Help Youself (to Ruin)
HELP YOURSELF ( TO RUIN )
I like my head under the sand,
It ’s comfy, quiet and dark.
Avoid explosive situations –
Waiting for a spark.
Shunning all discomfort
We hope troubles go away;
Sooner or later, so they will –
Even if not today.
Blissful sleepers,
Under-carpet sweepers;
It ’s just another day
And we all go our own way.
Blissful sleepers,
‘Round-the-issue creepers’;
Is indifference bliss
Or will we have to pay for this?
Let those with indignation,
Guilt or righteous passion,
Jump upon the bandwagon
Of this years ‘humane fashion’.
They may then feel justified,
By fighting for the cause,
While others, -- philosophical,
Would rather stay indoors.
Wailing weepers
And misery heapers,
It ’s just another day
And we all go our own way.
Wailing weepers,
And morality keepers;
Fighting mans’ lost cause,
Protecting ‘you and yours.’
Let ‘s fight some vested interests,
Join yet another cause;
Put injustice on the run,
Put evil’s march ‘on pause’.
Doing what seems good and just
May shoot you in your foot;
The reward for all your effort
Is to watch all go ‘kaput’.
Whirlwind reapers
Or pitfall leapers,
It ’s just another day
And we all go our own way.
Whirlwind reapers,
‘From-hideaway peepers’;
Do we really wear life’s ‘crown’
Or will we make all crumble down?
Who knows?
© Barrie Cannon
( 40mins. Total ) 20th & 25th May 2007.
- - - - - - - -
Elusive Fundamental
46 ELUSIVE FUNDAMENTAL
I have been very lucky,
People often envy me;
Possessions won,
The things I’ve done,
The way I live so free
My life is now an easy glide;
My experience a cause for pride,
But a simpler need
Is not achieved
And gnaws away inside.
There is always more to know
Than what our eyes are shown:
Surface success
Is meaningless
If faith in love has flown.
To be someone’s cornerstone
That makes one of your own,
That feeds the heart
Even when apart ---
To no more feel alone.
To look into a loved-one’s eyes
And see that love returned:
To see that happy sparkle
And know a passion burns:
To hold a hand and feel it squeezed;
An arm around my waist:
A head upon my shoulder
Giving joy that I can taste.
Someone who never doubts you,
Who you never would betray;
Who you know will be beside you,
Whatever is thrown your way.
To find that one relationship
That somehow never fails;
That heads in one direction
Without it getting stale.
To know that someone needs you,
That you give them what they lack;
They are the person you were born for
Who sends these feelings back.
To have your breath taken away
With the passion of their kiss,
Is something that I yearn for;
Yes, --- I would sell my soul for this!
(c) Barrie Cannon
30mins total 9th & 16th June 2007
- - - - - - - -
Until the Rain Stops
47. UNTIL THE RAIN STOPS
We have until the rain stops
To make sense of the scheme;
We have until the rain stops
To realise a dream.
That we should find each other here ---
In nowhere, -- in the rain,
And see in each-others eyes,
A shelter from our pain;
Brought here for this moment
Of spiritual gain.
I will pull out all your sorrows;
Hold them gently in my hand;
Then you’ll be free tomorrow
As I sink into the sand.
We have until the rain stops
For balance to prevail;
We have until the rain stops,
Seeking shelter from life’s gale.
You come to sate my hunger,
From a different time and place:
I can’t wait any longer
For you to fill my empty space.
We shake the very cosmos
But we will not leave a trace.
You give me everything you are,
Though none should say we have sinned.
You light me like a passing star,
Then you are borne off by the wind.
We have until the rain stops
To set each other free;
We have until the rain stops ---
I am sent to you, you are sent to me.
We have until the rain stops
To hold impossibility.
We have until the rain stops
To comfort and console;
We have until the rain stops
To save our very souls.
Two drifting elementals
Whose paths now intersect
On the never-ending quest
To reach-out and to connect;
Trying to keep perfection
When we ourselves are not perfect.
Eternal is the way it felt
Though its memory will decay;
We make each-others demons melt
And then we fade away.
(c) Barrie Cannon Sun. 12th August 2007
- - - - - - - -
Idol
IDOL
You sing my every thought;
You paint my dreams in pictures;
You show me all the things I sought;
In you there are no strictures.
You are my idol.
Your movements echo in my being;
You voice all my anxiety;
You act my doubts; you are always seeing;
You are me in all propriety.
You are my idol.
You suffer so I avoid mistakes;
You have the confidence I lack;
You make the leap I dread to take;
I’d pause, --- you don’t look back.
You are my idol.
You live out on the edge for me;
You take my repercussions;
You’d go out on a ledge for me;
Our path --- beyond discussion.
You are my idol.
I love you!
You are me!
You are the 'me'I want to be!
© Barrie Cannon
(30mins – 00.30-1.00am.) Mon.13th Aug. 2007.
- - - - - - - -
Back to the Earth
BACK TO THE EARTH
Here you lie forgotten and forlorn:
Tall grass surrounds you
And brambles grow between your massive wheels.
A mighty leviathan, once so proudly born
Slowly rusts in the corner of a quiet and remote field.
Created from the earth with clamour and fire;
This is how you began.
Once a symbol of progress and empire,
Forged by the calloused hands of man.
You who mocked the noble horse,
Unrivalled for centuries:
With your strength, your noise your power.
Once you were wondered at, desired and envied
Once you did the work of many;
Reduced that work by many hours.
You who sawed and crushed,
Threshed and ploughed and harrowed;
Your arrogantly belching smoke
Drifting over field and road.
Clanking and whooping --- declaring the new
As you dragged the future after you ---
Such a heavy, heavy load!
Can you remember that glory feast
When you made livestock flee and ponies bolt,
When you breathed softly like a mighty beast;
Made babies cry and dogs revolt:
When you gleamed and shone.
You were a living thing.
Can it be that you are dead, ---have you really gone?
Perhaps you only slumber, --- and dream
Of when you were an epitome
And not just part of history.
Though toothless now, and stripped;
Inside, your heart remains;
Seared by years of wind and sun;
Frozen and lashed by snow and rain;
Your time will never come again.
Oh, mighty warrior, Oh, sighing monster,
How I feel for you, now so sad and unloved;
When once you ruled supreme,
The most modern of things.
But everything is of it's time:
(And time destroys even the biggest and the stongest);
And as you moulder in the grass,
As suns and moons forever pass,
These dying days must be your longest.
Your age is now long gone;
As are the days of those who made you
And that empire you built together, --- Gone!
And I too who can imagine your paint shining,
Your polished brass and fiery breath
Will also soon be gone.
As I lie with you,
Let me cry with you.
© Barrie Cannon 11th & 23rd January 2007
- - - - - - - -
Scared to Live
SCARED TO LIVE
There’s a girl I know who hates herself,
She has to pay and pay.
Says she’s so bad – ain’t fit to live –
I’ve often heard her say.
If shelter comes it’s not deserved –
Must throw it all away.
She’s scared to live.
Got to have her daily crisis,
Life is getting tame.
Thinks she’s dying, - wants to die,
But it scares her just the same.
Guilt and fear of wrong decisions
Nourishes the flame.
Happiness kept at a distance,
She won’t take, - can’t give.
Can’t justify her own existence,
Scared to die and scared to live.
Has run from childhood, run from teens,
Can’t stop to face the fact –
The precious gift is cruelly given,
The giver judges every act.
But she won’t jump off the treadmill –
Refuse to take the pact.
She’s scared to live.
And I think just for today
She can keep her fears at bay,
But if she can’t see right from wrong,
Has she the strength to carry on.
Can’t see love and can’t accept it,
The pressure makes her want to scream.
The Holy Grail, - it don’t exist,
A life spent searching for a dream.
It’s all so hard, it’s not worth trying;
The joy of life runs out of steam.
Happiness kept at a distance,
She won’t take, - can’t give.
Can’t justify her own existence,
Scared to die and scared to live.
She’s scared to live.
She’s scared to live.
© Barrie Cannon November 1983
My first effort,written as a song lyric for Essex UK.rock band "Mithra" who did a heavy version of it. Later line up "Exhibit A" subsequently did a new soft rock version on their cd "Out there".
- - - - - - - -
Coming up for Air
COMING UP FOR AIR
Sitting holding hands all evening is wearing rather thin,
I’ll probably go mad spending another evening in,
I want to see if the outside world ’s still there.
You’re all I ever wanted, but I’m coming up for air.
You know I love you honey,
No need to feel so insecure,
I won’t run away from you,
My love for you is pure –
Of that you can be sure.
I believe that one day you will love me right to death,
Days of kiss and cuddling leave me short of breath,
There must be other ways for me to show you that I care,
I’ve never been so happy, but I’m coming up for air.
You know I love you honey,
There’s no need for that look of gloom,
But if you just back off a bit
Our happiness can bloom, -
But I just want a bit more room.
There are many other kinds of fun, I want to try them all.
Sometimes your affection seems to pin me to the wall.
It’s getting so I’m feeling trapped inside a lion’s lair.
Move aside a moment, ‘cos I’m coming up for air.
Of course I love you honey,
You’re the heartbeat of the human race,
But every now and then
I find it hard to stand the pace, -
You’ve got to let me have more space.
I really love you honey,
We make an ALMOST perfect pair,
I won’t run away from you,
I’m too worn out to dare,
Besides your kind of love’s too rare.
© Barrie Cannon (1 hr flat) 7th April 1985
- - - - - - - -
Gig
GIG (A Concert In Delusion or A Chemical Induced Delirium)
The cymbals ring,
The cymbals hiss,
Sparkling in front of you, - and you’re swaying,
The drums they thunder,
They never miss,
Your heartbeat strong and true, - and you’re swaying.
- and you’re sway - -ing.
Coloured beams about our heads,
The halo on the chosen few,
We watch the prophets of the day,
Allies, touching the true.
The bass, - he throb,
The bass, - he weaves,
A pulse as raw as sin, - and you’re swaying,
It pushes and pulls,
As the audience heaves,
A clutch that pulls you in, - and you’re swaying,
- and you’re sway - - ing.
Moving bodies shine and sweat,
All daytime worries drowned,
As we make a moving wave,
Immortal on the sea of sound.
The keys they ripple,
The keyboards soar,
They take your head and heart, - and you’re swaying,
The guitars shimmer,
The guitars roar,
And tear your soul apart, - and you’re swaying,
- and you’re sway - - ing.
Tasting metal in your mouth,
There’s a comet in your head,
And your mind is the universe,
Which you blaze through forever.
The incredible brightness of being, -
All feeling, all knowing, all seeing, - as you’re swaying,
- as you’re sway - - ing.
© Barrie Cannon 22nd & 25th January 1993
- - - - - - - -
Like Flowers
LIKE FLOWERS
This woman in a desert, where flowers once have grown,
A barren, arid landscape, she occupies alone.
A marriage of starvation, a husband made of stone,
This dusty empty desert, once her marital home.
A ‘happy’ man so sure and strong, has everything he needs,
But inside is an icy core, a frozen dormant seed.
His heart hanging in time, no reason to his rhyme,
Feelings broken years before, impossible to feed.
Emotions frozen inward, belief in love destroyed,
Given expectations proven null and void.
What’s left to believe in when the basic truth’s a lie?
These two sad and distant worlds wait to be enjoyed.
Some cosmic law helps them reach across the empty space.
Changes in their orbits find them standing face-to face.
Once flowers on different hillsides, both waiting for some sun,
An unforeseen collision course, a planetary embrace.
A wintry windswept Suffolk coast is where their worlds collide,
He inside a wooden barn, - her camper van outside.
