Goldilocks and the Three Aliens

Goldilocks & the Three Aliens

A golden girl with golden locks

The one who wears the big stripy socks

The one who ran from ‘three bears cottage’

The one who steals other peoples porridge

Through the woods and down the lane

She hopped and skipped, splashed, ran in the rain

When through the clouds a spaceship flew

A whistling saucer out of the blue

Then from the disc bounced three daft aliens

Frolicked into the woods like crazy chameleons

Goldie peered and peeked into their craft

A smile, then a titter, she rolled and laughed

Inside the spaceship was a giraffe wearing pants

A pink fluffy flamingo doing a dance

25 chimps wearing pin stripe suits

Chatting and drinking from champagne flutes

She whispered and muttered in the giraffes ear

What she said wasn’t quite so clear

She showed the flamingo a different technique

And gave the monkeys a hand out sheet

The giraffe just cried and fell off her seat

Then the flamingo danced with two left feet

The monkeys began to scream and shout

Whatever had Goldie told them about.

Goldilocks hid behind a little brown bush

When the aliens returned to a deathly hush

They wobbled and wibbled around their ship

Looking worried like jelly & biting their lips

Who told the giraffe he can't wear pants

Who told the flamingo that she can't dance

And who gave the monkeys a certificate

For free pina coladas and chocolate cake

(mediterranean accent)

‘Wibbledy dibbledy!’ said alien 1

he looked very stern, with a big wobble on

‘dibble lolo quobble’, said alien 2

she looked very angry, like a quivering loon.

‘wibble de libberloo diberrydoon, 

zelibera dibera, sillysausage intwo, 

kitera, libera, dibwibblede bosera

trolley delbella de quobbley moon’.

Cut a long story short, they found Goldielocks

And bundled her into a old wooden box

They fed her with porridge and alien jam

Until she was bigger than 'porridge oats' man

She burst out the box and flew them all home

And told the aliens about Earths angry gnomes

She dropped the giraffe and flamingo on safari

And left all the monkeys to play her Atari

Then the aliens said that they wouldn't abduct

The animals or girls from any more woods

So she ran all the way home, to tell her mum

Of bears, aliens, safaris and how far she had come

Mum called her doctor to see if she was mad

Then rang up the office to bring home her dad

I'm sorry she said to her daughter Goldie

I'm afraid your brain has gone rather mouldy

Since you've been skipping off down the lane

You seem to have gone quite literally insane

So they shipped her off in a big white van

To the soft furnished hospital owned by Pac Man.

Dirty City Underworld

Dirty City Underworld

Saturday morning. 
The sky’s had darkened at around 9.30am
gradually worsening towards lunchtime when the rain began to pour. 
It poured on, after a small inconsolable weep, 
escalating to the unimaginable grief for a dead loved one, 
aching, wave after wave of sorrow from the sky, 
water where for once it could fly
struck from the deepest moist residue hearts from heaven
to the low lying, slowly dying, black filtered clouds, shielding the dismay below. 
Blacker than the pit workers, nay blacker than the ace of spades, 
Clouds like cards dealt by the devil himself.

A city of industry, a grand city of misery 
and a city where you could die without being noticed…
however life does exist here in economy and nature through various statures.
The sound of the liquid flowed through a markets ears. 
Dirty water ran through the guttering, over flowing round the dirty nests 
pissing a vile urea all over the city and the mortified birds long since drowned, 
fleeing to bird hell and as much seed as their gluttonous little breasts could hold. 
To burn in Hells Avery was a damn sight better 
than hazarding the treacherous down sided airways in the city, 
dipping uncontrollably in waterlogged, lack of catch 
down to fetter in a watery wet bed of bile.

Acid rain fell sideways in parallel lines, railway sleepers, reliably heavy. 
Trillions of crawling, hopping and sliding insects fighting, biting, spreading the
splurge, racing from the hungry birds, scampering in the mucky corners, dirge
crevices and cracks, against the city’s stench and bad food 
lying in each gutter, ripe for a birds pecking birds, birds, spiders and turds!
The rain found its way over, piping down, wet flossy fir, 
the Markets surrounding mossy walls, 
over the pavement, along the slab, into the sidings and the gutters, 
the cracks, the drains, in sewers it falls, 
to join the city’s shit, piss, effluent and chemical residue. 
The dirty bath water, skin, bone, blood and spit, 
To flow again with the stink of the city’s after waste, rising shit. 
The blockages began to giggle, gurgle and titter. 

Levels overflowing, rising from the dead, 
from bodies resting murdered, lying buried without heads 
under basement floors, dismembered in rotten bin bags 
under garden turf, souls gathering tattered, smirking, blackened mirth. 
Their time had finally come to rid themselves 
of the pointless deathly existence, ‘live a little’, no more complaining, 
‘lets cause a stink!’ they resound, lets make this place smell like the shithouse it really is. 
‘Pull together all your resources, 
all you dead and waste, lets break out of the dungeons, 
lets hit the streets, let us run with the wind, up past the feet 
of the sad, the noble, the good the unlucky and the ugly. 
Let’s get right up their noses and tickle their throats, 
make them cough and splutter with the smell from the gutter!’.

