Wasting Time

“You are wasting your time,” he said.
What would he know?
He knows not my craft and has no interest in it.
I have no intention of explaining. ‘Tis not my place.

What he considers wasting time
Is as valuable as gold to the greedy to me.
Why does he pay any attention to my craft
When he does not want to understand it?

Is it envy? Is it boredom?
Is it displeasure with his own world?
I have no interest in his world
And would certainly not criticise it if I did.

Perhaps it is frustration on his part.
Unfulfilled dreams
Unleashed on those content with their work
And at one with their place.

Queen Of Illusion

Such a perfect
Oh such a little perfect life.
You’ve got you’re big house on the hill.
Always doing something.
Achieving nothing.
You may as well be standing still.

Queen Of Illusion.
Queen of delusion.

The calls at 2am.
About your suicidal friend.
I didn’t mind.
You tried to rescue her.
Now you’re my persecutor.
Do you think I’m blind?

Then again you are never wrong
And always quick to shift the blame.
Trying so hard to look so strong.
If I gave a damn I’d call it a shame.

Queen of Illusion.
Queen of delusion.

You’re just a wanna be.
Who’s never gonna be.
You’re too tied up in yourself.
You say you’re feeling sad
But I don’t feel that bad.
Watching your fiasco from the shelf.

You like to think you’re wild.
But you are like a child.
Way beyond hope.
The rumours that you take.
The friends you say you hate
You threw at me
when I was on the ropes.

Now you can play tit for tat.
I don’t buy into that.
Go ahead and twist the knife.
You can cast a curse.
I’ve had way much worse.
You don’t know my life.

Then again you are never wrong
And always quick to shift the blame.
Trying so hard to look so strong.
If I gave a damn I’d call it a shame.

Queen of illusion.
Queen of delusion.

I’m Money

Tags

Bob Dylan, greed, money

It’s nice to know you.
I’ll give you all you think you need.
I don’t have to show you.
You’ll never see your greed.
Bob Dylan never said
He must have had a bad day
But I rule the world.
I have everything to say.

I turn angels into sinners.
Losers into winners.
Make an expert from a beginner.
Turn a sad face into a grinner.
I rule the world.
I’m money.

I own everyone.
They just don’t show it.
Even when they know it’s done
They still won’t show it.
Behind the mask you see
There lies no soul.
You’re as easy as can be
Because I’m your goal.

I’m the opiate of the crowds.
Systemic.
Making you feel
you should be proud.
Pandemic.
I’ll keep you deluded.
To hurt your friends.
I’ve already concluded
That there is no end.

I won’t wait around for you.
There is nothing you can do
You are never coming through.
You will always have the blues.

I rule the world.
I’m money.

Black Coal

This poem  is dedicated to my late grandfather who worked down a coalmine in Scotland in the days when coal was carted out by pony and cart. It is 100% fact and eventually became a song.

Twelve hours working blacker than black.

Digging black coal lying flat on his back.

The sound of steel and rock and his dust-filled breath.

He know that what he does will bring an early death.

There isn’t any option.no other way.

Providing for his family sees him there each day.

Black coal.

Out of the black come the moving red glows.

Body more ravaged than he wants to know.

The wear and tear in the whites of his eyes

Sting from light of day as he stares at the skies

Didn’t get to spend too much time in the sun.

I think he died when he was sixty one.

Black Coal.

No union man is going to help with his way.

He’s in the bosses pocket. Still the same today.

He walked his dogs and he sang with the birds.

I can still hear his every word.

Sitting by the fire fueled by the black coal.

That took his life but couldn’t take his soul.

Black Coal.