Lonely Longings

Lonely Longings

My lonely heart whispers sweet nothings,

my ears hear nothing but its lonely beats.

The rushing blood longing for the rush of love.

The feeling of warmth that glows from within,

like a shot of brandy to the brain.

My eyes are hazy, its hard to see through the tears,

they distort the world to how it feels.

I'm drowning,

drowning in the feeling of you;

whoever you are.

I know you're out there somewhere,

waiting for me, like I'm waiting for you,

waiting for each of us to join hearts,

and hands.

To expel that loneliness,

to feel each others rush of love,

to feel each others rush of blood,

in each others heartbeat.

To feel the warmth that we both recognise,

and both need.

To feel that shot to the head,

and to the heart;

making us glow from inside out.

I want to see your tears through mine,

as we finally realise –

you are the one.

By J. Barrett

Counting Down The Days

Counting Down The Days

I just want to go home.

I'm hungry,

        empty.

Sick of being melancholy,

        hate not having money

                and I hate not being free.

Why must I stay here,

         unable to do the things I want?

I feel trapped by my generosity.

You owe me,

        yet you're not paying me back.

Let me go, I just want to go.

I want to leave, and honestly,

        never see your face again.

You annoy me, fill me with dread,

        that my life is forever

                going to be surrounded by people,

                        people just like you.

Leeches on my wallet

         and my soul.

You owe me,

         supposedly paying me back.

Yet you still take,

         and I'm left with nothing.

No wonder I feel so empty.

By J. Barrett

Fox

Fox

I.

Grey clouds. Green fields.

Wind swept. Grass hills.

White lamb. Red fox.

Loud bleat. Jaw locks.

Red wool. White teeth.

No more. Heart beat.

Jade grass. Bronze stain.

Gun shot. Run 'way.

Black boots. Brown hooves.

Reins crack. Beast moves.

Amber stock. Silver sight.

Bush shakes. Aim tight.

Black fur. Blue words.

Dog barks. Unhurt.

White paws. Black paws.

Chase on. All fours.

Brown hooves. Black dirt.

Kicks up. Pound earth.

Black dog. Red fox.

Den hole. 'Neath rocks.

Grey stone. Green shrub.

Fox hides. Scared cubs.

Red fox. White man.

Two beasts. Make plans.

Navy sky. Golden moon.

Day's done. Back soon.

White cheese. Brown bread.

Gut full. To bed.

Black hole. Clear cave.

Sly fox. Cubs saved.

Cyan sky. Yellow sun.

Man up. Smile slung.

Brown hooves. Black boots.

Travel on. Same route.

Black hole. Red stick.

Match out. Light wick.

Pink ears. Tan gloves.

Small bang. Loud 'nuff.

Blue hole. Grey smoke.

Dead den. Man hopes.

Black boots. Brown hooves.

Home bound. Work t'do.

Red fox. Green mile.

Cubs safe. Sly smile.

II.

Red fox. Green grass.

Found food. At last.

Slate roof. Black tar.

Explore. New farm.

Beige eggs. White teeth.

Bird coop. Beneath.

Red fur. Brown plume.

Quills fly. 'Round room.

Scarlet splash. Orange eyes.

Bird attack. Dying cries.

Red fur. White paws.

Carcass. 'Tween jaws.

Gold field. Brown gate.

Get out. Make haste.

Green grass. Blue skies.

Wind blows. Clouds high.

White paws. Brown ground.

Trotting. Safe bound.

Red fox. Rouge cubs.

Feasting. In shrubs.

White teeth. Red hen.

Then home. To den.

III.

Ruby fox. Silver fox.

Age comes. Death knocks.

Crimson cub. Copper cub.

Time's come. Grown up.

Black hole. Grey den.

Old fox. Leaves them.

Silver fox. Jade grass.

Lays down. Long last.

Sapphire sky. Bronze eyes.

Stare up. Last sigh.

Brown leaves. White snow.

Time comes. Time goes.

Beige bones. Black dirt.

Returned. To earth.

By J. Barrett

Sparkle

Sparkle

a spark extinguished before its time
obtained from a twinkle; ne'er to shine
glowing with life, preparing the womb
corner of creation; a transient tomb
embers from pulsing, passionate flame
forever now to remain unnamed
never to feel another's warmth
and all along the mother mourns
the tenderness this tinder missed
combustion created when couple kiss
illuminated from lovers' high
starting as a twinkling eye
glowing warmth from deep inside
a secret that they try to hide
that tiny spark alive at first
never 'twill receive its birth
extinguished as one would a flame
but was there really any other way?

By J. Barrett

Inspiration In A Glass

Inspiration In A Glass

I'm sick of thinking,
or trying to at least.
Waiting for inspiration to foam
up like the bubbles from yeast.
But I can always count
on inspiration in a can,
or served cold in a glass
from a bar woman or man.
And though I sit here lonely,
a single drinker amongst the few;
At least the yeast, it brings me peace
allowing my thoughts to come on through.
So while this may not be my best
and it's jerky and haphazardly writ,
I'm sitting here, drinking my beer
and I really don't give a shit!

By J. Barrett

Marriage

By J. Barrett

The Pains of Trains (and other public transport)

The Pains of Trains (and other public transport)

“Please, take the bus,” they all say,
It's the environmentally friendly way.
You'll be overly charged,
And if they can be arsed,
They might turn up at the said time of day.

