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Emblazion!!

The rock of ages
the r-o-k of ages past
Can you see the future
In the bottom of your glass?
Rock the ages past
Rock the ages past
Can you see your future
in the bottom of a glass?
lost for inspiration
drowning in despair
the dove spots land
it’s a tigers lair

Camelot comes calling
bringing Guinevere

The rock of ages
the rock of ages past
can you see the future
in the bottom of a glass?

Taking her by the hand
Take her to the promised land
Mistake her progeny
For a shining future
Beware the devil’s cards
Camelot will shoot ya!

Rock the ages past
Rock the ages past
Can you see your future
in the bottom of a glass?

The days are one long carnival
Misers are convivial
the future has become the past
Camelot keeps calling
you can keep bees…
Or I’ll bring you to your knees

Rock the ages past
Rock the ages past
can you see your future in
the bottom of your glass?

There’s a bee that’s buzzing
in your ear telling, you are very near
to the mansion house
to the Emblazion!!
to the Emblazion!!

Rock the ages past
Rock the ages past
can you see the future in the bottom of a glass?

Emblazion!! Emblazion!!
One step to heaven
Two steps back
When will the future
Cut me some slack?

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Rhyming Adventures

First word, First line, first stanza,

Just like in The Tales of LaMancha

Our hero is abroad on horseback

And no-one is there to make him rack

His brains, nobility, pride and bravery

For escaping the tedium he calls modern slavery

Hark! a lady in some distress is calling

An opportunity to prove his manliness!

He gallops off at pace, catches her from falling

The kind lady showers him with words of gratitude!

With pride beating a drum in his chest

he rides for hours again before taking a rest

After nuptials, he pens a letter to himself no less

‘Did a wise thing today, and was thanked for it,

I did a good deed and then didn’t outstay my welcome’,

‘Whats more I was thanked for it! A knight I soon

maybe if I can save enough old ladies from falling

Indeed It feels like my true calling! So goodnight

fine fellow and rest until the morrow!’

He pitches his tent and goes to sleep under the stars

No evening spent at inns trawling women and bars

During the night it got cold and wet no wonder that

he woke up feeling upset at his predicament. But he

packed his saddlebags and mounted his steed

Off in search of another good deed!

 

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poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

The little path to greatness

The little path to greatness
is a MarioWorld of jumps, power-ups (with awesome sound effects)and mushrooms
No. It is made of God and prayer, Luck and judgement, Hard work and toil sunshine and bad weather
It’s a walk through the wood that leads to a mountain path that leads to the chariots of the gods.
It’s a walk to school preceded by a baby’s first crawl, first steps and doddering drool.
It’s that bicycle ride that runs out of control until Bang you hit the wall!
It’s getting up again to face them all.
It’s walking home with a puncture
It’s carrying bad news in your chest
It’s feeling your heart beat in your breast
It’s authentic and local, It’s paranormal and global
It’s family, It’s friends, It’s strangers at the park
It’s partying after dark
It’s the long walk home with friends or alone
It’s getting your homework done on time
It’s waiting for dinner, standing in line
It’s ironing your clothes ready for the day
It’s carrying your brother over the hump in the road
It’s saying you will fight and defend what is right
It’s making all the bad things that happened right
It’s doing it day after day after stultifying day
It’s doing it for them, It’s doing it for you, for the crew
It’s doing it when there’s no-one else around
But most of all It’s doing it when nobody else cares
It’s doing it because it matters when the road is long.
And to make the world a better place.
It’s blue and grey it’s the full bloody rainbow
it’s what you decide and what you feel inside
It’s moldable, It’s makeable It’s delicate and breakable
It’s resilient and strong, interesting and long
It’s what you are made of not what others tell you
So take that knife and carve yourself a life.
For today and tomorrow for here and the world over
Stand up and be counted Find a horse and mount it
And enjoy your diet cola with ice cream float and cherry fizz bombs!
Yeah.

Written by Andrew Watkins

©2017 Andrew Watkins

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Uncategorized

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

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Beautiful Blooms

Rasters, Rainbows, Riddles
Colourful Colloidal Cummerbunds
Dressy Dizzy Diseases
Echoing Echolalic Elegies.
I like my song; now, before, after and during.
Pity it wasn’t like this before; Habit? Rabbit. Shot.
At Dawn.
I have had my care of worries.
I have had a few false dawns.
It’s not OK now. It’s better than before.
Tristar porn.
A star is born
unto the starry blackness.
Behold it in the sky shining brightly.
Like a firework or ICBM off course.
Should I continue?
Of course, of course, of course!

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Experiment

Strike winters bough with leaf replenishing oxygen
Us poor wanderers behold colour where there was none
commonplace trivialities dissolve in nature’s bounty
yellow neon is the message of plenty
I observed ritualistic behaviours
and uncommon pastimes
illogical to follow yet logic occurred
So meaningless, so recorded
It will prevail into times anomalies
Fear and passion in colours beholden
Not love in cooking pots all broken.

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