This song is not about me

The stars have been dimmed,
my wick has been trimmed
and no longer burns so bright.
In this twilight I walk
and my memories stalk
as I wander this cold lonely night.

Down here on the beach
I hear the breakers
as they breach,
the steady pulse of the sea.
My heart has been broken,
my love has been taken
but this song is not about me.

Across the dark water
ships’ lights dance and glimmer,
lighthouse flashes guiding the way.
My soul has been stranded
and where it has landed
is uncharted and far, far astray.

Down here on the beach
I hear the breakers
as they breach,
the steady pulse of the sea.
My heart has been broken,
my love has been taken
but this song is not about me.

A fresh morning is breaking
but my core is still aching,
with no hope at this brave new dawn.
The tears that I weep
flow into the deep,
one wave’s wipe
and my footprints are gone.

Down here on the beach
I hear the breakers
as they breach,
the steady pulse of the sea.
My heart has been broken,
my love has been taken
but this song is not about me.

Oh, the stars have been dimmed,
my wick has been trimmed
and no longer burns so bright.
In this twilight I walk
and my memories stalk
as I wander this cold lonely night.

Down here on the beach
I hear the breakers
as they breach,
the steady pulse of the sea.
My heart has been broken,
my love has been taken
but this song is not about me.

(Repeat)

The Human Condition

The human condition is not a position
I can with clear conscience commend.

If I could think of another, one much less bother,
I’d take it and tell you my friend.

Now I’ve not heard high praise, in all of my days,
for the unattractive alternative; death.

So I’ll just keep on going, still rowing and growing
and value the worth of each breath.

It may sound quite funny but it is the journey
that matters and that has no end.

It’s the path that you lead and the love that you seed
that echoes down ages will send.

(Repeat)

Girl on a groyne

Portobello, Scotland. Mixed media. MMX

Figure on a winter beach

Portobello, Scotland. Mixed media. MMX

The Best Drug in Town

It ain’t the weed that I need
And booze just brings me down.
You can keep your coke
And all your dope
Cause I ain’t fooling around.

My hands a shaking,
My legs a quaking,
I smile when I should frown.
Love and lust,
Boom or bust,
Darling you’re the best drug in town.

You’re what I crave as I rave,
Misbehaving like a clown
But your sweet face and gentle grace
Is what keeps me hanging round.

It ain’t the weed that I need
And booze just brings me down.
You can keep your coke
And all your dope
Cause I ain’t fooling around.

My hands a shaking,
My legs a quaking,
I smile when I should frown.
Love and lust,
Boom or bust,
Darling you’re the best drug in town.

Going cold turkey, as your eyes work me
From far across the room.
I’ve got to tell you, try and sell you
My heart in this small tune.

It ain’t the weed that I need
And booze just brings me down.
You can keep your coke
And all your dope
Cause I ain’t fooling around.

My hands a shaking,
My legs a quaking,
I smile when I should frown.
Love and lust,
Boom or bust,
Darling you’re the best drug in town.

Gibbous moon

We snuck in
the still deserted park
late one night
on the way home.
Sat silent
on the dark sandy bank
staring up
at the starry stripe
of the milky way.

Wordlessly stripping off,
I remember
your beautiful
young body
glowing ghostly
in the blurry bluey
white moonlight.

Tentative feet
feeling forward into
the cool black water,
slowly softly splashing,
shushed, gasping
wading deeper.

Launching ourselves gently,
caringly breast stroking
to the deep pool middle
and embracing tenderly
treading water under
the gracious gaze
of a gibbous moon.

The copper beech

Massive, mighty shimmering dark burgundy
canopy reaching high into the bright blue sky,
the great girth of the verdigris trunk hindered
easy climbing so, ignoring the big badly
banged in rusty nails, I leapt, grabbed and
shimmied up and along a low dangling limb,
the hard way, to the crotch of the old tree
where the spreading branches formed
a comforting musky pit.

There I sat, reclining on the warm wood
between the twitching burnished leaves,
nestling carefree on the mould dusted bark,
still, silently observing life below scurry by
listening to the quiet rhythmic rustling of foliage
in a soft wind and the sure beat of my own young heart
steady, secure, high above in the copper beech.