Or maybe a train is more of your thing,
They're able to fit so many more people in.
Each zone travelled, you pay,
Though they're going that way.
And it's worse if you plan on staying out for drinks.

But, you can always call a cab if you choose.
Though whether they turn up is anyone's clue.
But they rant and they rave,
And it's shoved in our face,
That drink driving is so very bad for you.

So I guess we could all ride our bikes,
But some genius decided that can't be right.
If caught, you'll be charged,
Like you were driving a car,
Planning is now required before your big night.

Or, you could always just do what I do,
The time's come and your night is now through,
Get caught disturbing the peace,
You'll get somewhere to sleep;
And the police cells aren't that bad to wake up to.

By J. Barrett

Ode To Travel

Ode To Travel

I've seen so much about this world that I would never have learnt or known.

I had to find myself. Learn these things personally; and do it on my own.

I came crossing over many oceans and one day I will cross them back again;

But those oceans and this man are forever different, they can never be the same.

I've flown through the softest clouds and walked down the hardest roads,

Battling with baggage, crossed kindred others who helped me share my load.

I've been far too drunk and stoned, and fallen in love with far too many girls.

The young philosophers, whose minds bud with fresh thoughts of our world;

The unheard musicians with their music to my ears, the artists and their art,

All of these people that I've fallen in love with, they'll always be in my heart.

I've learnt a great deal of lessons along all of these ways that I have been,

Not all of them were good lessons and not all of them were even about me.

Some will take advantage of kindness, they'll keep you close and suck you in;

But don't ever judge a person until you truly know what's under their outer skin.

But that's only a small marred part, a tiny grey cloud in the otherwise bright blue sky,

I can't wait until I'm travelling again, my wings spread wide, tense and ready to fly.

It fills me with a deep sadness that this trip will soon be coming to its end,

But the sadness is matched with the happiness of a world full of my new friends.

Relative to everything, I have only been gone for a short amount of my time,

But the wealth I've gained can barely be measured by the memories in my mind.

So I say this to all of my friends that I've made around this world along my way -

Know as well as I do, that we will meet again soon, in this world some day.

By J. Barrett

My Addiction

My Addiction

I'm addicted.

I'll take it as powder - I'll take it as crystal.

I'll take it in bags, big ones or small.

If it's in a bowl, it won't be full

for long. It's mine! I want it all!

Watch it disappear before your eyes.

It fills me with joy to feel it pulverised

beneath the little spoon, becoming atomised.

I've had it raw, crystalline and brown.

Add a little water, watching it drown;

Dissolving it, melting it right down.

Usually, though, I get the white stuff,

Processed, but its powdered up enough.

Measured out on the spoon, rough,

then I'll stick that spoonful in!

Sometimes two, depending

on the day I've had when I get in.

It also comes as a very fine powder too,

But I've found it's not that good to use.

Especially using it for the uses that I do.

I know, deep down, that it's not good for me.

But I can't help it, it's a love that's so sweet,

It's natural too, so just how bad can it be?

And besides, I need to have it in my tea.

I'm talking about sugar! Are you with me?

I'm addicted.

By J. Barrett

The Beauty & The Beast

The Beauty & The Beast

Things'll never change;
They'll always stay the same;
Inside my stupid brain.

You, you're so damn gorgeous,
And it's you I want to know.
But as I walk over to where you're sitting,
My quick mind's gone suddenly slow.

I can't think of anything to say,
My lips can't even form, “Hi.”
Appearing, here, as a gibbering mess.
The result of this, my stupid mind.

You look at me like I am mental;
And you honestly can't be blamed.
The only thing I'm missing is drool,
Then I'd appear totally de-brained.

At last my jaw muscles loosen,
And my tongue, it flaps to life,
And I manage to mumble, “How are you?”
I'm surprised it comes out right.

The look you give is familiar,
I've seen it many times before.
But why? I just can't understand it.
It's not like I just called you a whore.

Nose turns up, eyes look down.
On your brow a frown is creased.
That look you're giving me is burning clear,
You are Beauty and I'm the beast.

Like, how dare I have the courage,
To open my mouth and talk to you.
Do I really come across as that creepy guy?
I see you eyeing that corkscrew.

I only wanted to have a chat,
Maybe over a drink or two.
Learn a bit about your beautiful mind,
And share some of mine with you.

The look you gave and keep on giving,
Is making it all so clear to me.
Guys like me and girls like you,
We will never, ever be.

And so I stand here, awkward,
Watching your face cock to the side.
You open your mouth and densely mumble,
“I don't suppose you know how to sign?”

Now it's my turn to give to you
a look that really must look strange.
But I can definitely assure you,
I'm really not deranged.

At first I was taken by your beauty,
Now amazed at this offering of peace.
The only words I expected to hear, was,
“Piss off or I'll call the police!”

You explain to me with a smile,
That is kind and warms my heart,
Though you've been deaf since you were born,
You just can't read lips in the dark.

You were looking at me strangely,
Not for fear or with disdain.
You were trying to figure out what I had said.
Here's me thinking you were vain.

We continue our conversation,
After we moved to a table with better light.
And we became so absorbed in each other,
Before we knew it we'd talked all night.

