So here it is, a moment I thought would
Never come around, sitting here now
Trying to express how it feels to have
Finally reached this milestone, with who
Knows how many more to come.
That first night I sat at home, drank beer
& Smoked weed just like tonight really, I
Struggled on in, words long lost by now,
And wrote, just for the pleasure of seeing
New words on a bit of paper.
Tonight though I sit here writing this,
NUMBER FIVE HUNDRED; how did it
Ever come to this? I guess its down to
All the drink that's been drunk as well
As all the smoke that's been smoked.
AWAKE & SMOKING
Life often revolves around the routine
Or at least this one does but of late
Mine has been thrown all of a flummox
As I often sit here waiting...
Waiting for another damn nano-blast
From the smoke alarm out of reach
Attached to my high ceiling leaving me
Is it my actual smoke? If so, how come
Just like now I've smoked one in here
In the last ten hours and that was nearly
An hour ago now...
Is it just another test as it goes off again
Another test sent for me to conquer
In this life of mine or does it mean
The damn thing is dying?
But that would bring about another damn
Philosophical question to difficult
For this sleep deprived brain of mine
To deal with
Since I began writing these words it's
Gone off four times and I don't know
What to do except hope another large
Mug of wine and a final joint will help
Cos right now I need it, a good one
Restful nights sleep but what chance
Is there of that if I got a blast coming
Every so often, seemingly whenever it wants...
BAD NEWS COMES FOR A WHILE
I sit at home, alone
Free at last from the dreaded infernal beep
And now the only thing to distract me
Well, tonight at any rate,
Is the radio droning on
And on, bad news coming from everywhere.
The world is going to end it screams
Whether it be through some false diplomacy
From across the pond, which as the nukes
Are launched will be greeted with cries
Of ‘fake news’, or the idea that soon we
Will all be homeless as we lose
Control of this planet due to seismic
Even when I switch over to sports radio
The bad news keeps coming back and
It really feels like the end of the world.
Millwall are losing, yet again, and right
Now I pray for a drunken Donald to
Live his dream, press the button and put
Me out of my misery!
Fortunately, things in life of late, have
Been not too bad, the week since I
Reclaimed this room from the dreaded
Infernal beep I’ve slept and drank and
Read and smoked in between those times
I had to be at work and those, still
Hoping it remains as such for all my time
To come, have pass in a dream of unforgettable
Ease in the friendliest retail environment
I’ve ever had to experience.
But just now news comes through of an
Equaliser, an early second-half penalty,
So maybe it ain’t all lost, not tonight
Anyway as this fickle football fan
Turns his thoughts to possible positive
Today has passed in a flurry of words
As the muse returns; my brain lucid at last
To frame these words into a new verse.
This here being today’s number eight;
An incredible day for the creative self
That’s been locked away for three weeks now.
Tomorrow may bring more or it could
Mean a nice long walk, maybe if the sun
Shines a stroll taken down the coast, I guess
I’ll have to wait and see.
SLEEP COMES EASILY (AT LAST)
The nights of this last week have gone in the blink of an eye
As, at last, sleep comes easily and with comfort as at last I've
Moved on and gone and landed myself a futon mattress; a lovely
Comforting beauty that I get to lie on for hours at end.
Sleep comes easily now and can last, it can really last
As, at last, I remember my very favourite place where I
Can spend hours and not wake feeling like death
Here in the confines of my lovely wonderful bed.
Before this beauty arrived I was forced to sleep on a
Flimsy pale excuse of a sofabed that made my back
Ache like the old man I now hope of becoming, it
Got so bad that I'd walk pass one of the homeless masses
Out there on our streets and some of them would have
Better, more comforting, places that they could sleep
Than I could back here in my room. But now, well I've
At last found peace and would like to thank whoever it
Was that invented the futon and generous friends.
With Willie Nelson playing a song
And a fresh mug of wine poured
I get around to rolling and with that
There is nothing left to say
Except 'good night'...
But maybe not just yet as the rolling
Is still to be done and it still ain't 1
And the alarm ain't gone off for a while
So maybe we'll see if this'll turn into
Another of those eight poem nights.