I guess I’ll still be here tomorrow,
Drink till dusk then soddenly seek,
A bar, a room, no Gomorrah,
Pretend to be strong amongst the weak.
Wander away, but where?
Your only lair a beer-soaked bar,
Skulk back to old haunts
And with a lifeless stare,
Watch life and death from afar.
I step out, sky high, starry-eyed
My mouth’s roof hung out and dried
Like iron corrugated
Like the roof of the sky
I lick the stars, I’m ready to fly
I’ve tried the straight line
But it seems further that way,
The nights are better the more I stray.
Now you’ve gone, a legacy left behind,
A helluva lot of good, but more than a little bad;
Sure you were depressed and, no doubt, a little sad,
Of course you’d tried, won, lost, it was no fad;
But Robin, and this is tough to say, you were a dad.
Your humorous legacy will no doubt live on,
With heroic sadness now that you’ve gone,
But big guys like you, those with more than ample,
Have got some responsibility to set an example;
Your offspring for starters might think one day they got a bad sample
Of DNA you the best, but people might react without appropriate behest
And go your way when all they needed was a rest;
So all you Hollywood heroes, take a step back
If things go down, cut yourself some slack
Come and chill downunder until you get your cool back.
You dudes with four wheel-drive toys,
You escape every second weekend
A bit of random nature you’re seeking,
Somewhere quite peaceful with only your westie mates peeking,
Snags and booze and a little grey matter leaking,
Hopefully some greenies or hippies you can start freaking;
So you get to crush a little Nature,
And maybe a cyclist or two as you make your way
Back to rejoin the crazy suburban fray;
But hey Man!, What’s this issue you’ve got with Nature?
Don’t you know it’s a force that can’t hate ya?
I know city stress, more or less,
Makes you let off steam with a drive
To show a rebellious streak
Is natural, and not the conserve of a freak,
But to crush innocent Nature is a motive for which not to strive
Even if the city life has put you in a jam where you just can’t thrive;
How many climates does it take to change a globe?
You’re getting warm but one day you’ll be under a fucking strobe.
Gunna get a smart fone
Maybe in ten years
Maybe ten minutes
What’s the hurry?
Wade through Life’s slurry
Smoke a durrie
Take y time, on y wrist
Enjoy the view, the smell, the roses
Time, time, slow, low, poses, composes
You get the gist
Chew the grist, the cud
Taste it twice, better second
Than u ever reckoned
Even more fecund than ever beckoned or lapsed in a second.
Taste teased time forever.
Or carve a path in seconds
On y bicep, y tricep or in y pocket
Nerds move Time like a shocked rocket.
No time for the sock, the lock, the locket
Went to an old school
Thought it was for old fools
Hipsters reinvented, cemented
No longer lamented or tormented
Enter a new Age refermented.
Into the mid-morning battle they barge,
Barreling furiously forward behind their infant charge;
Sometimes two abreast striding manfully on a track
Or in a mall, on the attack;
Often just one, but still on the offence
Their pramful of joy a juvenile defense;
Two by two equals four,
Wouldn’t squeeze through a double door,
Maybe some of these chicks are emotionally poor
Their childish charges a barrier to relationships raw;
So be wary you cyclists and quick runners
Some of these ladies could be stunners,
You might just be indulging in a little homosociality,
With some random mates, two or three,
But out of their way you’ll be knocked
Left bruised, scarred and shocked
A social pariah, you’ll be called a liar
Who should’ve given way
Coz these babes have got the right of way all day.
Impossible almost, to believe,
That the great John Donne, it is said,
Wrote for amusement and his friends to relieve.
What great gifts this metaphysical man did receive
From a God-muse his talents did he near thieve.
Prolific in more ways than one,
A minor sin, an errant abduction almost brought him undone;
Offspring by the dozen, a tendency to deceive
Pardoned by stately seers and peers
Ultimately adored by all in thrall
And forever a resident, probable president
Of our literatures’ greatest hall.
Went to an olde school
Thought I was an old fool
Told not to drool
Figured I was uncool
Thought I’d finish up in the golden pool
But then I got some fresh tools
To work the new rules
Now I teach a new school
Learn to deal with new fools
Show’em how to use the old tools
How to bend the real rules
How to cruise a new cool.