Monday, September 14, 2009

A Coat for a gift

Come inside my coat,I will keep you warm
Keep your rings in the pocket
And wrap yourself around my arm.
I will take you to the zoo
And show you little monkeys
Steal a bird and keep them too.
In the realms of my coat it gets dark
I will pluck a star and hang it by
So you may never stop your homework
If you ever be hungry don't clutch your tummy
My coat has warm bread and hot milk
And I will slice the edges just like mummy
Lay your head on my chest and take a nap
Close your eyes and I will sing
A tale of kings as I pat my lap
And when you are old and big
You will leave the coat and step out
It is then I will feel the hole in me
grow bigger as you face the cruel world
I will drop a tear and snort my nose
But hope you will be safe and happy out there
If you ever miss the coat, do come by
I may not be around but it shall be hanging
Alone and empty but alive with its memories
But for now I pat you as I sing you to sleep
In the coat of warmth, the coat of dreams.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Good Night and Good Luck


I welcome you to the few 4 who carried me from the hot summers in May to the cold winters in the auto.

They sang a song once, I listened and I nanaaad to it.

A day will come when they all will be gone, and just incase I'm not blogging then;

I made a cake for them once but they were too high on LSD that time to have some. I called Jude, he asked me to make it better. I wasn't very good at baking good cakes so I added a little Norwegian Wood to it. I looked over my shoulder at them and I admired their simplicity in the midst of the madness they had created. Like school kids who had just come from an hour of play ball. Lying in a heap, they stared at the ceiling for hours. John wasn't wearing his glasses, he had something clutched in his hand, a letter from Eleanor Rigby. Paul on the other hand kept saying that he needed help. George had once played the sitar with me beside the sea, he never did say much these days. Calling Ringo yesterday for tea was a good idea, he spoke of his days in the USSR.

The cake still wasn't perfect, I let it be.

Standing at a corner, beside the guitar, I gently weeped.

Who am I ?

I am the walrus

Losing Marbles

The blue jays sing in the haze
As the white monkey says hello
I left the tree to the singing swallows
but where in the world are my marshmallows ?
See the point of the matter is that clues are questions
So while I be in the country, let me know your answers
Be a little to the left not much to the right
And you will see the light, oh the bright light
Bless the shadows they know me so well
If only they would come back, it would be so swell
Let it pour on the ashes, so a phoenix will sing
Not the song of love but maybe a catchy thing
When the bellows will borrow
You will see me tomorrow
And catch me cycling in the mud
So pass me a Hi and let out a sigh
For the pieces of grey seem to crack

Thursday, September 10, 2009


Being blue in the days of grey was on the cards. They never did fail to come with a surprise. The pages turn again today, maybe the corner of the page will be folded just to read it again. Seeing the drops fall from the trees took me back years back. In the middle of the heat came the cold and I was left undone. I looked at songs for friendship, I spent hours staring at the ceiling. Staring at the phone for a slight sign of life. This be my hobby, my food, my alcohol. Feelings are funny and how they tickle you so much that your shoulders droop and your sighs get doubled. I will be back to this but I have a degree to get.