And now I know that I sound crazy,

But you said you felt it too.

We'd only known each other this one night,

But it seems I've already fallen for you.

It seems things've changed;

They'll never be the same;

With you inside my brain.

By J. Barrett

A Mothers Day Ditty

A Mothers Day Ditty

Even though it's a Sonday, it's not a day for sons.

And though it's followed by Mumday, today's the day for mums.

So if you're a son on this day, make sure you are a good one,

And tell your mum this Mothers Day, “I'll always love you Mum.”

(And if you are a daughter, you best be saying it too,

And you know you really oughta, tell your mum she means the world to you.)

For Mum.

Doctor's Smith & Jones

Doctor's Smith & Jones

Two close friends, who had been close friends since their school glory days,

Had done everything together and had never really separated ways.

So it was only natural that when one went to medical school, the other did too;

But about what they wanted to study, they both had slightly different views.

Mr Smith trained in psychiatry and Mr Jones decided to study bums;

Mr Jones didn't much like brains, and Mr Smith was just all thumbs.

Mr Jones studied Proctology, Mr Smith studied minds and how they think;

Mr Smith didn't mind delving into minds and Mr Smith didn't mind the stink.

After their time, they became experts, in their area of expertise.

Graduating as Dr Smith of Psychiatry, and Dr Jones, Proctology.

They decided to open a joint practice, because they were the best of friends,

One specialising in peoples backsides, the other on their thinking end.

On the day their practice opened, they revealed the sign on its exterior,

It proudly read, [Dr. Smith & Dr. Jones: Hysterias and Posteriors]

But the townsfolk complained, that just wasn't acceptable in this town.

The Doc's went back to the drawing board to write another one down.

After much deliberation, they revealed their brand new sign,

 [Dr Smith & Dr Jones – Specialists in Minds and Behinds]

This time it was the council. “Unacceptable,” they had huffed.

So they came up with yet another, hoping this time they'd all be chuffed.

Everybody gathered as the new sign was unveiled from beneath a sheet,

But no one was happy with [Dr Smith & Dr Jones: Freaks and Cheeks]

Sick of being so serious, Smith handed Jones an altered Polaroid,

It read, [Dr Smith & Dr Jones: Schizoids and Haemorrhoids]

Then they hired a man renowned around town, highly skilled in phonics.

He came up with, [Dr's Smith & Jones – Catatonics and High Colonics]

But still no one around was happy, they didn't want to see those signs,

And being Dr Smiths speciality, he'd tried to get inside their minds.

At last he came up with something, and he had gotten quite inventive,

[Dr Smith & Dr Jones: Manic Depressives and Anal Retentives]

But that wasn't right either, and the townsfolk still complained,

So Dr Jones tried changing tact and took things the other way.

And the good Doc stood there smiling at the sign upon the pole,

It simply read, [Dr Smith & Dr Jones: Lost Souls and Butt Holes]

But it was fairly obvious, that the people didn't like this choice,

And they were very vocal as their vexation was being voiced.

This had all been going on far too long and it was coming up to June.

They tried, just simply, [Dr's Smith & Jones – Loons and Moons]

But at this the council threatened, the practice's doors would soon be shut.

Panicking the Doctors tried, [Dr Smith & Dr Jones – Nuts and Butts]

But of course, this also wasn't satisfactory, in their little town,

As with all the others, the offending sign came down.

Not ones to give up easily, but having exhausted both their lists,

They could only try, [Dr's Smith & Jones: Analysis and Anal Cysts]

But even though it was presented well, and written all nice and neat,

It was probably their worst, causing old ladies to faint dead in the street.

That sign was very quickly removed, as they knew that it probably should;

And the two Docs were glum faced, thinking their practice would shut for good.

They both tried not to think about the possibility of each going their separate ways,

Instead, they locked themselves inside, and brainstormed for several days.

Finally, the very last idea they could forge, they tried, expecting it to be rebuffed:

[Dr. Smith & Dr. Jones - Specialising in Odds and Ends], which everybody loved!

So if you come across a town, where the folk walk funny with their heads held proud and high,

You'll know that they are well at both ends; and because of Doctor's Smith & Jones, is why.

By J. Barrett

I See You

I See You

I see you standing there so lonely.

Thinking you can't do a thing, to change your surroundings;

To change where you want to be.

I see you, you're a hopeless case.

Overweight with straggly hair; with that blemish, right there,

That's standing out on your weird face.

I see you being stupid and dumb.

Not smart enough to get, that thing that was said,

As the others all laughed as one.

I see you a waste of space.

Not good at anything you do. Really, what good are you?

All you can make is mistakes.

I see you angry with your best.

At those faults and the flaws, those failures; they're all yours.

You wish you were like the rest.

I see you shy with no confidence.

Beneath your false façade, chastising yourself too hard,

At every turn, at every incidence.

I see you.

Now see me.

See me, standing before you, so free. This body, it is pure perfection.

These are personal marks just for me, they're not flaws or imperfections.

It's not over weight, but filled up with hugs. And love for the self, and for others.

It's not all about one's self, this one love; it's also for the sisters and brothers.

See me, bathed in this beautiful glow, the head is held high and proud,

Proud of the things it can do and it knows. The inner beauty, it screams out loud.

Individuality, it shines forth, and positivity runs fast, along the rays.

