Come to bed

I know…It’s not said

OK!

See you! Bye!

Worming in my head

and down, down, down

down into the very depth

of my bowels. I miss you.

Come to bed.

La, la ,la ,la, la

La, la, la, la, la

Oh la, la, la, la, la, laaah

It’s getting oh so hungry

and my tongue is getting thirsty

And I can’t do it on my own

I know…It’s not said

I miss you. Come to bed.


-A.Watkins Nov ’17

Red

The mouth of a hot cave blows

hot air from its belly into the stark

Room. Ice breath roars at the picture

Window. Tears flow. Eyes mist as I

Nuzzle down the carpet with my elbows.

Singing. Singing my tune. With red felt pen into the paper room, I sing of the sky and of the moon and of daybreak glow as the fire-breathing gloom gets into my room.

Wet tears, cold glass, white snow, fire in my room. I am to be shot for being covered in snot and glue. Taken outside. Taken from my room.

Seasons come and seasons glow orange and blue. songs come and blow. I am not me in my room so I go below where people bellow only to be told go to your room

I do what I am told. And plan my revenge. And like a loon, I howl at the moon until I am caught red-handed punished banished to my room.

Then it is time to go to another’s tune and in flew a bird to my room. A singing robin redbreast I shall never forget that tune of sunlight and sunset and red fire crying shame and redemption before it flew away.

So now it is still the same with bellowing heat mushroom diet and dark light. With a red felt pen, I sing into the night heavenward along inside the river of light.

Touchdown!

Touchdown!

Another point scoring day

with a little surprise

A question asked…and answered

which in turn lead to the title of this song

Touchdown!

Another point scoring day

and no surprise

you got it again.

You got it again

you got it again

you got it again

Touchdown!

Touchdown!

Touchdown!

A Watkins Nov. ’17

Hay-Ku #!

Hay Ku! How are you?

I’ve been writing I’ve been bar-

ing my soul all for you

but it’s not getting me anywhere

just deeper into a pit of despair

where the sides are lies and high

and nobody gets out alive

Hay-KU, how are you?

I’ve been writing I’ve been baring my soul

all for you.

And I’ve been thinking of escape

on Santa’s sleigh but I had a fight with an elf

he accused me of stealing art for myself

just now Holy Cow An Original thought!

I should take it and frame it then when I am low

I can blame it for my current situation.

Hay-KU, How are you, I’ve been writing

I’ve been baring my soul all for you hay-KU

how are you I know I’m getting old but I

want it to be gold. I am feeling oh so low

Can you help me? I know where the lyrics come

from but where do they go?

Hay ku. Hay-KU, hey-KU (I hate you.)

Hay Ku! How are you?

I’ve been writing I’ve been bar-

ing my soul all for you

Oh Haiku. you have seen me through

and now I have turned on even you.

So much for art being sacred

nothing is. I don’t love you too. Hay-KU.

Oh, We can plainly

see. That is me and me and me. That you are a fully grown Boy.

Clumsily Adept, skillyfuly inept, artyfully kept

I am grown, boy.

Taking care of myself, being like a little elf, sometimes on task

other times at the end of a branch; hanging in motion, listening for the commotion.

I am grown, boy.

Six foot tall and a hundred pounds the undisputed King of what can I say. Belly and breast man for the rest of his days?

Exercising his right to exercise on a daily basis by eating chocolate in activity osmosis. Well, every fit person eats chocolate, right? Ooer, that’s logic, I learnt that reading a book because I’m a bit grown-up right?

I am grown, boy.

Clothes that squeak fit. Shoes that move me. Did you like that play on words there Move me like feet? Geddit? By the foot? Oh, I give up.

I am grown, boy

With internet account. And a bill which I pay every month. Duh! Someone’s listening in but I don’t care. You can find them kind everywhere.

I am grown, boy.

I have dead relatives some of which I called a friend. And without them my life I do have to mend.

I am grown, boy

With an independent spirit. I choose my own rhyme and reason and go through with it.

I am grown, boy

I choose where to go. Tomorrow I will go … Insert destination there. This poem has lost its way but that’s OK because I have grown boy and have the power to right my wrongs and sing my own song of freedom, loss, wanting and hoping playfully joking that’s it’s OK because I am grown, boy.

