Nitrogen Two

Nitrogen Girl you see the part
The wholesale of a broken đź’“
Waiting to be discovered
The seventy percent of me that no-one sees
Nitrogen Girl in you i have found
A reason to stick around hoping
You stick around too
Seventy percent of me and you
Nitrogen girl its so sad its only gonna turn out bad and i,ll be walking and youll be walking too. Whooa nitrogen girl stick around.we save thirty percent for ourselves and the rest we become nitrogen two. Whooa!

C’mon

C’mon we need

We need that feeling

Am I being groomed

Or is that just a feeling

of being confused?

C’mon we need

we need that feeling

To see ahead to calculate

the real from unreality.

Or am I being used?

C’mon we need

We need that feeling

It’s commonplace praying,

kneeling, so get on your feet

and start believing.

C’mon we need

We need that feeling

Of being wanted, included

and given some meaning

There I said it I must be

dreaming.

C’mon, C’mon

We need that feeling

We all need someone to believe in

Someone to take our cares away

Someone to talk to at the end of the day

Someone to make a new day

So C’mon everybody, C’mon everybody

C’mon!!

My Life

When the universe was young;
Time Team presenters enthusiastic,
Spring Watch for grown-ups
diving into the coral sea.

Now we are older what is TV?
A sequence of rehashed memory
given a twist of lemon sorbet.
Always predictable, never salty.

I wish I could draw. I wish I could write.
Just imagine what I could do with my time.
Galleries and book signings at Waterstone’s
not this trip in a body bag of ageing bones.

Music could be the accompany to me
so I can hear the beat as I walk down the street
and pass the windows I daren’t look in
lest they give me heed and ask me my name.

I used to romantic I used to be a fool until I made it.
The single rule. Be nobody’s fool. You’re enough for anyone
alone and in company you will never freeze or be lost for words
it’s the way of the singular universe. They need somewhere to go.

So the company excluded by means more fair than foul
the present comes on the tramlines of heaven and hell
dragging the past with it trailing flames that bellow
past my ears singing my hair, burning away my cares.

And sometimes I find I still exceed the pedestrian way
and accelerate past somebody else and then find
that I have the time to do something enjoyable.
Like write the poem I have been writing all of my life.

I wish I could draw. I wish I could write. I wish I could
get better so I can resume my life. And stop living
and get giving and receiving in spades. Again. Again. Again.
I must go now I want to publish. The story of my life.

 

by Andrew Watkins