None of this is easy, of course. It won't happen in a matter of days.

See me, it's not all about the self. Do things for others, and it won't have an -ish.

You will stop sinking into yourself. No one is perfect, but we all accomplish.

Have goals that aren't un-achievable, you just need them to be realistic,

Be believable and conceivable; the end results are just symbolisitic.

See me, making my share of mistakes, but I'm proud of myself that I do.

I'm not perfect. The first step, just take it, that's the hardest thing you can do.

I see you looking at me, just see, please; and cease all your deadly attacks.

You see me, as I see you, a beauty, staring in the mirror, and me staring right back.

By J. Barrett

Abbra Cadaver

Abbra Cadaver

Abbra Cadaver was a zombie, but he just wasn't very mean.

While the other zombies were eating brains,

Abbra was eating his greens.

Abbra's most treasured food, the thing that he loved the most.

Was easily uncovered in bins and things,

Rotten fruit on mouldy toast.

While the other zombies feasted, on bruised flesh with terrible sounds.

The only bruised flesh that Abbra ate,

Was an old banana that he'd found.

If he ever saw a zombie, eating the chest of some hearty bloke.

He go and he'd find a heart of his own,

One that belonged to an artichoke.

Abbra had tried converting, his carnivorous zombie friends.

He told them, “Start with a Margherita Pizza.”

He found them with Marg, eating her pieces and ends.

But Abbra kept on trying, not one to give up so easily,

He asked them, “Try some celery or lettuce?”

And gulped when they yelled, “Let us eat Sarah Lee!”

So Abbra tried a new tact, and gave them each a tomato to chew.

But they threw them over their shoulders.

And went hunting for their own Tom or two.

Everything he tried, was getting more and more frustrating.

Boysenberry's made them think of boys.

And it was men with mango's and mandarine's.

Don't ever mention apples, it's a good way to get Abbra pithed.

The zombies told him they'd tried Adams throat.

And we'll never really know what happened to Granny Smith.

And that poor old gay New Zealander, he got eaten dressed in his birthday suit.

And all that Abbra had said to them,

Was, “Try yourselves a Kiwi Fruit.”

Abbra tried one last time, thinking nothing could go wrong with this plan.

He offered them up a Papaya, 

Instead they ate up Mamma; after they ate her man.

Abbra is just different, and he is all alone in this world.

While he is eating his vege's,

His friends are eating boys and girls.

But Abbra keeps on smiling, he knows good things are coming his way.

And he'll be dumpster diving,

Every garbage collection day.

By J. Barrett

The Sketcher

The Sketcher

In a hut not made for living, He sat with his paper and pen.

He'd walked so many miles that day, Across the green of grass and glen.

Across many meadows and marshes, 'Cross bridges both natural and made.

He'd been up hills and down again, Finally making his way to this glade.

And as the robust shadows of ragged rocks, Around him grew and stretched.

He strained his ageing eyes to see, What exactly had been sketched.

The scratched lines upon the paper, Seemed alive in the fading light.

And all around, the beasts fell quiet, Settling down for the oncoming night.

The man was glad for his warm cloak, Which he tugged around him tight.

He dared not light a fire, For fear of pushing away the night.

He knew it was far too early, And fairly fed himself some food.

Restfully waiting for the witching hour, And the scene he hoped to view.

He sat and he watched and he waited, Patient as a man who expects to see.

Exactly what it was he was hoping, Would appear from betwixt the trees.

It was becoming close to midnight, A half eaten moon hung high in the sky.

And a silence descended upon him, The wicked witching hour had arrived.

In the darkness by which he was surrounded, A soft light seemed to suddenly shine.

And as it got ever so closer, He thought 'twas a trick of his mind.

For the clearing that he had been watching, Wasn't as empty as it had been all night.

Before him stood a slabbed table of stone, Etched with symbols that blushed in the light.

And figures appeared, stood around it, And more and more of them came.

Suddenly, and without any warning, Around it five fires burst into flame.

The spectres were becoming more steadfast, As the flames flickered higher and high.

But the man who was sat there spectating, Had turned, himself, a shade of white.

He watched these flickering visions, Dance in front of his terrified eyes.

And without breaking his gaze, he reached for his pen, And drew in trembling lines.

He drew as they cleansed the alter, By making it erupt up in flames.

He also drew when the flare had died, And as each of them called out a name.

“I am Hazel; I am Ruth; I am Blaylock; We are Truth!

I am Harrod; I am McPhee; I am Pressop; We call to Thee!

I am Bessie; I am Drew; I am Goodall; We call on You!”

Around was much commotion, As their cries drifted into the night.

It seemed like every beast out there, Screamed in response to their cries.

The pen hardly touched the paper, Yet left its mark with every stroke.

But with what happened next he stopped drawing, and huddled down into his cloak.

Another figure appeared in the clearing, And she was being flanked by two more.

Her whole body seemed to be shimmering, In the glimmering white dress that she wore.

The two led her up to the alter, Down upon which she rested her head.

And as the others danced around her, A solitary one stood still and said,

“We of the night we summon you

Make yourself known to us now

We offer this virgin upon you

Make yourself known to us now

All of the things we have shown you

Make yourself known to us now

We of the night, we must own you

Make yourself known to us now!”

