Cliched Love Song (Without Melody)

I only cared when you were gone.
But you were right,
And I was wrong.
And love takes me in.
And if I never find you now,
You will always be here somehow.
When you love a certain girl
Your world's a whirl.
You're all I have
Now you're out dancing
And I'm all for romancing.

Bring me a grand piano,
Stretching out to somewhere I can't see.
And let me place my feet on a high wire.
And watch my fingers kiss the keys, singing:

"I only cared when you were gone.
But you were right,
And I was wrong.
And love takes me in
And takes me in,
And leaves me out again."

Even Spam (A Lament)

Even spam would make Graham Pronk grateful,
Or at least, less hateful.
Even spam would bring him round
And bring his zero comments down.
So, come on - send him your subscriptions,
And make them good.
He wants ads for Viagra
He wants the wood.
Bring your lottery notifications,
He'll see it as a celebration.
Send your spambots, leave them here,
He won't delete them, let's be clear.
And send him tips on making money
He'll probably even find them funny,
Leave him links to timeshare flats
Built in the middle of Iraq.
Send your clutter to the mailbox,
Graham Pronk will be your robot.
You can even send a virus,
It's not like Graham's going to fire us.
He doesn't need the recognition,
He just craves spammish inquisition.
Graham doesn't have a filter,
That would knock him from his kilter.
He just files works from man to man,
Even spam.

The Tumbleweed Memories Hall of Shame Entry Number 5

No, not the Moon, although I do take issue with anything that spreads lies about it being made of green cheese. This dull picture represents the former co-founder of this blog, a certain Daniel Stairmaster.

You may think that casting the legend that is DS into the pit with William Shatner is a tad unfair, but I don't give two spits in a coconut what you think. This overrated man/object/creation/ felt the need to tell the world what was on his mind, and whilst none of you had the nerve to mention it at the time I will take the burden of Sayer of the truth. NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU THINK YOU MINCING INTERNET COLD SORE!

Whilst the Spiral (or Zpiral as he likes to call himself these days) has been happy to let the memories of this petty little man fade into the recycle bin, I have had enough.

A day doesn't go past without Spambots flooding my email folder with demands for a proper tribute to Stairmaster well, okay here it is, my tribute to Daniel Stairmaster king of the Hall of Shame and eternal underachiever

DANIEL STAIRMASTER IS A HALFWIT

B-Aside

Bemoaning ageing
Employment flagellation
Weekend forgiveness
Vacation fulfillment
Silent suicide
Violent paradise
Consumer fantasy
Farewell reality
Next generation
Refuse collection
Smile at attention
Futile tension
Biblical prophecy
Secular mockery
Tabloid headline
The glory of failing
The limelight of staring
Gossip in corners
Forget what we're meaning
Obliterate all learning
Education minus wisdom
Dedication plus crucifixion
Die for None
Live for One
Corporate kamikaze as the Crow flies and the almighty coin weeps for none in it's castle in our eye.
I am the very model of an apathetic man, carved in store by czars with at seven month payment plan

Picnic of the Living Dead

From my darkest hour I retrieve golden images of a smile letting me down.
I recall seconds recoiling from your upturned frown.
I meditate on minutes spent living on borrowed lives.
The sun rises with the predictability of a flock of angry Starlings.
My day of reckoning, I feel the mourning of your touch.
The afternoon, so sweet, so perverse, all meadows and butterflies, screams and fruit tart.
An evening when the shadows plummeted quietly and gently like a broken stream.
On this dark delicate stage I recall hands held, entwined bodies, severed limbs, sticky moist blood between kisses.
And now when the Ferryman asks for payment, to navigate the Styx still I refuse.
To admit that I killed you with the love that you misused.

Punch In Your Face

I don't want to interfere
With your life or pry
Sometimes I want to cry
But here's a step up -
I no longer desire suicide.
I don't want to stop
You putting your high heels on
And stamping on me
Like I stamp on everything.
I wouldn't stop you stamping
on anything.
I'm just a man
with a need to shut down.
And you're prosaic
Maybe you need a punch in your face.

Interloper

You're my interloper
You have my password
So press the keys.
You're my interloper
You are my virus
I sail on seas.
I sail on.

minortomajoranddead

sometimes i play piano,
to virtuoso in my memories.
but whats the use in flashbacks
if flashbacks have fled?