Yes the waters rose and with them did 
the demons of the city, the real undesirable things, 
the things that we’d thought we had flushed away, 
the stuff we didn’t know existed except for in its rightful place
Underground, in it’s underworld, the scourge of the drowning.

The Summer Blythe with Friends

The Summer Blythe with Friends

Now the flood is on the stones
Of the river trickling in ripples
Over the crystal mass of summer.
Of the green smell, Emerald fields where
I choke on the dust of the rape, 
but revel in the beauty of its shape
and colour of its field, its countryside shield
from the men who bring smoke and cats, 
the big digging rats that molest, 
the oil seed, destroying its cape.

Im lucky in its beauty, where I live
By the reser and the many eyed pheasant
In plumage as the fields of flowers
In a sunny hour, of a sunny day.
I play, I love, I eat, I drink, I live
All I give is some joy, watching the farmers
Give and take, waters from the lakes,
Nutrients with their rakes,
To give us bread corn and cake.
The cool water and the frolicks,
Laughter in the sounds, occupying
The warm marmalade skies.

Rape at the Fair

Rape at the Fair

My rocking chair on the curved outside of your body, 
your legs crack, stroke and caress your bony broke face
When I touch the skin on your back it peels red and black
Like the insides of your lungs and your penny black slacks.

Why are you there with him right now, you could be elsewhere
Still at the fair, still waiting for the ride of your life with
The travelling boys who prey on the young toys who come
into their midst, but fall into the misty white touch of a rapist.

Watching

Watching And then I took a while Yes I took a certain quite Romantic stance, looked at The time and thought why not Take you to the moon, We can look at the bright Shining lights, watch all The dark glowing fights In the sky, carefully all around In the night and on the ground. We can cross the stark naked Truth of it all, we might see it All if looking hard at the kind Of stuff that frightens us And all the fluff, marmalade puss Enough to make you gag then Wake up and hear yourself drag my flapping Tongues into the dawn.

Shooting

Shooting

See the clouds are shining
the blinding silver linings
Face the wall
Hear the seagull’s cry
Listen out for the captains call.

Hear the shot ring out…
Gone before the echo’s bounce.
Face the floor
Saw the grass come near
Cant see cant hear no more.

What are You

What are You? Watching the streets go by With my seventh eye, Watching the wheels go round. I talk to a nonsense guy Whose hair is high, Explaining the things he's found. Striking a chord in time, The fourth in rhyme, He tells me that he feels down. He shouts to the world out loud 'Not one of the crowd!', Don’t belong to this old town. 'I can't hang about these streets…' He cries and bleats, Dancing just like a clown. I watch him spinning aloud With the crunching sound, of bones as he's run down. What are you, what are you supposed to do, What were you, what was the thing that went through you. I couldn’t do, the thing that I just saw him do. What could you do, what was I supposed to do.

Snowstorms in the Morning

Snowstorms in the Morning

A blizzard said the Wizard
With the magical board.
But no, just a patter, a splatter
Danced forth.

The door would not open
Said the lady she’s sure.
The drift did not come,
What a terrible bore.

Now when the morning came,
Whitened not dark.
‘Will it be any different?’,
the neighbours will bark.

Oh look at the mirror
All covered in snow.
The wonderful colours
Of visions you know.

Now I cannot remember
Anything more,
Except for the number
And that was just four.

The smoke that was rising
Within my gaze
‘Don’t worry.’, said Jimmy
that was just haze!

Sleep Please

Sleep please.

Escape my boy escape.
Elope my girl elope.
Dissent my boy descent.
Relent of course recant.
Close your eyes then float
To ‘relax’ world, 
And spend all those ‘tired’ dollars 
On zed beds and sleeping boats.
Visit the stores in dream town,
Supermarket dash for REM gowns.
Count the sheep on slumber farm,
Counting on, whilst keeping calm.

Past and Future

Past and Future

Did you ever write a love song
That you couldn't quite forget
Did you ever read the words of
A letter you had kept
if the morning comes
And its still in your head

Close your eyes
Let the magic show begin
You realise
That the words are colouring
Just relax, open up
Let the memories fall in
For your dreams of the past
Shape your future

Don't look back
Because your dreams will point the way
Push and process
File the good and bad away
Rest your head now
Only you are here to stay
For your dreams of the past
Shape your future
.

No Picnic

No Picnic

We want to avoid the mistakes 
that we made the last time
and go on to the other side of the tree
to see just what we could find
think of the things that we could remember.
A side of the family that we could see
A time of our lives when we ate cucumber.
Cucumber sandwiches tea, toast and sunshine
the smell of mown grass 
shard light rays through branches
and the family well oiled in the fields. 
My orangy, yelllow colour, green salad
and the tan lines, the cakes on the plates assam, 
the sun and the moon just in our time
the falling of light colour skirts on the grass
I could be ever so further from happiness that visits so fast.
never had the money or breeding never had the visions of class...