Ancient drums have called them, - but when the beats subside,
They wonder if the love they need, the other may provide,
(But they both still have their doubts, - and fears to override).
She later brings him flowers, her token of hope felt.
This ‘desert lady’ warms his soul; the ice begins to melt.
Both giving to the other, and getting in return,
The years of endless emptiness give way as passions burn.
He melts into her desert, giving life like summer rain.
Soon her dry and arid land can bloom with flowers again.
“It’s wonderful,” she whispers, a tear upon her face,
“I’m melting, - you make me melt, you take away my pain”.
Forbidden, yet essential, is their walk upon this ‘street’,
She trembles in his arms and ripples in their heat.
She murmurs from far away, – “It’s like flowers, like flowers.”
He smiles as he holds her, - he too is now complete.
© Barrie Cannon 31st March/1st April 2005
- - - - - - - -
Lilith
Lilith
He scarcely saw his life slip by,
While some would mock and some decry.
He persevered to lift the veil - and know.
With such determination
And obsessive dedication,
Went places where few had dared to go.
He’d locate, decipher, truths long-hidden,
Seeking power by arts forbidden.
From the ways of normal folk exscind.
On paths arcane, did acts profane,
A meglomadness – his domain,
Hearing shadow-secrets on the wind.
Has had to kill, fought demons shrill,
To harness such laws to his will.
Such dangerous knowledge, finally gained,
Comes just in time to lose it.
He’s no time left to use it.
His old and broken body ’s weak and drained.
Has one last chance; he has to try;
Must attempt the awful deed – or die.
Or his lonely lifetime’s learning was for nought.
Though danger-fraught, his ego caught,
No time for doubts or second thought;
For all - or nothing, comes his last resort.
Finds secret place of mortal sin,
Where few come out, who dared go in,
Where boundaries shift – and the veil is thin;
This place where hope lies dormant;
This place of threatened torment.
To raise the terrible that lurks within.
The brooding landscape never sleeps,
Whose secrets unseen watchers keep.
He climbs the ancient steps where sirens wailed.
Rock walls that whisper, - whining.
Where tendrils creep, - entwining.
Past remains of those who tried – and failed.
In this place of decay and degradation,
Air heavy with a dread anticipation,
He starts his long and complex conjuration.
In adoration, - praises her;
In subjugation, - raises her.
To make mistakes will bring annihilation.
She is the one solution,
To bring his absolution.
He’ll summon her from high, or lower, sphere.
Such power is an addiction,
His governing affliction.
He reveres this thing that all sane men would fear.
Oh timeless she, of many names.
Whose power we feel in wind and flames.
Does he really know what he’s begun?
With continued incantation,
This unholy evocation
Is completed - and in fear the deed is done.
But nothing - a terrible stillness.
For a few moments the Earth seems to stop.
Time itself holds its breath.
Relief or disappointment - could hear a pin drop;
Like hanging between life and death.
But wait – a murmur, a rustling of leaves.
A breath, then a breeze, then a wind that whirls.
A groaning, howling maelstrom;
Light and matter spin round him and swirls,
As something takes shape - but where from?
The very earth and stones submit.
It wrenches form from leaf and tree.
Oh no! What has he done?
Rising impassive, so dreadful and massive,
This thing that towers accusingly,
Whose black eyes burn like sun.
This beauteous, terrible Astaroth.
Primeval Gaian force, now raised in human form.
This Lilith, oh, wonder and fear!
Orbiting around her, fiery sparkles spin and swarm.
Such cold energy, keen and severe.
He dared to look into those eyes.
That stare – that drains from him his very force,
That bores, shimmering into his soul.
His last strength being drawn back to the source
Ebbs away all last will and control. .
What has he done? She consumes him.
Head swimming now, he sinks down to the earth,
Engulfed by a cold empty black.
Cruel fate has seen him fail at his re-birth,
Sees her slight smile – some feeling comes back.
Now he feels regeneration.
Like surging, so strong, so vital and pure,
Her energy glows and pulses through.
Too exquisite, too perfect almost, to endure,
A warm wave of power - to renew.
So sweet the ecstasy and pain,
Makes straight his bent and stiffened frame,
Stands tall and sees his limbs once more so strong.
Aching weight of age – now lifted,
A long lifetime’s sorrows – shifted,
But to whom now does his soul belong?
He realises he has retained all power.
Indeed, this WAS re-birth, his IS the hour.
In service to her – the World is HIS.
But now, through him, OUR world is HERS.
He has chained us to a curse.
Now mankind will find out what dominion is!
GOD HELP US ALL.
© Barrie Cannon 7th-10th January 2006
From an original concept from 22 years before.
- - - - - - - -
Looking for the Road
LOOKING FOR THE ROAD
Many are the times
I’ve wondered ‘bout the land of glory,
Get off this crazy circus ride, -
Put down this heavy load.
I’ve got to leave behind
This crazy world of woe and worry.
It’s time to find some peace of mind, -
Go looking for the road.
Many are the signs
That push me ever yonder.
Blue skies over distant hills,
Where perfumed winds have blowed.
Anxious faces, - lined,
Who never stop to ponder
The sweeter pill of Nature’s will,
Along another road.
It’s a lonely road, and long,
(They say), that has no turning.
With very few companions
Looking hard for joy and peace.
But I’ll keep striving on,
To satisfy this yearning.
However long it takes to free -
My soul and find release.
It’s hard to take this lonely path
With few to spur you on,
To keep your faith in Shangri-La,
Still search for Avalon.
Sometimes meeting fellow seekers,
I must have found the way.
The road is getting crowded now,
Perhaps today’s the day!
Many people push and shove,
The queues are getting longer,
Arguing and fighting
Where enlightened ones have strode.
No more signs of ‘brother-love’,
Just survival of the stronger.
I never thought that EVERYONE
Was looking for the road.
Competition’s getting keener
Than it was back home,
It seems the grass is never greener
However far you roam.