As the others continued their dancing, The solitary one's robed arm was raised.

From the sleeve, a dagger gripped tight, With the moonlight glinting off of the blade.

A cacophony of sounds, many unhuman, Filled the forest and filled up his head.

He knew that the knife would take the girls life, Unsure what would happen at her death.

He watched in abject terror, As the blade began its descent.

“Oh Great One,” the lone one was shouting, “upon you virgins blood be besprent!”

The blade came down and entered, The Virgin's creamy, supple skin.

And red roses of blood began blooming, More came, the deeper it went in.

With hardly a sound of her suffering, The girl looked him right in the eye.

And she mouthed the words “I love you.” Then upon the alter she died.

The visions before him vanished, He was left all alone in the woods.

His body a lone solitary figure, Covered with a cloak and a hood.

The man's breath had been taken, By the scene that had just been seen.

And he didn't ever draw another, His body wasn't found for four weeks.

By J. Barrett

Hungover With Life

Hungover With Life

I see people with money, spending it, wasting it on wants.

Where's mine? I spent it, wasted it,

On nothing and no one.

I see people, they're happy, they're content.

Where's mine? Is it used up? Will I ever be happy again?

I see people, they're living, they're alive.

Where's mine? What happened to the soul of my life?

I look in the mirror and all I see, 

Is despair. Failure. 

A menace to myself.

I look into my eyes, my watery eyes.

The sadness.

The loneliness.

The uselessness.

I want to cuddle myself.

I want warmth to cascade upon me, 

to wash away the coldness, 

of my unhappiness.

I want to sit and let it drown me in its glory,

Let it run through my hair,

Slick down my body,

Warming me from the outside in.

And I know I can do it.

I've done it before.

But I need to first realise, 

Lots of things.

Who I am.

And who I'm going to be.

What I am.

And what I mean to me.

Where I am.

And where I want to be.

Why I am.

And why I'm angry at me.

How I can,

How I can be the me,

I want to be.

Need to be.

To be

Happy

.

By J. Barrett

The Art Of Science

The Art Of Science

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

But my face is a thing of beauty.

I want that part left to the world of Art,

For the whole world to see.

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

But my tongue stays 'tween my teeth.

Please, don't you balk, I used to use it to talk,

It vocalised what I would mean.

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

Except for the eyes, you see,

Even if they are dull, they stay in my skull,

Who knows what they might see.

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

Except the ears that frame my face.

Even if it looks wrong, it's where they belong,

It'd be weird without them in place.

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

But don't you dare touch my brain,

That glob of grey-white, was ever so bright, 

(and maybe just a little insane.)

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

Take it all, from the neck down.

Leave me my head, even though I am dead,

It's the bit of me I am most proud.

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

Actually, yes, I kind of do.

Because I loved with my heart; 

Experienced the joy of a fart.

I listened to my gut feelings. 

From my head to my heels and,

This skin that I'm in, 

(Though it's wrinkly and thin)

It carried these bones, 

And it did it alone,

The same as yours does for you.

I don't mind leaving my body to Science,

As long as they keep it for show.

But if they cut and they waste, and they throw bits away,

Then I think I'll just leave them my clothes.

By J. Barrett

The U.S of A (The Unsung Satire of America)

The U.S of A (The Unsung Satire of America)

As I was travelling by car, alone, across the wide old U.S of A,

I came across a little red-neck town, somewhere along the way.

The sign at the store said Deliverance, in a big and messy type,

Or maybe it said Deliveries; it was in dire need of a wipe.

This little town, in the middle of nowhere, postcode: U.S.A,

Was having a Miss America Pageant, the whole town was there that day.

But they did things differently here, way off the beaten track,

The losers of each round, they were each taken out the back.

Where they were swiftly slaughtered and cooked up into a sauce,

By a guy wearing a face mask; made of other peoples faces, of course.

Then he'd put the meat inside some pastry, filled with vegetables;

Not the drooling kind! (They would if the wheelchair was edible.)

Anyway, I'm sitting there watching this awful, red-neck show of freaks,

When the only other person watching, slowly turns; his chair, it squeaks,

And when he has finally turned around and we are face to face...

Well, blow me down! If it wasn't, the one and only, Chevy Chase!

Mr Chase started telling me, all about the moonshine he'd been brewing,

And that's what we were talking about, when that torrential storm, it blew in.

Chevy told me that he'd left his jeans hanging out on the washing line to dry,

He was staying across town, with the Goodall's, and was I sober enough to drive?

They were his lucky jeans and he needed them, for a crucial meeting,

He was much too drunk to drive, so I took him, my reason fleeting.

So it was bye bye Miss America pie,

I drove Chevy to his Levi's,

But his Levi's were dry.

And the Goodall boys were drinking whiskey and 'shine,

Singing, "This'll be the day that you die."

I booted Chevy from the car and got the hell out of there,

And I was on a dark desert highway the cool wind in my hair.

(Chevy had opened the sunroof after I'd repeatedly told him not to,

And now I couldn't get it closed, the mechanism was shot-through.)

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light,

Welcome to the Hotel California, read the big sign.

I was nowhere near Cali, but “Hotel Deliverance” wouldn't get customers back.

The manager, who called himself Captain, gave me a room, and it was good to relax.

