Monday, November 14, 2005


Let's get back to Paradise
Where it all began
Where all the harps played
And the arias were sung

Revel in the lights
From the lamps as yet unborn
Where the sun is high
Like the end of dawn

I wanted to suprise you
Are you guilty now?
Dou you smile inside
Where you don't know how?
Paradise had faded, has died away
The music hall is empty
And the walls are decayed
Paradise has faded, has died today
Do you smile still
Waiting the delay?

Lower yourself to me
Get that string in your mouth
Pull it to release, go lower to the south
Let me genuflect like I did on the heath
Get through the forest
By the skin of your teeth

The red-filled gates so pink and ready
At your disposal if your tongue is steady
Go through before it's too late
Dinners in the oven
Dried on the plate

Do you taste well?
Is your tongue rewarded?
I ate good yesterday
When I could afford it

I have your face behind me
I have paid my dues
You're my private dick
Giving me inside clues

Paradise resumes without a quibble
Sunlight fills his hole
With floss for his teeth
And with those juices
Should I run for a bowl
or let him dribble?

I am in glory
But the floor hurts my knucles
He wipes his mouth
After all the suckles
From his stiff upper lip
My curly is gone
Consumed, past noon
Like a buttered scone

I stand erect
And rub my knees
Feeling the trickles
like tingling fleas

Even has arrived
I've another to see
Whose into the fruit
Eaten by the animals
Who swing from the trees

He'll provide the banana, me the split
Paradise re-entered, and grooved to fit
And just when I thought it was going to be too late
I'm on my knees, so open is my gate

This is what goes
What I do sometimes
Where the games are fun
And the sides of the back are parted
Where the buns are flattered
And the juices flow

This is what goes
When the music has started
What I do sometimes
When the music is started

A friend, the mad poet, was found at the bottom of a tower block this spring. the last time I spoke to him I put the phone down on him when he told me he had burnt all the work he still had. At his funeral the comment was made "I'm sure we all have something of *****'s [poems] at the back of a drawer somewhere.] As it's unlikely any of his work will ever be recovered, let alone published I have posted this poem here.

I've been sorting out my cd collection tonight, sad I know but it was threatening to landslide. I finally faced the remains of Mad Poet's cd collection left to me. Mad poet was well known for his impromtu renditions of Madonna, and as her latest album somes out this week, I will be thinking of him.

I'm no expert on feminine dignity, and I missed the Parkinson show on Saturday, but caught the trailer. As athletic [skinny] as Madge is now, get those bingo wings. Are the skinny not excused either? In the video there seemed to be more than the usual thrashing about too. Check it out yourself. I'll llearn to hyperlink one of these days. [Look in Headlines/more news. There's also a link to listen to the new album at MTV's site.


Reluctant Nomad said...

It seems a great pity that there isn't more of the mad poet's work. You should try and get all the remaining stuff together.

andrea said...

Madge looks like Cybill Shepherd there. Euww...

Elaine said...

What a dreadful picture of Madonna. At least she makes sure she's had a Brazilian before showing her tuppence off like that.

Nothing more unattractive than a show of spiders-legs coming from all directions out of off-white knickers.

kleverkloggs said...

T********** is that you, perchance?