Apr
19
Sam The Mime
Do you know of Sam the Mime?
I knew him for a short time.
Act out songs he can,
a versatile man,
Though he never makes a dime!
The Bohemian Stream
The Stream is a path of unconsciousness that is fed by the spirits of sub-creation and flows into our world through the vessel of the Bohemian: Steven R Cooke.
The Married
I married you
So long ago,
I married you
In dreams
And since we came
To live together,
A marriage is
What it seems
To those around
Our joined life;
They sing out
Praise for Us
And though we’re
Married not yet,
We live just as
The Married does.
So what awaits
Our Wedding Day?
What more can
Ceremony bring?
When hearts that are
As bound as Ours,
In perfect harmony,
Sing.
Kevin Bacon was born in a barn
Kevin Bacon likes a good yarn
Kevin Bacon is brother to many
Kevin Bacon will not spend a penny
Kevin Bacon thinks that he’s ‘it’
Kevin Bacon rolls in his shit
Kevin Bacon will eat almost “owt”
Kevin Bacon has snow on his snout
Kevin Bacon is loved by all
Kevin Bacon is sure to appal
Kevin Bacon goes to some gigs
Kevin Bacon smuggles Dutch cigs
Kevin Bacon can’t read or write
Kevin Bacon doesn’t give a shite!
Apr
18
Dreamer
Sometimes I think life is a dream,
Not because it’s full of wonder,
But because I’m thought as obscene;
An oaf fuelled by thoughtless blunder.
Dream I do when asleep I am
And in dreams I would rather stay,
Far from those who don’t give a damn
If I ever just went away.
They may say that I’m a dreamer,
But know I’m not the only one.
They act as though I’m a schemer
Because I dream endlessly on.
One day I’ll fail to awaken,
After the last I lay my head,
And then they’ll sob their hearts right out;
Meaningless to me… now I’m dead.
They Tell Me That I Talk Too Much
They tell me that I talk too much
And that I repeat what I say.
They tell me that I talk too much
And just spew out bollocks all day.
They tell me that I talk too much
And that I drone just on and on.
They tell me that I talk too much
And are releaved when I am gone.
They tell me that I talk too much
And complain at my wordy spew.
They tell me that I talk too much
And suggest I haven’t a clue.
They tell me that I talk too much
As if I inflict them some ill.
They tell me that I talk too much
As if my many words could kill.
They tell me that I talk too much
As if it is without a care.
They tell me that I talk too much
As if it’s just too much to bear.
They tell me that I talk too much
As though I as such all day.
But the only reason I talk so much
Is that I don’t know what to say…
Two men who in the Estuary dwell
I have come to know exceedingly well;
Their music rings out like an old church-bell,
So listen to the stories that they may tell.
I’d like to describe their keyboardist, Gaz:
Inside of him dwells the spirit of Jazz.
What a deep, profound mind that boy has!
You should not compare him to Dave or Chaz.
Now let me tell of the guitarist, Lew:
A more chilled out chap you never knew.
When things go wrong he knows what to do;
Just carry on until the day is through!
Such is the way of an Estuary Dweller.
Each I know to be an awesome fella.
I’d like to lock them both in my cellar
And make them play the hits of Paul Wella.