I went downstairs for dinner, they were serving roast pig straight off the spit,

I was there alone and being a pig who enjoys his pork, I ate near most of it.

I called up the Captain, "Please bring me my wine."

He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969."

I spat out my food in disgust, making a huge mess all over the floor,

And told him, a little insultingly, I no longer wished to stay there any more!

But my brand new Vega blonde shoes were quite nicely hued, 

And I didn't want to get them covered in my regurgitated food.

So I made him put some newspaper down, so I could walk on by,

But I didn't say any of this, I told him in song. Yeah, I'm that guy.

“Start spreadin' the news, I'm leavin' today,

I don't want a part of this, 

You dork, you dork.

These Vega blonde shoes, are longing to stray,

Right through the very heart of this,

Chewed pork, chewed pork.”

I was back on the road, it was a country road, and I prayed it was taking me home.

I was travelling the roads untravelled and I was sick of travelling alone.

But those country roads, they can test the best and they'll put the crazy in ya,

And before I knew where I was, I had driven myself deep into West Virginia.

Country roads, take me home. Don't take me into the middle Charles Town.

But, I made the best of the situation, and grabbed a seat in a Gentlemen's Lounge.

The girls were cold and the beer was warm; but it was somewhere I could rest.

In West Virginia with a mountain Momma (the mountains were her breasts),

That American woman, she took me home with her, she seemed to me, all right,

That mountain Momma, definitely got herself a mountin' from me that night!

The next morning I awoke with the suns rays burning vapours from my head,

And I wished that I hadn't drunk so much; or that at least, I'd woken up dead.

That woman – if she was a package, I'd've stamped her “Return To Sender”,

She was larger, more hairy, uglier and definitely stinkier than I remembered.

But no matter the evasions that I took, as I searched for my other shoe,

She kept on coming at me, all the time calling me her Honey-boo-boo.

American woman, get away from me,

American woman, Momma let me be.

How do I unlock this damn front door, 

I don't want to see your shadow no more.

Now woman, get away, 

American woman, listen what I say!

But she just wouldn't listen, not giving up, relentlessly on she came,

And as she was waddling toward me, she was calling me that awful name.

I had no choice for it, she was a few loaves short in her basket of bread,

To get my point across to her, I repeated everything that I said.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

I'm gonna leave you woman.

Bye bye, bye bye,

Bye bye, bye bye!

I got outside and into my car as quickly as I possibly could,

And laying down rubber, I made those horses jump under the hood.

I left the state of West Virginia without even a backward glance.

Up the road, a man was hitching, and I thought I'd take the chance.

He didn't seem to be much of a talker, sitting there next to me,

So I told him all about what had happened the night previously.

Oh brother, tell your children, 

Not to do what I have done,

Spend a night in sin and lechery, 

With the queen of the raisin buns.

Now the only thing this rambler needs, 

Was his suitcase in my trunk.

That was the only time I was satisfied, 

That this kid wasn't some punk.

He must've got sick of me banging on, 

Said it was his turn to explain.

“I'm goin' back to New Orleans, 

To find my father and his name.

My mother, she liked sailors, 

Don't know the origin of my genes.

My father, he's a gambling man, 

He buggered off to New Orleans.

He's living somewhere in New Orleans, 

Probably raising many a son.

I heard he sired many a poor boy, 

And I thank God I probably ain't one.

Well, he is the louse of New Orleans, 

And I'm the self-raising son.

But it's not just my father I quest; 

I am also a man on the run.”

I let his words bounce around in my head, not sure what I'd just heard,

It sounded like he'd said he was a man on the run, but that was just absurd.

Stupidly I turned my head to him, as we drove on down the dark highway,

And I asked him to explain it to me, just what he had meant to say.

My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whiter than a sheet,

As his temperament changed just slightly, and his voice increased in beat.

“Mama, made me kill a man,

Put a gun against his head,

I pulled the trigger and now he's dead.

Mama, my life has been undone,

And now I've gone and thrown it all away.

Mamaaaaa; Ooooooh!”

At this he started to cry,

And then my car started filling up with sorrow.

I tried to carry on, carry on, 

As if none of it really mattered.

But it was too late; the time had come,

It still sends shivers down my spine,

That boy's wailing in my mind.

Goodbye, you freak, you've got to go,

Gotta leave you far behind, to face the truth.

“Mamaaaaa; Ooooooh!” (I still hear it when the wind blows)

I didn't want to die,

I'll never pick up another hitcher, no, not at all.

I left him far behind me, just a little silhouette of a man.

And I decided then, like Scaramouche, I would renew my plan.

I'd come so very far by car and the long and winding road,

And it had always been my master plan, but now I surely know.

With everything that was going on and all that had happened to me,

There was only one perfect solution, as far as I could see.

It was only a short distance to where I had to go,

And I drove there, extra carefully, but not so I was slow.

I parked the car and smiled cheerfully, as I walked inside,

I went and booked my tickets, from now on I was going to fly.

I'm relieved I can fly.

I'm relieved I'll be in the sky.

No more driving every night and day,

Sold my wheels, now fly away.

I believe I'll see more.

I see me running into freaks no more.

I'm relieved I can fly.

I'm relieved I can fly.

I'm relieved I can fly.

