my love of warplanes and tragedy of failed romances...
Thursday 22nd October 2009 12:17 am
ROOM HOUSE TELLY WINE
Time stands still in a front room in early ’95.
The telly is on but the sound is off,
All About Eve plays on the stereo,
soft vocal tones and powerful guitar.
The clock says a time but that doesn’t matter
as here it is timeless.
Bev drinks a glass of wine
while I have the rest of the bottle
and a full bottle of Thunderbirds.
I will be pissed for over a day.
Life is for living now so that’s what I do.
We talk about life and things as you do
in such a moment. Small things in life
seem most important,
after all what are material things
if you’re lonely?
i almost got it right...
HMH - HOME MADE HELL: A SONG(or poem orwhatever)
dear dark creature of my soul, would we have ever worked? met you on the web, how would this work? how should I be after we failed totally, inconceivably? I looked in the mirror and saw myself in your eyes, you the goddess of me. singer and poet, sing to me, bear your soul to me. why did I fall utterly in love with you? three weeks like none before, now October 17, a line is crossed. knife in my hand, this's not me acting. blood pools, every 3rd week of the month, a new cut. soon the circle will be complete, pentagram carved on my leg.
hmh home made hell, got you in my head, in my heart, carved on my leg. what you did to me was beyond words, beyond reason. tell me, my dear one, did you ever feel the same? do you still? was I your biggest ever mistake? hmh home made hell, got you in my head, in my heart, carved on my leg. what you did to me was beyond words, beyond reason...
a fine tracery of scars on my leg, one day to be completed. my darkest moments, a release of pain onto my flesh for the rest of my life. not sorry I did it, no regrets. despair came today, an old friend. keeps coming back to the american girl and the lesson I learned, cuts from her femme fatal. saw her face online today, my emotions coming alive to what was nearly once, now lost. told her my views, how we were almost together. now she is bored in her southern english town, will she answer? must be careful, not to be broken, finish my pentagram. there's more at stake here than love don’t you see? my Goddess is silent, my clouds cloudy. hope is the idealism of fools and drunkards, what about me?
REPEAT CHORUS TWICE AND FADE OUT
this is about a gal who broke my heart in 2004. i cant put her name for legal reasons. she hurt me like no other but i forgive her... my soulmate...
How can a machine made by man
Have so much beauty and history?
The Thunderchief can,
From the start as a
Nuclear delivery platform
To its final days in
The hell that was Vietnam
This was the Goliath’s chariot.
Sent to fight over a land
Over 12,000 miles away
Above rice paddies and forest.
This was a pilot’s nightmare
Dodging Migs and missiles.
Yes it was the summer of ’69
Far from home and Uncle Sam.
We were the pilots of long ago.
With six tons of bombs,
Two missiles and a cannon
We went to war fighting for
The good ol’ US of A.
The Migs got my wingman
But I got the Mig.
Did I win? I did then
But Uncle Sam lost his war.
We lost 300 of our
Beloved jets but to America
That is nothing, is it?
We build more and more
And send them off to war.
Around and around we go
More jets and more war
Again and again and again.
But now all is quiet
The Thunderchiefs are silent
All waiting to be scrapped
Turned into knives and forks.
This is the glorious fate
For all old warplanes
Especially the old Thunder jets.
At last peace rules over Vietnam.
TRACERY OF SCARS
A fine tracery of scars on my leg,
almost a pentagram,
one day to be completed.
My darkest moments, a release of pain
onto my flesh for the rest of my life.
Not sorry I did it, no regrets.
Despair came to me today, an old friend.
Not wanted at the shop due to me being intense,
too different. Just me. No place to go but the dole.
Best writer around here, second to none,
look at my work and see for yourself.
Yet hope is there. Had my vampire story accepted,
eating a Soviet tank regiment bloodlust style.
Yet my pain is real.
Met a girl, I do like her. Alison is her name
but is it love? Only 21, she is mine alright, totally.
She can be my Goth girl. Love grow?
Keeps coming back to the American girl
and the lesson I learned, cuts from her femme fatale.
Saw her face online today, my emotions
coming alive to what was nearly once, lost now.
Told her my views, how we were almost together,
so secure. Now she is bored in her southern English town.
Will she answer? Must be careful, not to be broken,
finish my pentagram. There is more at stake
here than love don’t you see? My Goddess
is silent, my clouds cloudy. Hope is the idealism
of fools and of drunkards, what about me?
I get a girl anyhow so loneliness will be gone.
Al or Hol hold the answers…
more angst ridden hell lol
All white moonshine heroine spectral gaze
of needle point stars lighting your way to holy city.
Streamlined like a wraith, as silent as the earth,
aviation fuel blood in your veins.
Calm pilot at your controls, autopilot plotting
your doomsday course to a target over the horizon.
One small bomb recessed under your white belly,
large destructive power for one million dead.
Back to their base gasses, atomised.
Not long now, digital clock ticks away the start
of Kahlia Akasha’s nuclear bomb
run on an innocent Iranian city.
What price World War 3?
No innocents on a planet of guilty people.
nuclear strike fighter...