Monday, November 26, 2007

Squid Ink Eisteddfod

That fine contribution to the English language from the Welsh...the creative urge has burst the banks by pouring forth in poetry...below my latest contribution with no apologies to Rabbi Burns as I improved a great deal on his shoddy work.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin', Crafty beastie,
Oh, where's the artwork from thy breastie!
Thou need to start afor it hasty,
Wi pen and paper battle!
I wad be laith to ask again of thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle*

*This is a plough-staff according to my annotated Burns

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Friday, November 23, 2007

With humblest apols to W.H Auden

Stop all the blogs, unplug the microphone,
Prevent the furry squids barking with a juicy bone,
Silence Paddy's plastic keyboard and crafty's drum
Lie on the couch, let the visitors come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning in the sky
Scribbling the message 'don't say the Ink is dry?'
Lay black wreaths at Mr Midian's door,
Without the dudes what is Midian for?

They are my North, my South, my East and West,
My Tuesday night and my Barleycorn fest,
My lemon Pepsi, my Coopers Pale
I thought my spine would last for ever: now I ail.

The Hinnies do not bray now, the tions do not roar
Four squids are stranded on a rock-less shore
Cut from each other like newborn from placenta
Cruel like heartbreak, wrong like Dane Centre

A young squid whose problem was spinal
feared the damage he'd sustained was final
his bandmates despaired
and in poetry shared
thoughts that once they'd have put down on vinyl

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Where Have My Calluses Gone: A Poem

Here is a pathetic poem (it barely rhymes and has no consistent meter).
But it is a crie d'coeur.

Where have my calluses gone?
Why do I play cricket and put my fingers at risk?
Because i know they'd heal faster
Than a prolapsed disc

I only see paddy at training
I don't see crafty at all
I speak to silky on the electric telephone
But what kind of friend only calls?

There are no new songs to write
And it makes my heart hurt
I can't even give people the album
Becauese there's no art work

Soon I'll be a busy father
of a son of whom I'm proud
And as soon as silky's better we lose him
to the land of the long white cloud

Things must be pretty bad
and the ball must have been dropped
if there's no bookings in at Midian
and the blogging has been stopped

Will we ever launch the album?
Will eight legs ever hold me?