By J. Barrett

With thanks, songs borrowed from D.McLean, D.Henley, F.Sinatra, J.Denver, L.Kravitz, E.Burdon, F.Mercury & R.Kelly

A Monster In The Night

A Monster In The Night

Thomas opened his eyes with a start, something had woken him up.

He first looked at his closet door, but it was how he'd left it, shut up.

He gingerly reached down and felt around, searching for his trusty flashlight,

And he shone it's yellow beam around his room, using it to slice up the night.

He lit up every nook and cranny, he even checked under his bed,

Nothing was lurking anywhere, not in any shadows or where his clothes were spread.

So Tommy turned the light back out, and tried to think about counting sheep,

But then he heard it, the noise that had first woken him up from his sleep.

Thomas' heart did quite the jump when he glanced over at the closed window,

He wanted to scream for his parents help, but his voice got trapped in his throat.

All he could do was stare at the face that peered at him through the glass,

The thing had teeth as big as knives, and they looked as equally as sharp.

It's eyes glinted in the moonlight, and they were tinted gold with a touch of flickering red,

And the hair that blew about in the wind was a silvery-white and barely attached to its head.

Thomas could see the thing staring, into his room, deep into his eyes it seemed,

And he lay there, barely breathing, wishing that he would wake from this terrible dream.

Suddenly the monster disappeared, it was like he'd never even been about,

And Tommy, who'd suddenly got braver, walked to the window, to where he could look out.

He peered out into the darkness, as the moon slipped itself behind some cloud,

And as Tommy could see nothing out there, and he started to turn back around.

That's when he felt it breathing, the tepid breath blowing the hairs on the back of his head.

He knew the monster was behind him, and his life was going to end like this, dead. 

He could see his reflection in the dark glass, but there was nothing else standing there too,

So Tommy very slowly turned around, and screamed when the monster said, “Boo!”

His parents came rushing in to him, but when they got there he was alone,

They put him to bed, told him it was all in his head and went back to watching their shows.

Thomas lay beneath piled blankets, that were now his fortress to what was beyond,

And he listened, and listened, for the breathing, of the monster he knew hadn't gone.

Thomas lay there so still and quiet, for longer than he had ever lain before,

But the only thing that he could hear was his own breathing, coming shallow and coarse.

He pulled down the covers and from their protection peeked out, just a little bit,

And the only thing that was living in his room, was him, and that was it.

He tried to laugh and tell himself that he had just made the monster all up,

But deep inside he knew the truth, that monster wanted to eat him up.

A sound! A tapping at the window. He really didn't want to look, but did anyway.

And he saw something move outside, not anything really, but a shadow and shape.

But that was enough for Tommy, he was back under his covers cowering with fear.

Ashamed at being so scared, with a shaking hand, he angrily brushed away tears.

He lay there shuddering with quiet sobs, wanting to call out to his Mummy and Dad,

But he knew that they would scold him, say they were disappointed and maybe, even, be mad.

Thomas heard something slowly moving, creeping across the carpet of his room,

And he started quietly praying to God that he wasn't going to meet his doom.

The covers were ripped off him, leaving him huddled, gripping his torch on his bed,

And before him stood the big scary monster, it's big mouth almost splitting it's head.

“Boo!” it said again in a voice deep and booming, but this time it didn't seem so bad,

Thomas could see that this monster wasn't that scary, and up close he didn't look that mad.

His teeth were big and shiny, but kind of goofy, they weren't sharpened like blades.

His eyes weren't full of fire, they were more like a puppies, and he looked a little afraid.

The wispy grey hair sat sparse, upon the creatures oversized skull in a sprawl,

And though he was big, he hunched himself over to make himself appear small.

“Boo,” it said again, and then again, “boo.” And Tommy cocked his head.

The creature showed his hand, looked Tommy in the eye, “Boo boo,” it sadly said.

The light from Tommy's flashlight, illuminated the creatures held out paw,

And there was a splinter of extraordinary size, embedded below it's claw.

Thomas had had his fair share of splinters, and he'd watched his Mummy get them out,

And after telling the monster to “Stay there,” he went and got what was needed now.

He came back moments later with a needle and a box with matches in,

And, telling the creature to sit on his bed, he lit one and heated the pin.

He gingerly took the monsters paw in hand, it felt furry beneath his soft skin,

And he carefully used the needle, to dig where the splinter was stuck in.

He heard the monster suck in its breath, and for a moment he dreaded the worst,

But the creature didn't harm him, or say anything other than “Ouch, that hurts!”

Shortly the splinter of wood was removed, and the monster flexed his hand,

He placed a claw on Tommy's head and softly it told him, “Thanks.”

Then it held out it's hand, hairy palm up, offering it to the boy,

And when Tommy put his hand in his and the creature grinned with joy.

All of a sudden, Tommy's room had gone and the two of them were up in the sky,

Over the rooftops around Tommy's town the two of them, they did fly.

Then over vast oceans, flowing rivers and hills topped off with snow,

The two of them flew over countries about which Tommy didn't know.

The two of them flew, hand in hairy hand, until they came to the top of a mountain,

There they landed and the beast picked Tommy up and sat him on it's shoulders then.

They walked a short distance through the deep snow until they came across a cave.

Inside a fire was burning, and some food cooked slowly on a spit above the flame.

The beast put Thomas down upon its bed and swung a pot of water over the fire.

