(Chords to be sorted in a future life, for now just use Am/F followed by C/D/G)
You put a new bulb in yesterday;
it was a coloured bulb, not white;;
and now I really have to say,
that things have changed, been rearranged,
and things just don’t seem right –
why did you do that?
I never thought you would,
never thought you might…
You put a new bulb in yesterday,
it was a coloured bulb, not white;
and now, I see you,
in a different light.
What is old now
once was young;
what is young now,
may end up old;
Mao Tse Tung
(if he were still alive)
would be even older
than he was
when he did thrive.
Leaves and clouds and sky and stuff,
like my words and rhymes
the weather can be rough
or smooth;
and I can either move to the groove
or shelter from the storm
(or the excessively warm)
in the garden
where the pottery of poetry
is often found
by looking skywards
at the ground.
For fools rush in
and knock over a stand,
a floral display, a waste-paper bin;
loiterers loiter (as is their wont)
by the sign shouting “Silence!”
and only returning
from whence they came
at cloning time.
A book upon the Mafia,
once taken out,
remains taken out.
And the crumbs of information
gleaned from the Reference Section
are a scant comfort to readers
far and wide.
In the Out @Morrisons
In the out,
in the out,
you’re coming in the out;
there isn’t a single doubt
that you’re coming in the out.
And you’ll probably go
out the in
when you’ve been in
and seek to travel out.
Hello, little leaf,
Have you lost your way?
Are you far from home,
in the breeze blown away?
Hello, little leaf,
is it you once again?
Or is it your leafy friend?
A man stopped me in the street this morning and asked me if I’d like to be a Stuart; ‘well.’ I said, ‘I’m quite happy being a Graeme.’
‘No!’ he said. ‘I meant a steward!’
‘Oh!’ I said. ‘I understand now, not a Stuart; you don’t want me to take part in the new Jacobite revolution – do you?’ I asked hopefully
