What I could be doing

In some lonely office world

the latest problems are obscured

by jargon witten on a board –

nonsense scribbled on a wall.

Let flip-charts flip and markers scrawl

because I could be fishing now.

This man like a scratched record

with stationery profanes the word

of Abraham and Solomon.

The air is thick with tedium.

Where pupae hatch and spiders crawl

you know I could be fishing now.

Meanwhile, in some London suburb

silent in their prison yards

the yummy mummies exercise.

Let lonely runners pavements plough.

Let clippers clip and mowers mow

because I could be fishing now.

Waves of chatter bathe us all

like an electric cloud

in layers of banality.

I could escape through a green door
while files upload and pixels glow.

You know I could be fishing now.

Death in Sydenham

The magnolias were wilting
The devil was not at the crossroads
Or even in the room
Tumble weed blew across the road
Somewhere in the desert it snowed
The night that Adam killed the blues

The angels were weeping, so were were the screws
Muddy Waters looked down at his shoes
Clarence ‘Gatemouth’ Brown was sick
John Lee Hooker dropped his pick
Memphis Minnie phoned her nan
The night that Adam killed the blues

Blind Lemon Jefferson was embarrassed
Big Bill Broonzy was unimpressed
Lightnin’ Slim and Pee Wee Hughes
Were devastated by the news
Robert Johnson was quite distressed
The night that Adam killed the blues

Duane Allman said to Stevie Ray:
‘He can’t sing he can’t play!’
Eric Clapton on holiday
Made a call to Robert Cray
‘I can’t believe he’s done it man!’
The night that Adam killed the blues

Peter Green showed sympathy
But tears were shed in Sydenham
Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee
Drove off in a campervan
Albert Lee was not amused
The night that Adam killed the blues
 

The three kings: Freddy, Albert and BB
asked each other: ‘how could he?’
Word spread quickly across the south
From Purley Way to Beckenham
Howling Wolf actually howled
The night that Adam killed the blues

The glass tower

It  rose up like a shining needle
The great glass tower was filled with air
Strangers spied ghostly shapes through the walls
It was empty – no-one lived there
People came and clamoured outside
Because they were cold and needed shelter
One of them knocked on the door
And tried to get in. There was no answer
The bankers were on beaches; their helpers
Lived behind high walls like mirrors
Although it was clearly unfair
There was no-one to help the poor
More crowds, more homeless people, year on year
More towers were built and filled with air