There’s no escape from human-nature, -
(The message of my ode),
You must just accept your fate, you’ll
NEVER find the road.
© Barrie Cannon November 1984
- - - - - - - -
Means to an End
MEANS TO AN END
To make it in this world today
Means pushing to the brink,
With so much competition
You have to swim or sink.
The survival of the fittest
Means that someone gets the hurt,
Stepping over those who’ve fallen
Face down in YOUR dirt.
Thrill and be thrilled, -
But make sure you walk away.
No time for all those
‘Broken-promise’ scenes.
Kill or be killed
Is the order of the day,
If you think the end
Justifies the means.
It starts with youthful innocence,
Forcing chaos into sense,
No time for sitting on the fence,
Attack, - the best form of defence.
There’ll always be exploiters
Who are preying on the meek,
The choice is very simple, -
Join the winners or the weak.
Be alert and watch your back,
There’s ‘young-blood’ snapping at your heels.
Push ahead, no time to worry
How your victim feels.
Now you’ve made it to the top,
There is no sense of pride,
Just a lonely achiever
And those he pushed aside.
You try and justify your acts, -
(The means that got your ends)
But what your riches cannot buy
Is a real, true, friend.
It starts with youthful innocence,
Forcing chaos into sense,
No time for sitting on the fence,
Attack, - the best form of defence.
© Barrie Cannon
Started 11th December 1995 Finished 15th January 1996. Total time 2hours
- - - - - - - -
Moth to a Flame
MOTH TO A FLAME
The street kid who rates himself, - ‘cool’ is the goal,
Takes anything going and stays in control.
“Watch me take the latest ‘trip’,
Makes me feel good, - makes me ‘hip’.
Here I am, - see me, - be me, -
It’s easy, - easy”.
The road is slippery tonight,
The flame is bright,
You are the chosen
But away from the light,
A pale skeletal junkie is calling you,
“See me, - be me, -
It’s easy, - TOO easy”.
The ‘make-up and mini-skirt’ stands on the street,
Brazen and confident, thinks on her feet.
“Watch me take another ‘trick’,
Here’s the glamour, - here’s the ‘chic’.
Here I am, - see me, - be me, -
It’s easy, - easy”.
The road is slippery tonight,
The flame is bright,
You are the chosen
But away from the light,
An old hag in a doorway is calling you,
“See me, - be me, -
It’s easy, - TOO easy”.
The attraction of the easy option,
Hungry for love and hungry for life.
Don’t think about it, - do it, - live it.
It’s easy to be glamorous like me, - no effort needed.
That’s it, - no effort, - be me,
You haven’t got to try, - don’t try, - be me.
Slip into it, sliding, slipping, - slipping away
Easy, - easy, - the easy way.
The ‘suit’ in the pub has success and ambition,
Drinking with clients secures his position.
“Watch me clinch another deal”,
Free brandy and wine with a business meal.
“Here I am, - see me, - be me, -
It’s easy, - easy”.
The road is slippery tonight,
The flame is bright,
You are the chosen
But away from the light,
A meths-drinking wino is calling you,
“See me, - be me, -
It’s easy, - TOO easy”.
Or be grey, be boring, safe till your last breath,
Step over me on your safe path - To your own kind of death.
© Barrie Cannon 22nd & 25th January 1993
- - - - - - - -
Music Won't Let You Down
MUSIC WON’T LET YOU DOWN
Hard times, – nothing rhymes,
Petty laws and endless fines,
Boring job in ‘tombstone town’, -
Music won’t let you down.
Don’t need girls to twist my brain,
Can’t face getting ‘pissed’ again,
When all else fails to ease the frown, -
Music won’t let you down.
Music won’t let you down.
Always finding new ways to say
the same old thing.
Music won’t let you down.
Another all-time love song or
new perceptive ‘sting’.
Night time cellar, - crushing crowd,
New religion, - hard and loud,
With ‘air guitar’ strikes poses bold, -
If it’s too loud then you’re too old.
Grinding rhythm, pounding beat,
Wailing lead and stamping feet,
A total world of endless scope,
A straw to cling to, - ray of hope.
Dole queue, - sniffing glue,
Nothing else for you to do,
A life that leads you gagged and bound, -
Music won’t let you down.
Hit that button, - turn that dial,
Get some ‘brain-food’ for a while,
Light that ‘joystick’, pass it round, -
Music won’t let you down.
Music won’t let you down.
Always finding new ways to say
the same old thing.
Music won’t let you down.
Another all-time love song or
new perceptive ‘sting’.
Don’t listen to the man in black
who says he’s got the answer,
With icy hands he pulls the strings
and YOU become his dancer.
We offer you a better way,
With no dead ends, - nothing to pay,
A web of wonder weaving tight,
Ever changing, - ever bright.
Lovers stray, - friends betray,
It’s hard to face another day.
When motivation can’t be found,
Music won’t let you down.
Told to want what can’t be yours.
Taunts from flood-lit superstores.
Let’s sail away on clouds of sound, -
Music won’t let you down.
Music won’t let you down.
Always finding new ways to say
the same old thing.
Music won’t let you down.
Another all-time love song or
new perceptive ‘sting’.
© Barrie Cannon March 1984
- - - - - - - -
1943
1943
Are these my fellow countrymen
Who slash our culture’s threads?
Can these be our neighbours’ sons
Who drag us from our beds?
The innocent in millions are dragged from near and far,
To suffer for the sin of birth under a different star.
A childhood full of love and wonder
Taunts my every thought.
A future once assured and safe
Is now reduced to nought.
The family who once nurtured me were forced upon the train
And pulled apart forever in the fear, the crowd, the pain.
‘Freedom through work’,
This lie to us they say.
The sick, the old, the babies,
Are ‘sent on’ right away.
We issue clothing from the dead to those about to go,
Who first must take a ‘shower’ under the constant chimney-glow.
Stripped of identity, dignity and ties,
A naked, frightened flotsam cowers.
