Category: Uncategorized
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grrrrr…
grrrr…. the hole punchers chatter and dilute the truth and dribble it into glasses of alcohol free absinth while the Grand Master Klingon beseeches sad Hercules to give him one more chance, “Give me – please” he sobs and H. turns the other cheek, ” Wack away oh Grand Master Klingon” he sneers, lovingly. Meanwhile outside their…
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Greetings. This is my ME Blog.
Greetings. This is my ME Blog. For me only. It is pure, self -indulgent, sanity keeping self-expression. l put whatever comes up in me. It helps balance all the control type stuff I have to do in daily life – like shopping, planning, admin, meetings, organizing agh !! l begin to go crazy just thinking…
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Spark of Life Song lyrics by Tony Chapman ©
SPARK OF LIFE words and music by Tony Chapman © April1999 Em Em+7 Cm Bm when the road is broken and the path is bent F#m F#m+7 when words that are spoken don’t say what they meant when a rabbit is caught by the innocent eagle’s claw CHORUS its the spark of life that’s…
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waiting in the rain
waiting in the … now I Know people are reading these blogs I’m less spontaneous.
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Dawn
Crazy , as the dawn comes inching its way over the petrified window sill – as the dawn looses its trusses and spreads its golden marmalade hair over the scrunched up hills and diabolical rattlesnake opinions. I am sitting in our mansion looking at the countryside – we really did make it!!!! Yes!!!
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Butterfly
My poems: 1967/68 Butterfly. To Elaine Clarke.(written on co-op shop footwear paperbag-where I worked, (for a couple of months – before hitch-hiking around Britain), whenI was 18 years of age. – she: worked opposite the co-op, in Lloyds bank). 1). Flapping in her cage, Splinters her wings on the bars, Butterfly, panics. But to no…
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The Vietnamese pig.
Running, only at midnight, call my name across the sad empty missing friends with their yellow high heeled shoes and lemon yellow bras – take this sad ticket from between my teeth and let it rest on the circumvented bored Vietnamese pig as it meanders amongst the forest trees- in its hobnailed boots.
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cold dawn Monday
tricks of the senses defeat my objectivity, bringing it low, between the isolated ridges of no man’s land,
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Carmen, the Goddess of war.
Carmen, the Goddess of war, carrying a six shooter in each breast pocket, carries out silent, ear-splitting, exploitative experiments on the subway passengers, who, heads hidden behind pink Financial Times’ sheets, try desperatley to hide their shame and their granduer from the all-seeing eye of the ticket conductor, who tight-rope walks between the seats, from…
Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing 