Travelling Tinker Man and Other Rhymes Page 4

  Wide-eyed, legless at six a.m., I climbed those famous stairs,

  From Wardour Street to Canning Town, I walked the cool dawn air,

  My mind made up, my future planned, shell-shocked with happiness,

  As the East End woke; the morning folk just wouldn’t understand,

  I’ve got a plan, I’ve seen the light; I’m gonna join a band.

  Shooting star

  Can you see that shooting star, there in the night sky, proud and high?

  Make a wish, it may come true, it’s falling from the sky for you.

  Take care though, friend, in what you wish, sometimes a wish,

  Like a distant kiss, is cold, and never ever missed.

  But make that wish for all mankind, a selfless gesture that will shine.

  Whisper now, or shout it loud, make that wish to make us proud;

  Freedom from hunger, war and strife, make a wish to change their life.

  Don’t waste that wish, it may come true, as did that fallen star for you.

  Summer rain, wash away their pain and freshen up the mourning air.

  Your wish for people will bring rewards, sometime, somehow, somewhere.

  It is your wish, it belongs to you, use wisely, for good, not greed.

  Perhaps that wish will bring some good, some hungry mouths to feed.

  Did you see that falling star, from the hilltop where we are?

  Yes, I think from way up here, that wish seems crystal clear.

  Into the woods

  Into the woods, a magical place,

  Where the green man lives, without a face,

  Where twilight is king, where the trees softly speak

  Of creatures that crawl and creatures that seek.

  The sun through the trees, the life-giving sun,

  Hidden from sight, the fox on the run,

  The badgers that mount, the pixie that dances,

  The butterfly full of life’s fleeting chances.

  The frog by the stream, in wait for a princess,

  The quick-running hare, shrouded in shyness,

  The owl in his wisdom refuses to sing,

  A squawk of contempt as the magpie takes wing.

  The bounce of the bunny, the branches that sway

  In the trees that were planted in olden days,

  The tree trunks with faces older than time

  Looked down on the limb the schoolboy did climb.

  But the night shift has started,

  In the wood’s moon shadows,

  The residents restless, the forest’s stream flows.

  The mole in the bank rubs sleepy eyes,

  The blackbird sings in the treetop up high.

  A little bit scary, a little bit strange,

  The atmosphere suddenly begins to change.

  A rustle of leaves, a slither of snake,

  The creatures of night begin to awake.

  Bankers

  Bankers are wankers, that conveniently rhymes,

  Helping us through bleak fiscal times,

  Stocking those shares, hedging their bets,

  Stashing the dosh, grabbing all they can get.

  Dog eat dog, profit and loss, materialism, capitalism,

  Corporate bandits, Footsie toe rags,

  Stashing your dosh in their money bags.

  Compassion for money, sentiment for greed,

  We stand at your gate, our children to feed.

  Speculate, investigate, bonus me up,

  Give me it all, fill up my cup.

  It’s all about money, buy now and sell.

  Vultures get ready for the opening bell.

  Let’s make a killing, your investment is safe.

  You don’t have to worry, cos we fix the rate.

  Recession, don’t worry, my bonus is secure,

  Just think what you’ll make when your pension matures.

  Ethics, don’t think so, not really my thing,

  I want to make millions before the fat lady sings.

  It’s just like Las Vegas, a gambling den,

  But we wear a nice suit and a tie now and then,

  To look like professionals, sensible men.

  Trust me, don’t worry, here – use my pen.

  Of course rates may vary, fees may change too,

  Don’t worry, we’ll monitor the funds you withdrew.

  We must charge you charges, we need to get fat;

  I want a Ferrari and my wife wants a hat.

  Ricky and Carol

  Rock ’n’ Roll is here to stay, Blue Suede Shoes,

  That’ll Be The Day,

  On Route 66, We Got Our Kicks,

  With stolen beats from R & B,

  Jitter bug jump for you and me,

  Pink-frocked girls with beehive hair,

  Boys’ beetle crushed, would stand and stare.

  Do you like Gene Vincent, do you like Dion?

  Yeah, I think The Wanderer is a real neat song.

  Do you wanna dance, can you do the jive?

  Does your heart beat fast, do you feel alive?

  I love that Elvis, he’s the one for me.

  Nah, I think he died when he joined the army.

  Shangri La, the leader, Leader of the Pack,

  Will Jimmy never ever be coming back?

  Bonneville, Norton, BSA Gold Star,

  Ford Zodiac, cushti two-toned dream car;

  Knuckleduster, flick knife and tattooed smile,

  As Ricky and Carol walk down the church aisle.

  Working men’s club

  It was Saturday night in the working men’s club;

  The snooker was snookered as the band began to play,

  A song from Al Jolson, a tune from the past,

  A popular choice, not slow or too fast,

  As memories floated, like fluffy white clouds,

  In the smoke-filled room of memories past.

  Brown ale and some crisps, give us a song;

  Come on now, you lot, all sing along.

