Starman

Hello…

Are you there?

Ground Control to Major Tom?

I… I hope you don’t mind me addressing you like this,
But it’s just that I feel I know you,
After that summer,
You know the one,
When we’d bought School’s Out and Aladdin Sane,
And blasted them out for the whole holiday
At my pal’s house
Because his mum was doing summer school
And didn’t seem to mind the catalogue of neighbour complaints
That were waiting for her each night.

And, ever since then,
I’ve had your voice in my head,
The Starman who watches over me,
My own personal Jean Genie.

And you taught me that it really was OK
To be the odd one out,
To be the only person in my year who didn’t like Slade,
And to have long hair and not wear a fucking Crombie.

And, hell, if you could be Ziggy and wear a dress
And still have girls chasing you,
Well,
Then there was hope for me
And I wouldn’t be a Diamond Dog
All my life.

And later you showed me I could wear suits
And still look kinda cool,
That I could say Let’s Dance
To girls that I liked
And, maybe, know a little
Modern Love.

And I’ve always turned to you when I’ve been
Under Pressure,
Or when I felt like Dancing In the Street.
And you gave yourself to my every bedsit room,
Well, at least your posters on my wall,
And I even bought your
Tin Machine CDs although everyone said they were crap,
Because being weird is really all about
Getting it wrong some times.

So, I’m going to miss you,
Ziggy Stardust.
And without your poems I’m going to
Be writing on the walls,
But now it’s time for Ashes to Ashes
And I hope it’s Hunky Dory wherever you are
With Andy Warhol
By your side
And that, by the time I get there,
Heaven will be a weirder place.

Because now you’ve gone and left me out on a limb,
No notice, no nothing,
Not even Five Years,
And though I keep hoping that it’s all a stunt,
And that you’ll swoop down onto the stage
Like Lazarus on a flywire
I’m scared that it’s really true and that you are really gone,
And that I’ll have to
Keep you alive by playing your old records
Like some sad old man,
Because I think the kids have killed a man
And it’s time to break up the band.
Can you hear me, Major Tom?

First Kiss

For National Poetry Day

My first kiss was with a girl whose name I didn’t know,
It wasn’t really anything to write home about.
I’d expected a big romance,
Swirling orchestral score,
Julie Andrews skittering down the mountainside,
Not two strangers suddenly going mouth to mouth,
Like a pair of sturgeons lip-locked in a fishmongers window,
As disco lights flashed like running water down the slab.

There wasn’t even really a song to lock the moment in my heart,
Just Marc Bolan and T Rex going
La La La, La-La-La La, mmmm, ah, ah ahha!

Still, she was pretty,
With long dark hair and gold lamé hotpants,
Her shapely legs in clumpy white PVC boots.
But she legged it as soon as the song was done
And vanished behind a wall of skinheads
That no amount of hormones were going to propel me across.

However
A search at school on Monday morning revealed that her name was
Jessie
or maybe Lorraine,
But, horror of horrors,
She was in 3B,
A year above me and a million miles away,
And my message sent on the grapevine of jungle drums
Played by giggling girls,
That, Max wants to go with you,
Vanished sadly into the ether,
And Jorraine,
Never acknowledged me again.
Though,
In school uniform she wasn’t that hot,
So,
Really,
It was no big loss.

The Tea Lady’s Valentine

She leaves me little kisses on the back of my Rich Teas,
An extra-special Ginger Nut from o’er the China Seas,
She strokes my cup and silver spoon and whispers in my ear,
I’ve saved the best jam tart for you, beloved, never fear.

Yet I do not even know her name but just her occupation,
I see her once at tea-break time and sometimes at the station,
She’s hid behind a cloud of steam, a sullen boiler’s hiss,
And yet she gives her heart to me, her smile, her soul, her bliss.

So I pass my empty cup along, the row of scribbling clerks,
She holds it to her beating heart, like molten Cupid’s darts,
I meet her eye, I shyly smile, she whispers, love you, Roger,
And on my desk a Bourbon Cream and Raspberry Jammy Dodger.