We are no longer human beings in their eyes -
And they, most surely not, in ours.
My little fifteen year old friend
Kicked to death before my eyes.
She asked forbidden questions
That our darkest dread denies.
If we issued clothes to the workers ‘Eastward bound’,
Why we saw the same clothes coming round and round.
Oh, this hideous perversion,
This mockery of life.
Who could plan a world like this –
Such torment and such strife?
“Is this really happening, can someone tell me how?
My dearest ma and papa – where are you? – Help me now.”
Further months of degradation,
Cruel and jeering guards.
Disease, cold and starvation,
Break my psyche into shards.
A work-detail outside the camp, gave me a chance to hide,
A futile hope against the odds, but certain death inside.
It didn’t take the guards much time
To notice my escape.
The horror now is just outside,
I cower, my body shakes.
Those guttural voices mocking, - this beast without a heart;
The jackboots on the cellar steps, - my mind is split apart.
A wrench, a snap, and I’m floating, -
Hovering, above a strange scene.
A gaunt, pitiful wretch dragged from hiding –
But I’m separate, detached and serene.
At last free of the suffering,
The emptiness too vast to cure,
I look down upon this frail, snivelling wreck –
Despise it for what it made me endure.
Yet, I am strangely compelled to follow,
As they drag her away, filled with dread.
Yet, horror, - I am NOT free, NOT detached,
Dragged behind by some invisible ‘thread’.
The spirit watched, - confused, distraught,
As it heard this girl speak its thoughts,
“No, no, - don’t take me, take her –
It’s HER you want.
Look at her, - pathetic Jewish scum,
Take her, - she’s nothing to do with me.
NO, NO, - NOT ME. – Why are you taking me too?”
The attempt to escape her very self was failing
The spirit drawn slowly back to the little body wailing,
- And certain death.
The guards merely laughing at the strange ramblings.
Stripped of identity, dignity and ties,
A naked, frightened flotsam cowers.
We are no longer human beings in their eyes -
And they, most surely not, in ours.
© Barrie Cannon Up to verse 4 – Autumn 1989 Completed - March 24th 2005
- - - - - - - -
Nisola
NISOLA
Cold, grey light from gibbous moon,
Graveyard shadows – moving gloom.
Secret worlds breathe wind-born sighs,
Taps at window, - all hope dies.
This shadow man, - a broken shell
Awaits the visitor from hell.
This loathsome creature of the dark,
Who, oh-so-sweetly saps my spark.
Pools of grey, a mane of red,
All lusts alive, all conscience dead.
Skin so cold, - but oh, so fair,
Nisola, - princess of despair.
Will she make join her,
Or will I escape to peace?
An eternity of darkness,
Or heaven-blessed release?
Life disrupter!
Flowers wither in my sight.
Love corrupter,
Beast, - unholy parasite!
Love and dreams discarded coolly,
Other lovers flaunted cruelly.
Promises of warmth and wonder,
Quickly turns to clouds and thunder.
Her foul demands she makes again,
Nisola, - princess of my pain.
Will I ever find relief
From ruby lips and gleaming teeth?
She drains my hope, devours my dreams,
Only my longing stops my screams.
With mocking smile – enters the room,
Nisola, - princess of my doom.
Will she make join her,
Or will I escape to peace?
An eternity of darkness,
Or heaven-blessed release?
© Barrie Cannon December 1983
- - - - - - - -
Not What I Call Love
NOT WHAT I CALL LOVE
You can’t even hold a conversation,
Is a smile too much to ask?
To grunt in monosyllables
Seems such a heavy task.
Your sneers and scowls are a sadness to see,
Is it envy or inadequacy?
Either way, seems like madness to me,
As I wither in front of your mask.
I know you used to love me once,
Now you just rant and scold.
In everyone is supposed to be
A nugget of pure gold.
In your case I’ll make an exception.
You hide inside your introspection.
Seems I made a poor selection.
Why have you become so cold?
This ain’t what I signed up for,
It’s not what I call love!
It’s not something that I treasure,
Nor a blessing from above.
I’m banned from my own kitchen,
You take that from me too.
You want me here, but ignore me.
Is my freedom such a threat to you?
No, this ain’t what I signed up for,
It’s not what I call love!
I have so much to offer
In a multitude of ways.
My talents and abilities
Could brighten up our days.
You won’t bring yourself - to celebrate me.
Take every chance to deride or berate me.
It seems that most times - you really hate me.
To love you I must pay and pay!
So why can’t you encourage me,
Like I encourage you?
I am clever and have qualities
That you want to undo.
Why your need for subjugation?
In giving love you’re beyond salvation,
Your self-importance just masturbation.
This is hell that you’re putting me through.
This ain’t what signed up for,
It’s not what I call love.
It’s not something that I treasure,
Nor a blessing from above.
No ‘honour’ just ‘obeying’,
No ‘better’ just the ‘worse’.
Not ‘healthy’ just the ‘sickness’
Of your hang-ups and your curse.
No, this ain’t what I signed up for,
It’s not what I call love!
© Barrie Cannon
Conceived on M4 while driving to Bristol on Oct 14th 2005. Written in 1 hour immediately after writing, “Biting the Hand” Saturday October 22nd 2005.
- - - - - - - -
Past Perfection
PAST PERFECTION
I love you, girl, - I see myself
In what you say or do.
In colour and excitement,
Searching for the true.
Entrancing, and afraid to stop
To see what’s following you.
Past perfection, - recollection.
Past perfection, - my reflection.
I love you, girl, - you’re just like me
And how things used to be.
If only I could get back there
And hear and touch and see.
The wonder and uncertainty
That keeps you flying free.
Past perfection, - recollection.
Past perfection, - new selection.
I love you, girl, - to see alive
The hunger in your act.
Not innocent though childlike,
You search for what you lack.
In you I feel these memories,
Your dreams are still intact.
Past perfection, - recollection.