I am grown, boy.

I have groaned and been blessed I have touched a girls chest. I have found mystery in solidarity and aggression in charm, freedom in chains and calm in alarms. I am grown, boy.

Documents, and digital signatures, contracts and solicitors, driving test and contract hire I have been through the mire of society and what can be and found it wanting. Oh, what was the point? Now I am grown. I can sing on my own and make words into sentences bless Him

I am a grown, boy.

…tbc

A Watkins Nov. 2017

 

Lifetime

I gave it all for you
You took it away
I was happy with my crew
You made them depart
I was living in the light
Now I’m left in the dark
Now I’m on one wheel not two
a bicycle built for one and I
Will find the way to your heart
If it takes me a lifetime
(It means that much to me)

I gave it all for you
You took it away
I was happy being blue
Then one day I met you
I forgot about my past
I was happy being blue
Then one day I met you
You took it all away
I forgot about my past
I thought I’d seen the last
of happiness and go-o-o-o-o-o-ld
Finally, I can tell that i was living in hell
And that I had found my perfect match
Someone to take away and deliver me
#pristine .
Oh lo-o-oi-o-o-o-ove You are gone
Oh  lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ve I thought you were the one#
Now I’m on my own again
Looking for a home
for my heart.

I gave it all for you
You gave me love and happiness
I thought there was more
I had to find my own way
and say goodbye to yesterday
No more shivering in the cold
No more!

I will find you
I will find you
#heart you are there
somewhere
Somewhere out there
in the swirling whiteness
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
Somewhere out there
I Am Willing…

 

Lyrics by Andrew Watkins

© 2017

 

Title Deeds For The House Song

Come on is it true I have turned into you
But you are no longer here to ask
unless I look around

too far to go to get to you

Is it true I have turned on again
looking sharp again? Looking around
for some higher ground.

Looking
Looking for you
I saw below It was not the truth

Searching
Searching for you
What I cannot find I do not mind at all

But you disappeared in the night…

© Andrew Watkins 2017

 

The End (lyrics)

Step off the track step onto the track
Should I keep things as before?

Hand bag is shouting orders down my ear
while ornaments smash silently onto the floor
Remote controls the battery replacing
And I’m moving again.
I’m moving again.
It’s that same feeling as before.
Oh.

Step off the track step onto the track
For every dustbin lid that falls
there’s a hungry mouth indoors.

Storm in the silence
Wisdom is dying
Words are forsaken
minds they are breaking

Spaces seem closer
and eyeballs float higher
and the end is near.
Oh.
(guitar solo)

Step off the track step onto the track
Step off the track step onto the track
Step off the track step onto the track
Step off the track step onto the track

Copyright Andrew Watkins 2017

Like We Need An Extra Verse

It comes from afar
I don’t know where it comes from
Inside I mean from music and me
interacting, it’s a chemical reaction
the words on a page like fire
from one word to the next
to the conflagration
when I start again or give up trying.

Don’t ruin it my adding more! Like we
need an extra verse. Some annoying lyrics
to parse while we move to the music inside.
________________mmm,mmmm,mmmm,
mmm, don’t add an extra verse.

Well, I said I wouldn’t after the first. Now comes that extra verse.

Words in my head
something rhymes with bed
something to get into
with yours truly its
a chemical romance
you have heard before
but , it’s worth repeating
but, it’s worth repeating
more-more-more.

©2017 Andrew Watkins

Fig Leaf

Hello people
I want this song sung
by me or somebody who can play
a tune or melody.
I want to write a song about love
Always I hear songs about love
Real love seems the simplest to feel wise about
so it is.
I am a fig leaf, international fig leaf
carried by intercontinental Zephyr
to the inside of someone’s pants
Where I get all continental inside
when I hear moans I image
that I am soaring above the Atlantic
or Pacific or the Bering Sea
When I imagine Zephyrs I see Terracotta houses below
When I…
When I feel the melody Its time to start again
When I get that feeling inside
Begin again at the end

©2017 Andrew Watkins