Matinee Muse 11 Enhanced Perspective

GOBSMACKED!!!

Precise Peter
Had a way with words
And he’d always
State it clear
He said accurate description
And articulation
Formed the essence
Of his style of speech
Now he played guitar
In a four-piece band
That he named
‘Other Hits Include…’
Carlos and Jimi
Had nothing on Peter
He could teach them
A thing or three
The first time I saw him
Perform a solo
Fingers fairly flew
From fret to fret
An improvised version
Of that old song ‘Layla’
But his vocals…
They weren’t up to much
I said “Hey Peter,
That’s a mean sounding banjo”
He looked offended
As he spoke to me
“That’s not a ‘banjo’;
That’s a classic ‘Fifty Nine
Gibson Les Paul Standard…
In Sunburst
“It looks alright to me”,
I was joking
He adopted
A condescending tone
“If one can’t distinguish
Between Formby and Clapton
Then one should just…
Keep your big gob shut.”

Mad Kane's Humour

CAUSE OF THE CRASH?

Bell for last orders
Any more for anymore?
One more for the road

Top Free Prompt

ISAN FUNERAL

Mother’s mother
Lies in state;
Serene.

Monks from the Wat
Line the walls;
In prayer,
Chanting mantras
To the
Great Unseen

Male descendants
Sacrifice
Their hair,
Don saffron robes
Marking their
Respect,
Lead the mourners
To the
Holy Field

Solemn faces
Silently
Reflect.

Young coconuts
Spill their
Cleansing yield
On head and face
Of mother’s
Mother

Each one in turn
Takes part in
The Rite;
Grandson, daughter
Sister and
Brother.
Grievers gaze as
Pyre is set
Alight

Five days and nights
Set aside
To mourn
The passing of
Our loved one;
Loved still.
Her memory
Lives on in
Hearts torn
By tragedy
Of death’s
Bitter pill

Matinee Muse 10 Bridging The Gap

Heroes or Villains?

Parents used to look at us in disgust
They never liked the tunes we listened to
When we were teenagers. They didn’t trust
The things they sung about; what they would do

“They’re nothing like the singers of our day”
That was the kind of thing they used to say
“Turn down that awful racket; why not play
Something we can listen to.”… But hey!

We’ll never forget those words; that music
The Rock Stars, we’ll remember, with a sigh
Names we all knew well; that we grew up with
And just like Rock ‘n Roll, they’ll never die

Times that we remember, with affection
Are accompanied by a certain song
Voices cause us moments of reflection
Nostalgia makes us think it’s been too long

Some of those stars are no longer with us
We can’t even remember all their names
It’s true that some of them took their own lives
Were murdered, or left in a blaze of flames

Which ones did you like? Here are just a few
They conjure up good memories for me
Do any of them do the same for you?
Take a look at the list; perhaps you’ll see

Elvis Presley
John Lennon
Bob Marley
Marc Bolan
Jim Morrison
Frank Zappa
George Harrison
Joe Strummer
Sonny Bono
Ian Dury
Nico
Freddie Mercury
Janis Joplin
Hendrix, Jimi
Malcolm Owen
Van Zandt, Ronnie
Mama Cass
Keith Moon
Johnny Cash
Joey Ramone
Ian Curtis
And last but not least
Sid Vicious
May you all Rest in Peace

TOP Blank Verse

POETIC JUSTICE

A blank expression on his face
that told the story of his life.
No rhyme or reason, just regret;
an open book, a testament
to broken dreams, and shattered hopes,
in chapter, verse and paragraph.
Then, with a twinkle in his eye,
a smile that spread across his face,
and chuckling softly to himself,
he told me that he couldn’t wait
to put the theory to the test;
proof positive of life’s reward.
“Ambition, greed and arrogance
won’t qualify us for a place
amid the company of saints,
no matter what our status is.
Humility, acceptance, faith;
above all, love will claim the prize.”
The beggar-man smiled one more time;
defiant to the very end.
A message issued from his lips;
a barely audible, but clear
reminder to those, lured through greed,
“Poetic Justice will be mine.”

Matinee Muse 9

In The Wrong Hands...
Temporarily


SEEING THE LIGHT

Sleeping gets me dreaming
Waking gets me thinking
All day long I’m working
What is this thing called ‘life’?
Dreaming is just a thought
Thinking is just hard work
Working is just my life
Life is just like a dream
Dreams turn into nightmares
Thoughts become ideas
Working becomes a drag
Life is always too short
Finalise my labours,
Concepts, vitality
When I meet my maker
My life will become death
At the very moment
I give myself to God
All I’ve thought, dreamed, worked for
Will make it all worth while

Matinee Muse 8 Rising Above

SELF TAUGHT

A school
For fools
Teachers teaching
Preachers preaching
Education?
Incantation
Ignorance
Intolerance
We don’t need it
They will feed it
Our attack?
Our pay-back?
Work today
Our own way
Learn it elsewhere
Wing and a prayer?
We’re not fazed
Be amazed
Be prepared
We’re not scared
It’s just a case of
Mind over matter

TOP Time To Leave

Can Heaven Wait?

Gather your thoughts, collect your ideas
Your time will come before you even know
No time for blaming others for your faults
When it’s your turn, it’s really time to go
A relative’s identification
Confirms; ‘Long live the queen; the king is dead!’
Ten million people watching TV
Witness the event, ‘live’; unedited
“He’ll go to heaven, rest assured
He never did a bad thing, good old Geoff
Other people will have to wait their turn”
But it doesn’t work that way in ‘real death’
Candidates are literally dying
To qualify for life’s eternal ‘prize’
Goodness knows, the population’s striving
To claim its reward; try it on for size
Behind the scenes, evil men wait each day
To catch the unsuspecting, unawares
Heavens gates, only a lifetime away
“It’s Hell on Earth,” so some say; “No-one cares”
“They can always go to their confessor
And he’ll absolve their deepest, darkest sins”
In life, they’re bad; in death, they’re even worse
The final test will see who really wins
Some think they’re really going to make it
Never stopping, thinking, asking why
They did the things they did, without conscience
They’ll face the Great Confessor in the sky
It’s not something everyone believes in
Some people are content with what they’ve got
Which isn’t really much, let’s be honest
There IS more to life; believe it or not