Past perfection, - resurrection.
(A tale of innocence lost and re-born, as nature hands on the baton)
© Barrie Cannon (5.30-5.50pm) 6th January 1993)
- - - - - - - -
Relentless
RELENTLESS
Hard-nosed granite, jagged, claws the sky,
Digs in deep against the surging sea.
Poseidon hurls his might in ageless war,
Seeks dominion for eternity.
His ceaseless ally, Luna, coldly shines,
A force no kingdom can withstand.
Sanctuary and sanity she undermines,
Grinding nations into sand.
“March”, said the breakers,
“Suffer”, said the tide,
“Look skyward to your maker,
There’s nowhere safe to hide.
Your return has been long-planned,
All things start and end with me.”
“I’ll stand”, said the land,
“You’re sand”, said the sea.
No castle so strong, or ship so proud,
Nor new-formed island rising steep,
Is safe for long, before Poseidon –
Drags it tumbling to the deep.
Mithras, warming land and ocean,
Gives life to both in the endless fray,
Forever oversees the onslaught,
But doesn’t care who wins the day.
“March”, said the breakers,
“Suffer”, said the tide,
“Look skyward to your maker,
There’s nowhere safe to hide.
Your return has been long-planned,
All things start and end with me.”
“I’ll stand”, said the land,
“You’re sand”, said the sea.
The wayward crashing turn of tide and wave,
The heartless menace of the currents sway,
Will try to claim another life, or land,
Before the turn of dusk and day.
We gasp the precious air while yet we may,
While trying to deny our darkest fears,
But every now and then we feel the spray
And hear the roaring in our ears.
© Barrie Cannon Rough draft September 1984
Completed April 7th 1985
- - - - - - - -
Sainabou
SAINABOU
I leave my dull companions, - slip quietly into dark,
The warm air carries sounds, of distant drums, - a bark.
On the uneven sand road, I stumble along,
Hearing the distant sea and constant cricket song.
All the many stars attempt to help me see,
Aiming myself between silhouettes of trees.
A black shadow looms before me now and then,
Exchanging “Bon soir, - ça va, - bien”.
I feel a moment’s doubt and yet,
As usual there is no threat.
In twenty minutes, I am there, arriving late,
And very quietly I push open the crooked gate.
I cross the empty compound, - to the simple hut
And tap the corrugated iron door that’s shut.
Then there she is, - this girl half my age,
With very few options, a life like a cage,
Waits in this room, just a bed and her dreams,
Hoping in candle light for much better things.
Slim shoulders, thin arms and lovely face,
Long hands, small breasts, a thong round her waist.
Her tiny ears, her narrow back,
This delicate woman-child, smooth skin so black.
We lie and look at each other intently, -
This dusky exotic I’m stroking so gently.
In her almond eyes there is a brightness,
Soft candle showing dark skin ‘gainst my whiteness.
But what does SHE see in this older man?
Does ‘white’ equal status, is money her plan?
A genuine partner and lover? – Maybe,
Or the chance to leave for a world of plenty?
We feed each other’s dreams by a touch,
Her love unconditional - hopes for so much.
Lovers, yet strangers from different nations,
Give in to lust as we look for salvation.
Grey light through the shutter, I wake as cocks crow,
“I have to return now, I really must go”.
“I love you”, she tells me, as I rise to leave,
“Promise you will never forget me”, she pleads.
This promise I can truly give, - but no more,
Then I kiss her goodbye and walk to the door.
Goats and chickens scuttle as I stumble back again,
Early risers gather fruit, - “Bon jour, - ça va, - bien”.
I will soon return, to MY world where I am free,
And must leave her in HERS, to dream of what can’t be.
But I wonder.
© Barrie Cannon April 20th 1999
- - - - - - - -
Spy
SPY
Looking through your key-hole,
Your world before my eye,
Nose against your window,
I am a spy!
Ear pressed against your wall,
Into your soul I’ll pry,
Going through your dustbin,
I am a spy!
You are my one obsession.
I’ll make you my possession.
A bug inside your phone,
Your voice, - it makes me ‘high’,
I intercept your letters,
I am a spy!
I know your name and every move,
I know the things you buy,
I know you inside out,
I am a spy!
You are my one obsession.
I’ll make you my possession.
That figure in dark glasses
Has needs he can’t deny.
Movement behind the curtain,
Here stands the spy.
You are my one obsession.
I’ll make you my possession.
I am a spy!!
© Barrie Cannon (1 hour flat 1-2pm) 15th January 1996
- - - - - - - -
Street Strutters
STREET STRUTTER
Rainbow hair and rainbow face,
Skirt so high it’s a disgrace.
Seams right up to ‘heaven’s door’,
Stiletto walk that knows the score.
There’s no doubt she knows what SHE’s got,
Puts it out to get what HE’s got.
All heads turn, the guys all stutter,
“Y,y, you see that? - - -st, st street strutter!”
For street strutters – life’s a ball.
One wiggle of her ‘ass’ will pin you to the wall.
Night or day a ‘groove’ is on call.
Street strutter, - she’s got it ALL.
Leather boy with chains and studs,
The tightest jeans and latest ‘duds’.
Rings on fingers, ring in ear,
Takes no jive and knows no fear.
With cool and swagger knows what HE’s got,
Turns it on to get what SHE’s got.
The girls all giggle, gasp and splutter,
“Hey, - cool, - wow, - street strutter!”
The street strutter rules the street,
With iron fist and flying feet.
Can take the pressure, - take the heat.
Street strutter, his world is complete.
The gangs in town, - the kids are out,
All living colour, laugh and shout.
Dancing, posing, high on pleasure.
Dope and booze in equal measure.
They’re going to set the town alight,
A new conquest in love or fight.
Last year’s models curse and mutter,
“They got us beat, - hands down,- street strutters!”
Got the stances, - get the glances,
Latest fashions, - latest passions,
Today’s weirdos? – today’s heroes!!