  The foxes would trot, the gay Gordons dance,

  In front of the stage, the band in a trance,

  Like robots, well worn by the waltzes of time;

  In an hour or so you’ll see, all will be fine.

  It’s bingo, eyes down and get ready,

  Says our rosy-cheeked master of the bingo ceremony.

  The band take a break for a beer and a ciggie,

  And chat up the gals in hope of jiggy jiggy.

  Full house over here, says a voice in the dark,

  As the drummer and lady disappear to the park.

  These are my people, grandads and nans,

  Fathers and mums, woman and man.

  It’s our Saturday shindig, a knees up for all,

  Look at him, George, he’s got really tall.

  How old are you now, son? You’re growing up fast.

  Must be school dinners, that voice from the past.

  They ruffle your hair, they give you a wink,

  Hold up their glass, buy you a drink.

  The band has come back, the muzak plays on,

  Any requests for tonight’s final song?

  Embarrassed, awkward, as the last waltz plays,

  Dragged to the dance floor by Mum’s loving gaze.

  Goodbye first love

  Did you fall, was there pain, has your heart been broken again?

  It seemed so right at the time, your soulmate, friend, so sweet and kind.

  The hurt will pass, though, it’s for the best. Looking back, you could have guessed

  You’d be let down; it’s no surprise, if you looked into those lying eyes.

  What did you see, was your love blind, didn’t you realise you’d be left behind?

  But you are young, today will pass and you will find love, a love to last.

  I know that first love is very strong, but someone else will come along.

  Out of the blue, you’ll find the one; when you least expect it, love will come.

  Today’s heartache will
be forgotten; I understand that you feel rotten,

  But look at you, so much to give. Forget it now, move on and live.

  Levi

  A wag of the tail, a wiggle of the bum,

  A look in those brown eyes, come on, let’s have fun.

  A big welcome home, a dog with a bone,

  Levi the dog, you run and you roam.

  Full of adventure, a growl and a bark,

  A prankster, hellbent on having a lark;

  A squirrel to chase and football to play,

  Look out for the traffic. Good boy – now stay.

  A love that seems selfless, a leader of the pack,

  But why, when I call you, don’t you come back?

  A gift from a traveller, Charlie my friend,

  A chase round the corner, a chase round the bend.

  Poop scooper at dusk, a hunter at dawn,

  Asleep in my bed, a big doggy yawn.

  There’s your mates in the park, Elvis and Jack,

  Tuppence and Hodge, they’re all in your pack.

  I’m so glad I met you, my little friend,

  Through the streets of old London, we march off again.

  This tree looks interesting, this tree needs a pee,

  And I’m the one to do it; it’s good to be me.

  Autumn

  Falling leaves of red and gold float like memories, like feathers.

  The last pale sun of summer glows, distancing itself from us below.

  Autumn mist, harvest in, we wait for the icy winter to begin.

  But here today, in all their glory, the falling leaves will tell their story,

  Of summer past, of seaside trips, of Ninety Nines and Kiss Me Quicks,

  Holiday romance, B & B, barbecue, picnics, clotted cream tea.

  But there is something about this season, the autumn, the fall,

  That touches me deeper and when I recall

  The smell and the colour of this mystical season,

  There’s a place in my heart I feel I should mention.

  This is my time now, yes this is my life, the autumn of my years;

  Spring was special, summer too, but now

  Toward winter, I look to you.

  Artisans

  Don’t know about you, but whenever I view a new build, shiny and new,

  They don’t measure up; they don’t look as good, well maybe just a few,

  But most of the time the look and design seems to me inferior,

  Characterless, anonymous, with a minimalist interior.

  Where did they go, the artisans that built our heritage buildings,

  With care and pride our country wide, their noble, grand beginnings?

  I know a build not far from here; it’s orange and lime green.

  The architect won an award; it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.

  I remember, as a little boy, watching our streets changing

  Into high rise, impersonal blocks. They told us they were amazing.

  Now, as I walk in London town, with buildings like New York,

  It’s good to see, occasionally, architecture with some thought.

  Nash and Wren, come back again, teach them style and taste.

  These modern things have lost something, character and grace.

  City boy

  When you’re young it’s only natural,

  You would want to accumulate capital,

  Wealth and stuff, cars and bling

  Seem to be the important thing.

  Tomorrow, today is what you need,

  No time to waste, you follow, I’ll lead.

  The latest gadget, the next best thing,

  A really sharp suit, a platinum ring.

  Forget about family, forget about health,

  What’s more important than rolling in wealth?

  I want a Bentley, a penthouse too,

  Some sparkling investments should make that come true.

  Dog eating dog, digging for gold,

  It’s all about money, before I get old.

  But when that day comes, as years drift on by,

  Will wealth buy you health? I think that’s a lie.

  The family you left in second place,

  Where are they now that you’ve won your race?

  Forget the rat race, the materialism,

  There’s more to life than capitalism.

