Late Home

By the time I get home they’ll be sleeping,

I wonder what they are doing now.

They are laughing with their mum, getting bigger,

Giving those hugs that complete me somehow.

Maybe they’ll get upset because I’m not there

And didn’t give them a kiss goodnight.

Did they wait up for a little while?

Did they want Daddy to hold them tight?

I’m trying to show them right from wrong

But I think they teach me more.

If I was half the person they think I am

Then I could do anything, I’m sure.

My boy has a heart of gold

And the world should live in his mind.

My girl is fierce and wonderful

And thoughtful and naughty and kind.

He started school this week with his uniform,

How do I keep him small?

She was looking for bees and scraped her knees

But was brave after her fall.

I wasn’t there.

By the time I get home they’ll be sleeping

Twisted Spire

If time can bend my shoulders
Each new second, piled up boulders,
That cast my body in a fire;
As a cruel and twisted spire.

When it breaks me to my knees
And I beg for mercy, 'please!'
It calls at me, 'You Liar!'
I am a cruel and twisted spire.

Upon others backs I ride,
I dare not stand alone - I hide.
My face wrinkled ill and dire.
I am a cruel and twisted spire.


Twisted Spire

Those moments that define us,
Shape us, move us and design us,
They mould us in the fire
I love you
You twisted spire

And those marks that shape our soul,
That break us down, but make us whole,
Those imperfections that conspire
To make you
You twisted spire

We have been cut to our core,
You rise, different from before,
More beautiful than prior
More than you
You twisted spire

Against providence you face
The scars of time you own, embrace
A strength that all admire.
I love you
You twisted spire

Painters and Poets

You dropped a picture onto the floor
That one you painted by the window -
I fell into it and into me.
Then I stood,
I stand.
Then I march.
For the painters and poets.

On your orders I stand.
I march.
The world is not fair so I march.
The painters and poets are with me and we sing;
For all that we are worth we sing.

I have cause - you gave me cause!
We grow together with the painters and poets
And we show what it could be.

We suffer as all people suffer
But you gave us strength enough to care;
To help.

At the river we gather and wash our hands.
We clean them of their shackles
And see each other for the first time.

You become me, my decisions, my thoughts and dreams.
I don't want to fight it.
I'm scared and you hold me
Without knowing the power that you have.

The painters and poets follow you,
Are protected by you.
But you don't say a word.

Oh for the painters and poets.

Lyrical Challenge

I've been doing a bit of thinking recently about the difference between lyricists and poets. I know there is a difference but I haven't quite found the right way to articulate it to myself. Those of you that have followed these blogs (thanks Mum) will know that I have been guilty in the past of being a little snobbish when it comes to poetry and certain writers. Well folks that has changed for 2017!

You see... I get moved by poetry. Moved in a way that is difficult to explain and all the more powerful because of that. I don't, however. get moved by music - I know, strange right? And it's not because I'm emotionally turned off or anything in fact I consider myself very much in touch with my emotions - yes I'm a crier!
 My wife can listen to a song and be taken somewhere that I've never been able to go. When Becky listens to the Beatles she is heartbroken, elated, aroused (probably) and in love all in one moment.

Historically, my thinking was that it can't be the lyric because they are just poor excuses for poems. Very often there are lazy or, even worse, forced rhymes that need to be manipulated in order to fit the structure. Lyrics fall in that space between a well structured poem and a free poem. Both are fantastic but I often found the middle ground a bit, well... how would one say it.... bleh!! (That's right in a post about the importance of words I'm using the word 'bleh'!) Or so I thought....

There is a raft of lyricists who don't even sit with musicians and they can create some of the greatest songs in the world. Songs that will cut people (like Becky) in half. The words must be important.

In times like this I like to set my brother (Chris) and sister (Shel) a challenge. Below is a poem/lyrics that I have just written. I'm asking them to make it into a song
a) because they are talented musicians
b) and most importantly, I like to publicly mention how cruel my little sister was for kicking me out of our band just because I hated singing in front of people and would get hideously drunk before our performances in front of 7 or 8 people.

Chris and Shel... enjoy (also anyone out there is blog world who fancies putting music to this feel free)

When I wake before the Sun
And feel you lying there
When shadows make your body
And the moonlight isn't fair.
I forgot to remember to forget you
Maybe I wish I had never met you.

For a moment I can see you
I breath in and you breath out
Then dawn, and you are gone again
And the World just turns about.
I forgot to remember to forget you
I'm not sure I really want to

Ghosts pass me throughout the day
It is they who see through me
I walk and walk without direction
In a mist I follow truly
I forgot to remember to forget you
Maybe I  need something to hold on to.



Rules
- Don't fuck with my lyrics (that means you Chris!)
- You can add a middle 8
- If you want 'I forgot to remember to forget you' to be a bridge then add a chorus
- 1 week to get the song finished

Enjoy