Stealing headlines, - NOW is the deadline.
STREET STRUTTERS RULE O-K-A-A-A-Y!
© Barrie Cannon February 1984
- - - - - - - -
Terminus
TERMINUS
(My) train stops at some dark, empty station and seems content to stay,
I step onto the platform to see why the delay.
Enter the gloomy station shop, maybe a book, some food?
In the corner shadows, is a man wearing a hood,
I find a feeling of unease is altering my mood.
I see the shop is empty save for pictures on the wall,
I start to look at some of these and memories they recall.
The shelves are lined with photos of the bad things I have done,
“Where did you get these pictures?” I blurt out, feeling stunned.
The entrance door has disappeared; there’s nowhere I can run.
“You shouldn’t have robbed that poor old lady all those years ago,
That girl you drove to suicide, the one who loved you so.
All those that you made suffer, all for power and greed.
You even shunned your parents in their desperate hour of need!”
I cringe and watch unfold a catalogue of dirty deeds.
And so it all continued, - all the people I had wronged,
In a lifetime spent deceiving, using those who were not strong.
To see myself as others saw me, - all the hurt I’d made,
This picture diary of my life, - the friends I had betrayed.
His judgement of my actions meant my temper now had frayed.
“Hey, old man, you mind your business, - what’s all this to you?
How do you know about these things, - who are you talking to?
Who are you, and what is this place?” My anger starts to show.
The figure turns, - an empty hood, - a voice, detached - and low,
It chills my blood, and says, “You mean you still don’t know?”
I rush then to the window, as a last means of escape
From the dark sinister voice, - the ghostly, empty shape.
My former arrogance has gone and panic overwhelms.
Is this a dream, how did I get into this ghastly realm.
The shop walls fade around me and I find myself outside,
Standing in the carnage of the train wreck, once my ride,
Among the broken, bloody bodies it’s MYSELF I stand beside.
The realisation hits me; it’s too late to make amends,
I’ve made my bed to lie in, and the guilt will NEVER end!
All fades except the platform long, the far-end lamp post glows
Upon the hooded figure underneath, who beckons me to go.
“Come now,” then turns into the eternal dark below.
© Barrie Cannon
An idea I had in mind for 20 years and finally wrote on October 3rd 2005
- - - - - - - -
The Time Traveller
THE (TIME) TRAVELLER
A life spent using hands and brain,
Obsession firing senses keen.
I stumbled on time’s hidden secrets
And with my skills built – THE MACHINE.
Onwards, backwards, future, past –
So much to see, must travel fast,
Although I can’t change things, I can observe.
Destruction, building, round and round,
But all I hear is a whirring sound,
Sun and moon become a twilight blur.
History and times-to-come, for me, become today;
The “now voyager” hurtles on his way.
I travel – in my machine.
I travel – and I have SEEN!
Seen them rise – seen them fall.
I travel – I’ve seen it ALL!
Before my eyes the plot unfolds,
I learn the secrets, see the whole.
That I should do what everyone just dreams.
A million lifetimes grow and wither,
Joy and sadness, taker, giver;
The pattern’s not as complex as it seems.
We never learn, but make the same mistakes,
As one destroys the things the other makes.
I defy my lowly station,
As I sparkle through the void,
To challenge my creator,
Standing tall and unafraid.
I travel – in my machine.
I travel – and I have SEEN!
Seen them conquer – seen them crawl.
I travel – I’ve seen it ALL!
So am I the only one to see
The dusk of all humanity?
A giant red sun dies slowly in the sky.
The darkness comes, a snowflake falls
And silence fills the empty halls,
My ears alone to hear the final sigh.
A dying sea tires of washing stones.
No trace of man to tell me I’m alone.
It’s all over, - NOTHING was achieved –
For all that time, and only me to grieve.
© Barrie Cannon December 1983
- - - - - - - -
Universal Panacea
UNIVERSAL PANACEA
I despise the politicians who continue to mislead us.
The smiling platitudes of those phoneys, as they bleed us
And the never-ending lies and excuses that they feed us.
The petty, grasping laws that we all hate
And the ‘justice’ that only serves the State.
I’m angry at our slavery that we embrace unknowing;
The loss of little freedoms that we don’t see slowly going,
As the erosion of our options and liberties keep growing.
Being told it’s in our interest, when it’s not,
The built in obsolescence to the rot.
This laughable democracy, where we don’t have a say;
The daily dose of ‘bullshit’ that we swallow day by day.
Blind to the extinctions and destruction while we play.
I’m weary of the constant war and crime
And despairing of my species all the time.
I really hate the false gods that we’re dumb enough to follow.
The answers that they give us always turn out to be hollow
And leave us in the mire of confusion, where we wallow.
I’m bitter for the loneliness endured -
And I’m tired from the sicknesses uncured.
This great gift of self-awareness is to know you’re going to die.
Instead of thanking nature, I want to spit into its eye.
We’re just stuck here - and there’s nothing we can do.
But there’s music - and booze to get me through.
I resent that every aspect of our life’s taxed to the hilt.
We slither and bottom-feed our way through all life’s silt,
Crawling over wreckage of the projects we once built.
We then put another log onto the flame
And create another victim for the game.
I pity the free spirit locked inside a shell of clay
That has to hear the ticking clock get louder every day
And that cruelty that even makes us watch our own decay.
To offer one free will when there is none,
In a life that seems to fade, as it’s begun.
I wonder that corruption is the only thing respected.
I’m disillusioned by the lies we have to live to be accepted
And dread the going on alone, - when we’ve been rejected.
I hate nature for making me a slave
To the weaknesses that everybody craves.
I am hurting for the sneers and the mistrust.
I want vengeance for the dreams that turned to dust
But I still go through the motions that I must.
I’m grateful for the knowledge of the years
But mourn the loss of innocence through tears.
This great gift of self-awareness is to know you’re going to die.
Instead of thanking nature, I want to spit into its eye.
