Ivory tinkle
bass string pull
tic, tic, tic of the cymbal
as the brush sweeps the beat
toe-tap hep-cat
blowing sax
blow Bird, blow
woodwind winding out to meet me
reviving me
like a cold water splash to my face
or the clink of ice in my whisky
Wake up, stuffed nose, can’t breathe
can’t see, light switch, where’s the light switch?
Get up, still house, silence, silence
and the clock tick-tocks the night away.
Walk around, bare feet, cold feet
need a glass of water I’m parched.
Wine and bitter mouth, that last digestive
getting festive on a Saturday, as you do.
Sunday’s here and I’m the only one to see it
and when it’s time to get up I’ll go back to bed.
Not much to do but write and read and
Lester Bangs talks to me of Lou Reed
and The Velvet Underground.
Well, at least it’s Sunday Morning.
Sun beating, sun shining
People walking, people watching
Trees growing, green leaves
Groundsmen cutting, green grass
Lake lapping, water’s edge
Water sparkling, countless diamonds
Birds singing, birds flying
Ducks swimming, swans snobbing
Violinists playing, Mozart scales
Me sitting, listening
Not speaking, just thinking
Eating lunch in the park
![20140714_135037[1]](https://christopherfarley.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/20140714_1350371.jpg)
The King was dead
our mothers crying.
I still remember
Elvis dying.
Those punk pounded days
not easily forgotten.
When Sid was Vicious
and Johnny was Rotten.
Marc Bolan, hair curly
The Metal Guru.
A passenger in his Mini
An untimely death too.
American cop series
too many, too much.
The Rockford Files, Kojak
Starsky and Hutch.
BBC’s 1 and 2
And then ITV.
Flag waving patriots, the
Queen’s silver jubilee.
All this I remember
All this and much more.
I was much younger then
when life was no chore.
Christopher Farley – 2012.
My Words, My World 