The Love Song of Edgar Allen Poe

Let us go then, you and I,
To the Tomb of Ligeia, bye and bye,
Let us go to the Kingdom by the Sea,
The fish and chip shop of Annabelle Lee.
Let us go to the costal laundrette run by Lenore,
Let us throw open the windows and the door,
Dispel the gloom and evict the black cat,
Make a monkey of the ape asleep upon the mat.
Let us drink a draught of Hemlock at the House of Usher,
Where the décor is like the unquiet tomb, only plusher,
Let us imbibe at the Tell Tale Heart,
Let the parrots sing and the ravens play their part.
Alas, alas, M. Valdemar has come and I am at the door,
And I hear a melancholy chorus of black birds crying, Nevermore.

Literary Novels

Be quiet, I’m reading, her husband said,
Goodbye, said his wife, as she shot the bum dead.

Love Letter to a Librarian

There you stand,
Sticky pot of Gloy in hand,
Looking, hard, to make your mark,
Record past readers, casual, stark,
Barcode rhythms, rubber stamps,
Scanning bold and prim and vamp.

Take, then, lady, lover curious,
This blank page, leave reader furious,
Leave but half a telling inch,
Protruding shyly, just a pinch,
Leave them pondering, curious, soppy,
Make them wish they’d bought their copy.

Royal Wedding Blues

The guests were in the chapel, the Beckhams were outside,
The groom was at the alter, but the gig did miss a bride.
Oh, where is Kate, the ushers said, we’ve searched Westminster Street,
We hope she’ll make the wedding and not suffer from cold feet.

But then there came a messenger, clutched in his hands a note,
The wedding guests they beat their breasts and wondered what she wrote.
“Dear Wills, my fluffy bunny boy, alas I cannot marry,
I don’t want this royal wedding, I’m going off with Harry!”

Teen Vampires

I met a guy in makeup in the brightness of the sun,
I said, you’ll be a vampire, then, by name of Pattinson,
He sighed and shrugged his pallid face, alas, my friend, it’s true,
I am the Teenage Vampire, but my name is Bob to you.

I have no cape or coffin, it really makes me sick,
And although I have two gleaming fangs I haven’t got a dick,
They’ve made me PG-rated, it’s a fate quite worse than death,
I just glamour girls with melting looks, it is a waste of breath.

The camera it does love me, it follows like a pup,
While I drink my bottled blood mix, like cocoa from a cup,
So please review my contract and release me from this Hell,
The money’s good but, really, it is career death knell.

The Love Song of Edgar Allen Poe

Let us go then, you and I,
To the Tomb of Ligeia, bye and bye,
Let us go to the Kingdom by the Sea,
The fish and chip shop of Annabelle Lee.

Let us go to the costal laundrette run by Lenore,
Let us throw open the windows and the door,
Dispel the gloom and evict the black cat,
Make a monkey of the ape asleep upon the mat.

Let us drink a draught of Hemlock a the House of Usher,
Where the décor is like the unquiet tomb, only plusher,
Let us imbibe at the Tell Tale Heart,
Let the parrots sing and the ravens play their part.

Alas, alas, M. Valdemar has come and I am at the door,
And I hear a melancholy chorus of black birds crying Nevermore.

Edgar Allen Poe at Asda

I walked into a menswear shop to buy myself a suit,
A shirt; some socks; a pullover; a leather belt to boot,
The shopman he did say to me, you’re buying clothes, that’s good,
But tell me, sir, I’d like to know, just why you’re standing nude?

Well, George, I kindly said to him, the sign said t’was his name,
I was out with my own Lenore and we played a dirty game,
We each undressed and held on tight to have some saucy fun,
But just as I was on the brink, she said she had to run.

She grabbed her clothes and grabbed mine too, my shoes; my coat; my wallet,
My briefcase; braces; shirt and tie; my novel by Ken Follet,
And so I sought your humble shop, my pride set to restore,
And if fair maids broach sexy deeds I’ll answer, Nevermore.

Amazon USA	Kindle USA	Amazon UK	Kindle UK