  Cherish the family, the friends that you know,

  The natural things, the sunset’s red glow,

  The moon, the stars, the life-giving rain.

  Jump off that treadmill and just think again.

  Fairies in the garden

  There are fairies in the garden, Dad, there are, it’s really true;

  I saw them dancing, singing, dressed in pink and blue.

  I wouldn’t have believed it, but I saw it with my eyes;

  I heard their lovely singing, I heard their quiet sighs.

  They danced in a ring, together by the pond,

  I reckon someone special must have waved a magic wand.

  Do you think that they had seen me, hiding behind a tree?

  I wonder if they know my name; d’ya think they know it’s me?

  I am really pleased they live here; Daddy, don’t you think

  We’re lucky just to have them, shall I take them out a drink?

  What do fairies eat, Dad? Flowers, berries and things?

  I can’t believe I saw them there, dancing in a ring.

  Troubadours

  You troubadours, you played along, with every beat to every song.

  In studios, on stages too, there was I and there was you.

  I brought the spark, you lit the fire, the riff, the chord, take a flyer.

  A wall of sound, a rock of ages, psycho sound, the machine that rages.

  Colour the ghost, touch it if you can, there in the shadows and so it began.

  Those nights together, the smoke, the lights, so many concerts, so many late nights,

  Arena, theatre and dressing rooms, waiting to play those popular tunes.

  Brothers in music, brothers in kind, me up front and you behind.

  Dedicated and motivated, together we have fun;

  Another song, play along, could be a Number One.

  In after four, let’s try the bridge; there’s still some beers left in the fridge.

  I like this key, it works for me. Let’s go again, let’s try it and see.

  Yeah, that feels good, yeah that feels right, let’s do it in the show tonight.

  Thank you one, thank you all, you troubadours, it’s been real cool.

  Like a rolling stone

  My grandad was a traveller man, a tinker I’m told, Irish and bold.

  I think his blood runs through my veins, as here I am, on the road again.

  A tour, a suitcase, another city; I reckon old Tom would be quite proud of me.

  I’ve travelled each and every road of our British isle, mile upon mile.

  I’ve seen north, south, east and west and I reckon Britain is still the best.

  From Leeds to Brighton, Cardiff to Poole, now I’ve got sat nav, I’m nobody’s fool.

  Way up to Scotland and down to Cornwall, Birmingham, Stoke, yes, I’ve seen them all.

  Europe is nice, the USA too, Africa, India, I’ve travelled them through.

  Something different, something to see; in Uganda they’ve got upside down trees.

  I love to travel, like to move on; Like a Rolling Stone, that’s one of my songs.

  Down Under is great, the sun always shines, but it’s a long way to go, takes a long time.

  South America I think is a wonderful place, there is something about that Latin race,

  Cuba Libre, Costa Rica, Bossa Nova, Che Guevara,

  Mile upon mile, smile upon smile; traveller, rest. Rest for a while.

  La la land

  The Indian Ocean sighs under this different moon;

  Should I reflect upon this moment, here, lost and marooned?

  A strange
foreign sound then pierces the night,

  As a bird full of freedom, takes wing, now in flight.

  To the stars she will fly, to the star-covered sky,

  Under the gaze of the moon, fly freedom, fly.

  Distance can bring objectivity;

  Tonight on this shore, by the whispering sea,

  My mistakes and my worries gently ebb like the tide,

  Stowed in a treasure chest, thrown over the side.

  Am I Robinson Crusoe? I’ve been here before.

  Or the famed Mr Christian, on a lone distant shore?

  I wait for a galleon, or a seahorse to ride,

  A mermaid to kiss, to caress and confide.

  Shall I tell of adventures, of pieces of gold,

  Say I’m king of the pirates, handsome and bold?

  Together we dive, beneath the blue waves,

  Searching for pearls in a pink coral grave.

  We swim with the dolphins, we ride a great whale,

  While I search the horizon for a ship’s friendly sail.

  But what if we find it and rescued I’d be,

  Chained for all time to reality?

  At this moment I’m happy, at this time content

  To swim with the flow, wherever I’m sent.

  My mermaid will take me to the sea from the shore,

  As ten fathoms deep, beneath the sea’s roar,

  There lies an answer, which waits to be found,

  Is this world really flat, or really quite round?

  Time machine

  Wouldn’t you love a time machine, that transported you to another scene?

  Back in time to days gone by, back to Rome away you’d fly.

  A week in Athens, Ancient Greece, searching for that Golden Fleece.

  In London streets, in times of yore, to places never seen before.

  In France to join the revolution, talk with Darwin, Evolution.

  See dinosaurs, mammoths too, Dickens’ days and World War Two.

  Meet your grandad and grand mum, fly about and just have fun.

  See how life was really lived, in those years, the ones you missed.

  See the Ancient Pyramids built, the Tower of Pisa before the tilt,

  Endless wonder, endless flight, back in time to see the sights.