Wake up everybody tis mornin stop snorin shake yeer sleeopy heads get out of yeer beds put your slippers on and head for the interplanetary poetry extravaganzy known simply as THE( immortal) POETRY BUS.
The original and the best, accept no imitations, no limitations, there are plenty of taxis and trains and trams and tubes and planes, but there is ONLY one POETRY BUS.If it doesn't say POETRY BUS on the label then it's not the poetry bus, pay no money, get off immediately and report the incident to the nearest tree.
Do you ever wake up in the morning and ROAR like a LION?
Then it's high time ya did.I suggest that each and every one of us when we wake up (at whatever time) on Monday 23rd August should get out of bed, stretch from toenail to scalp with fingers stretching for the ceiling and toes curled up, then draw a deep breath so big it sucks in the curtains and creates a temporary vacuum, and with eyes scrunched closed, ROAR like a lion.
And I mean feerkin ROAR , a bellow that starts at the tip of your toes and builds like a tsunami as it gathers pace, volume, and momentum as it climbs yer legs, jiggers yer danglers (if you have any) ,booms round yer belly, rattles like a cannon ball around your bosoms (if you have any) and explodes through your snarling widestretched gob like the mother and father of a super sonic BOOM!
Go on ,we'll shake the fucking world, and annoy the neighbours.
Here meanwhile in a different key of life, is my contribution to the Poetry BUs.
First person up in the morning owns the world!
(The poor bastard)
Are we there yet? I think it may be morning
Ah, blessed relief; much as I hate you,
darkness was never my old friend.
Or are we ( you -still asleep
stuck between sunset and sunrise,
on an edgy ledge between
The Devil and the dishwasher?
Morning has broken in two
the veil of black is rent
dirty grey descends like depression,
the bedroom door is half-open or half-closed
(Q: When is a door not a door?
A: When it’s…)
Don’t mention ajar
I’d love a jar
My god my mouth is dry
My tongue as rough
As a bears arse
I wish I was still asleep,
dreaming of a lunar landscape, a rocket escape,
a pie in the sky, a cheese and whine party,
for the weightless mind and the restless soul.
Then worst of all
the birds pretending to sing
But they only whistle
Do they not know the words
‘Welcome to my world’ ?
And this, my friends , is how it should be done, by The Pogues.
Don't believe me? Then just check out the lyrics by Jem Finer below the video.
I dreamt we were standing
By the banks of the Thames
Where the cold grey waters ripple
In the misty morning light
Held a match to your cigarette
Watched the smoke curl in the mist
Your eyes, blue as the ocean between us
Smiling at me
I awoke alone and lonely
In a faraway place
The sun fell cold upon my face
The cracks in the ceiling spelt hell
Turned to the wall
Pulled the sheets around my head
Tried to sleep, and dream my way
Back to you again
Count the days
Slowly passing by
Step on a plane
And fly away
I'll see you then
As the dawn birds sing
On a cold and misty morning
By the Albert Bridge