and Me

Stevie, we were free,
Stevie, you and me,
On that golden day
Was it 68?
The decade’s last few days,
The whole wild world was crazed,
But where we were was peace
For you and me at least.

If I stop for a moment,
I dream groves and country paths,
Green’s “Albatross” is playing
In this our past,
Whole empires were falling,
The old ways were fading fast,
Things never last,
But you and I
Found pleasant peace at last.

We weren’t friends for long,
These things aren’t too strong,
We were far from home,
Together less alone,
We drifted far apart,
Hardened up our hearts,
We had so far to fall,
Four years took their toll.

We walked and talked
For many hours
Safe under Blue Berkshire Skies.

Stevie, we were free,
Like we’d never been,
On that halcyon day,
Stevie B and me.
The decade’s last few days,
The whole wild world was crazed,
But where we were was peace
For you and me at least.

The Ones We Love

Though we fight every day
I can say Honey,
I do love you
With a love,
A burning love
A tender love
A kind of love
That’s forever true

It seems that it’s the truth
Between man
And woman
And age and youth
It’s true that we do
Hurt most the one we love

So many times I’ve let you down
I’ve messed you ‘round
And I still do
I know it’s weird
It seems absurd,
But I never ever wanted to

You know it’s often said
And I’ve seen it
Many times
In all the books I’ve read
It’s true that we do
Hurt most the ones we love

You’ve got to forgive me, babe
Sometimes it’s hard
To control the things
I do and say
I’m just a weak and sinful man
Yes I am
Trying to do the best I can

It seems that it’s the truth
Between man
And woman
And age and youth
It’s true that we do
Hurt most the one we love.

Like all the Moonstruck Do

If I fell in love with you
I would like to
Make my dreams come true
You could fulfil all yours too
So come on angel
Just one look will do
I’ll lose my heart to you
Like all the moonstruck do

We could go all round the world
Just like other
Moonstruck girls and boys
So come on angel
Don’t be scared
We are only young once
Say the word
I’ll lose my heart to you
Like all the moonstruck do

Bali Frisco Rio or wherever
You may choose
The world’s our oyster, angel,
There’ll be no more bad news
We could escape tomorrow
I tell you we can’t lose
We will soon be
Saying bye bye to those blues

If I fell in love with you
I would like to
Make my dreams come true
You could fulfil all yours too
So come on angel
Just one look will do
I’ll lose my heart to you
Like all the moonstruck do.

I Let You Go

What was I thinking
I let you go
I wasn't drinking still
I let you go
Where was my head at to
Let you go
I can't accept that I just
Let you go

I wish I could make
Amends
So we could at least
Be friends
I have no real
Reason why
I let you say goodbye

Did I confuse you when
I let you go
Such a fool to have
Let you go
You were so precious still
I let you go
Worth more than jewels still
I let you go

I wish we could start again
I'd be quite a diff'rent man
I've learned quite a lot
Since then
I know how to keep a friend

We could meet up in the
Centre of town
And I'd explain my motivations
About how I came
To let you down
And all those other
Explications and complications

I'm not asking for
Romance
Just give me half
A chance
Cos’ I got a real
Good heart
So how 'bout
A brand new start?

What was I thinking
I let you go
I wasn't drinking still
I let you go
Where was my head at
To let you go
I can't accept
That I just let you go

Time Was I Was (A Wand’rin’ Star)

Time was I was a wandering star
With a restless quenchless soul
Time was I had an unquiet heart
And from dream to dream I'd roam

Well I thought I was a free bird
And I didn't have a worldly care
Till I found myself abandoned and
Alone I cried but you weren't there

Now all I really want is you is you is you

Time was I played the gadabout
Thought I did not need a home
Time was I thought I was so smart
I could do it all alone

Till it dawned on me that there would
Come a time when you would say: OK
If that's the way you want it, babe,
I'll leave you to go on your way

Now all I really want is you is you is you

2. Afterword

I refer to theses pieces as versified relics, because although they're filed under poetry in various places on the internet, in truth I don't see them as poetry; nor myself as a poet. At best, I’m a songwriter, and perhaps something of a prose writer, although even that’s debatable, because although I’m able to earn money through my writing, I’m yet to be published as such.
They’ve been culled from a variety of sources, mainly notebooks and pieces of scrap paper dating from the mid 1970s onwards before being versified at various times, and they are as follows:
“Wicked Cahoots” is included in the experimental memoir “Rescue of a Rock and Roll Child”, which exists in two versions, one being a straight autobiography, the other, a mildly fictionalised one inasmuch as all the names have been changed. It’s an adaptation of a passage from an unfinished story written sometime in the mid 1970s, and centring on a boyhood friend of mine from Bedford Park in West London.
“The Woodville Hall Soul Boys” was recently versified for inclusion in the aforesaid “Rescue of a Rock and Roll Child”, although the original was penned in around 1979, while I was a student at the famous Guildhall School of Music and Drama in central London. It was an unfinished short story centring on my experiences of the sporadic discos held at the titular Woodville Hall, situated in the London suburb of Gravesend in Kent in 1977 at a time when the Punk and Soul Boy movements were at their height, and effectively coalesced in the shape of its fantastical clientele.
“Spark of Youth Long Gone” is a poetic testament to youthful disillusion, its setting a village in Southern Europe, almost certainly in 1979. Much of it has been reproduced verbatim, although it’s been heavily sanitised, as in the original version, the sense of despair was even more excessive, and I confess it shocks me to be confronted with it more than thirty years after it was put to paper. After all, what did I have to be depressed about? I can only suggest that no matter how richly we are blessed in an earthly sense, we are empty until the Holy Spirit lives within us. At the same time, one can’t ever discount the affectation of deep melancholia which was a defining characteristic of mine prior to my becoming a Christian.
The second section was probably around about the same time, although on a different scrap altogether.
“Some Perverse Will” was written around 1980, and has barely been altered since. To some degree it serves as an indicator of the unsanctified condition of my soul, although it shouldn’t be taken too seriously as such, given my tendency to romanticize and idealize my life as one supposedly lived on the edge as some kind of accursed poet.
“London as the Lieu” was based on a novel I wrote in 1987 with a hero named Francis Phoenix who was partly based on myself, although subsequently destroyed, but for a few vestiges. It was cobbled together in about ten minutes, and nothing contained within it actually occurred. It’s entirely, risibly fictional.
“Lone Birthday Boy Dancing” is the final “Rescue” piece, salvaged from informal diary entries, in this case notes made the day after a drunken birthday…possibly celebrated on the 8th of October 1991, or a year earlier; or later.
While these first ten relics stem from my pre-Christian life and hopefully provide some kind of insight into my spiritual condition prior to coming to faith, the remainder are exclusively post-conversion pieces, having been based on songs of mine, but slightly altered so as to provide them with a poetical sheen.

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