Still, My Fingers Run Across The Keys
Minor To Major And Dead.

last time i played piano,
to virtuoso, in my memories
said, what's the the use of flashbacks
if flashbacks have fled?

Still, My Fingers Crawl Across The Keys
Minor To Major And Dead.

Regret

I went to see her
when she said she needed me.
I said I didn't do
the things she said
when she was pleading me.

And yet I lied,
And then she left.

Now I regret her,
like I regret me.

Underfoot

Soon, I'll tread on this carpet,
Walk to the door,
Slot in this key,
And pull the door back.
I'll step over the ridge,
Onto the balcony.

Then, I'll feel familiar creaks,
underfoot.
Take a draw from the air
And pull back my memories.
I'll step on the ridge,
And replay fantasy.

Soon, I'll step off this carpet,
Walk to the door,
Slot in the key
And say goodbye, forever.
Then step on a ridge
And move to my future.

Nasty Drumsticks

One.
Two.
One, two, three, four.

This is a song,
That we need a count-in on.

And above was a verse
That would end up worse
If a count-in hadn't come.

Now, here comes a song
That the count-in comes from:

One - the drummer busts his sticks,
Two - he's lost his dreamer kicks.
Three - he's called in drumstick favours
Four - with only drumstick haters.

Dorothy Slate

Life's only grey when you're Dorothy Slate.
Or so the kids say kicking pebbles
As they push past her door.

You never come out when the moon says it's late
Or you don't when you're Dorothy Slate.
And her mice riot on the floor.

Rum-pum-pumming to tunes in the dark,
Dorothy Slate blends orange with blue,
In a house she calls her world.

Plagiarisnt

Phone me, I dare you.
Risk hearing how much I reject you.

Valentine's day Lament

There has, since time immemorial been something bothering me.
About the twenty four hours we call Valentine's Day.
It's not the anguish of loneliness nor the emptiness of my heart.
It's how much money we all waste on cards.
Flowers and chocolates, commercial emotion.
Fake hope, limited love, pointless adoration.
So don't expect some stuffed alligator painted in red
I'd rather pluck out my kidneys and bleed until I'm dead.

Goodbye (The Good Kind)

Gored flesh dances around the edge of the bonfire, the memories tattooed into the meat fading into the sky with the withering smoke forever forgotten by the part of the whole.
Bone charred with red hot ember, the once great structure of man torn apart by the unforgiving hands of flame dragging form and matter deeper into the bowels of the pyre.
Eyeballs sizzle and squirt, the window to the soul closed for eternity with curtains of ever changing conflagration, creating from man a new configuration.
And as I spy you, your being corrupted by the flicker of destruction, I sense a spark of jealously, a feeling of warmth, what a wonderful way to go. Brushed away like embers on a hearth.

Gap In the Road

Cursed for a moment i never lived
I live in the shadow of a man I never played.
A stage was set, a curtain was raised
But the fear of the spotlight shone down and the encore never came
An understudy rose like a colossal redwood from the wings
Towering over the wasted pulp of this pitiful shrub.
Life needs light yet I played in the dark.
But a time must come, a moment you must mark.
For like the most vicious inferno.
All I need is a spark.

Untitled Angel

Took a train
To the border
And a line
To the gate.
I couldn't deny
The dawn
When the
Birds flew.
Then the men
Drew their guns
And smoked
Out my fate.
And I danced
With angels,
Took a train
to the border
And a line
To the yonder,
And let
myself in.
And her
Ghost
Oh, her
Ghost,
Her ghost,
Her ghost,
Gave me wings.

Now It Doesn't Matter

You came to me, when I was wrong,
You told me that we all must
find a way to carry on.
You told me I was wise,
And now it doesn't matter.

You came to me, when I was sad,
You told me that to be perceptive -
It doesn't hurt to be reflective.
And I said you were wise.
But now it doesn't matter.

Wild Worry Wandering

I'm the wild worry wandering,
Tugging at the happiness
That your cornfields waved away
With yellows and greens.
I'm the breeze winding slowly
Through the windmills' sails
That the wind blew away
In the reds of the oranges.
I'm a vagabond travelling,
Hanging onto the memories
That your river washed away
In your blues, unravelling.