It ate some meat, offering some to the boy, but Tommy wasn't hungry, just tired.

Then he filled two cups with steaming water and added some leaves Tommy had never seen,

And the two of them sat, staring at the flickering flames and sipping on the sweet tasting tea.

Suddenly the beast got up and disappeared down into the dark depths of the cave,

He was gone so long, Tommy got scared, he was far from home and really not that brave.

Just as he could feel his eyes prickling with tears that threatened to break free and deploy,

The monster came shambling back into the light and sat back down next to the boy.

It's hairy hand was tight around something, but Tommy couldn't see what was clasped,

The beast put it's hand in Tommy's and released what it held tight in its grasp.

Thomas looked down at the weighty little rock that he now held in his hands,

And he couldn't believe what he was holding, it held his gaze, completely entranced.

It was a nugget of the purest gold with fabulous jewels studded all through,

And the light of the fire flickered through the reds, the greens and the blues.

It cast a dancing array of colourful figures upon the rocky walls of the cave,

The two sat in wonder, watching the amazing show of  lights, unable to look away.

The colourful figures danced with each other, moving and merging in spectral light.

Tommy watched until he slowly drifted off to sleep, it was after all, very late at night.

Thomas opened his eyes with a start, the sun had woken him up.

He looked around for the cave, but he was in his room, in bed, all tucked up.

He looked for the monster and the mountains, but they were nowhere to be found,

All he saw was his room and it's walls, and his cloths still strewn on the ground.

Tommy was upset he had dreamt it, and none of it had happened after all,

He hadn't helped the monster and they hadn't flown above a world so small.

He hadn't seen lakes and rivers nor the forests full of trees from up high,

He hadn't seen the cities and valleys nor deserts and seas below whizzing by.

He hadn't sat in the monsters cave, with the warm smoky air surrounding his head.

They hadn't drunk tea that was sweet and hot. And he hadn't sat on the monsters bed.

He hadn't been handed the most precious of rocks, and watched completely amazed,

As the lights from the sparkling jewels had made figures that had danced all over the cave.

It was a glum and sad little Thomas, who slowly got himself ready and dressed.

He kept thinking to himself if it had all been a dream, then it surely was his best.

But he just couldn't help wishing, that it had all been as real as it had seemed,

He'd helped a monster, who wasn't a monster at all, and none of it had been dreamed.

And as he tied up a shoelace, he felt familiar tears spring in his eyes,

It had felt so real, that stupid dream. Why were dreams nothing but lies?

Thomas angrily grabbed at his other sneaker, but the thing just wouldn't move,

It took him two hands to pull it toward him, there was something heavy in the shoe.

Thomas couldn't believe what he was seeing, he rubbed his eyes just to make sure,

Sitting in his shoe was the rock filled with the jewels and made of gold so pure.

It took Tommy two hands to heft it's weight and pull the nugget from his shoe,

And there beneath it sat a small scrawled note that simply had written the words, “Thank you.”

By J. Barrett

Rich Man Poor Man

Rich Man Poor Man

Once I was a rich man,
And I had everything,
And everything I had had its place.
Now I am a poor man,
And I own not a thing,
Except the smile that I wear upon my face.

When I was a rich man,
The thing I cared about,
Was how I could make more of that dough.
Now I am a poor man,
It makes me want to shout,
To the people out there who just do not know.

When I was a rich man,
I had so many friends ,
We could've overwhelmed the Taliban.
Now I am a poor man,
The true ones in the end,
I can count all of them just on one hand.

When I was a rich man,
I had money I could burn,
I could have anything I ever wanted for.
Now I am a poor man,
The lesson I have learned ,
Who is the rich and who really is the poor.

When I was a rich man,
I had everything to give,
But I kept everything all to myself.
Now I am a poor man,
And I'm struggling to live,
But never have I had so much wealth.

Look at all the rich men,
But they aren't rich at all,
They just can't see for the dollar signs in their eyes.
I am just a poor man,
I'm mistaken for a fool,
The personification of all that they despise.

When I see a rich man,
I want to scream at him,
“Leave the rats and come and join the human race.
For I am just a poor man,
And I own not a thing,
Except the smile that I wear upon my face.”

By J. Barrett

Guardian

Guardian

When the wind blows, rattling windows,

And the lightning, lights the sky.

I will hold you, I'll console you,

I will dry those, crying eyes.

If you blunder, at crashing thunder,

You can count on, me being there.

And if it rains hard, against the pane glass,

I'll be with you, need not be scared.

If you're fearful, please don't be tearful,

Just remember, we are not apart.

I will never, be gone forever,

I'm always with you, in your heart.

By J. Barrett

At Peace With This Piece

At Peace With This Piece

It was a good morning for mourning,

Riding through the maze of maize.

Doomed forever sore when I saw her spirit soar,

I'd been spending my days in a daze.

But today the dew was due, the mist not missed,

And the cows graze beneath a sky of whites and greys.

I wondered whether the weather blew the blue away,

And whirled it around the world.

Over the hill was just more of the moor,

So on I rode down the road, to where they sow,

rows and rows of that special rose.

Their scent sent shivers that mined my mind.

But now what do I hear here?

What have I seen in this scene?

They're there with their tools of trade,

Making flour from that flower,

The special roses spayed by spade.

By J. Barrett