We are here – though we never asked to be
But it’s all right, I’ve got my dope and my TV.
(Optional afterthought)
But to suffer disillusion helps us see
And to understand all this can make us free.
© Barrie Cannon Conceived and written 11th November 2005
- - - - - - - -
Tinsel Town
TINSEL TOWN
I am the place of dreams.
I am the place of schemes!
Bring me all your sad and deluded;
Bring me your evaders of the truth.
They are really ‘something special’, they’ve concluded,
And I’m waiting to feed upon their youth.
That ‘multitude of average’ that need to be adored,
Who need to make you realise they shouldn’t be ignored.
I am the place of plans.
I am the place of scams!
Come, stand out from the crowd and from your peers;
Come, pay back those who mocked you and who jeered;
Come, try and make more opium for the masses.
You could become well known and be revered.
You’re so hungry for attention; you’re so hungry to be seen;
So desperate to give yourselves as food for the ‘machine’.
I am the place of deceit.
I am the place of conceit!
I take those desperate to be a ‘someone’.
I take those with massive egos, and the vain,
Who think they have a talent but have none.
I take those who will deceive themselves again.
They want to be immortal; they want to be divine.
For every one that makes it through, hordes wither on the vine.
Pretty dreamers ‘wait’ at tables, waiting for the breaks,
Stacking shelves or pumping gas – however long it takes.
The gigolo, the ‘rent-boy’, who does it once again.
He said he wouldn’t stoop so low
But that was now a year ago.
More decision-makers to impress, so quash the pain.
Maybe the next auditioner will be a little kinder,
But he lays her on the casting-couch and puts her ‘through the grinder’.
“How badly do you want this part?” He asks her with a leer.
She said she wouldn’t stoop so low,
Then afterwards, “We’ll let you know.”
That oft-repeated phrase she dreads to hear.
I’m a place where reality ’s deceived,
I am a hollow place of make-believe!
They must live inside a fantasy that’s better than the self.
Make escapes for the mindless whose lives are on the shelf.
Make a product that is pointless and disposable as them,
That’s forgotten not long after, so lets make it once again.
To them, being ordinary can never be a choice.
Want us all to pay to see them, pay to hear their voice.
I am the feeder OF dreams.
I am the feeder ON dreams!
I’m built over the ‘Matmos’* that feeds upon your hope.
I’m built to absorb you all, my prey of endless scope.
I’m built on desperation, money, sex and flesh.
Come, climb upon my steep and slippery slope.
You come to me sad and disaffected
But I’ll chew you up and spit you out – rejected!
The rich and successful ones are not obsessed with fame.
They pull the strings from the shadows, controlling the game.
Choosing from the latest who tread the well-worn path,
Who may survive fame’s chaos and heat
Or return shortly after to the street
And crumple as they fade in the bitter aftermath.
WELCOME TO HOLLYWOOD!
* ‘Matmos’ – From the film Barbarella. An entity living in a lake over a which the Black Queen’s city was built. It gave power in return for feeding off the negativity of the city’s degenerate inhabitants.
© Barrie Cannon 20-21st February 2006
- - - - - - - -
These
THESE
THESE are the arms for the hugging.
These are the arms for the HUGGING.
Holding bodies tightly pressed,
Like a snake around your breast,
Like creeping ivy ‘round the rest.
THESE are the arms for the hugging.
THESE are the hands for the feeling.
These are the hands for the FEELING.
Hardness, softness, skin and face,
Curling all about your waist,
Kneading, touching EVERY place.
THESE are the hands for the feeling.
These to me are ALL the plan,
These things make me what I am.
THESE are the lips for the kissing.
These are the lips for the KISSING.
Gentle, warm and soft, and mild,
Or caves of serpents writhing wild,
Sense and reason are beguiled.
THESE are the lips for the kissing.
THIS is the heart for the giving.
This is the heart for the GIVING.
Paying you my sexual debt,
In ways you haven’t thought of yet,
For giving, in return, I get.
THIS is the heart for the giving.
THESE are the feet for the walking.
These are the feet for the WALKING.
They take me where I’ve been before,
Leading me right to your door,
To get me ALL these things and MORE.
THESE are the feet for the walking.
These to me are ALL the plan,
These I use because I CAN,
These things make me what I am,
It is THESE things – make me a man.
© Barrie Cannon 4th August 2005
Concept, verse themes and certain lines came to me whilst watching Robert Plant at WOMAD festival, Reading, Friday 29th July 2005. Poem written in 20 minute lunch session and 1 hour evening session.
- - - - - - - -
Tumba Francésa
Tumba Francésa
In a back street of Guantanamo
Something touched my soul.
In a back street of Guantanamo
Something made me whole.
Something born of slavery;
Something born of bravery;
Something that set my spirit free.
In Haiti, slaves of French plantations
Watched their masters dance.
Saw the style of clothes they wore.
Watched with envy, the romance
Of grand houses and etiquette,
Elegant ladies pirouette
To a swirling European minuet.
Two hundred years have passed,
Since they were forced to flee.
Took their voodoo and their memories
And in Cuba became free.
Handed down for generations
Were their dreams and aspirations,
But now African – in its emulation.
We went to see this strange and dying art form.
Four ‘White folk’ went to see this unknown thing.
They put us on a raised and railed platform.
In our centre, sat bethroned their old ‘witch-queen’.
The sound of voodoo drumming starts,
Relentless and primal, it tugs my heart.
A mix of unorthodox drums playing their parts.
Three huge barrel-drums with a wire stretched across
Began to buzz and pound
And smaller, flatter, brighter drums
Add another layer of sound.
A man at centre beats a hollow tree-trunk with sticks.
Machine-gun-rapid – a staccato barrage of clicks.
The sound is so powerful, mesmerising and gripping.
Then out in their crinolines, old dancers come tripping.
In court-dances of Europe’s tradition
How they bowed and twirled
In a civilised kind of sedition
Now they curtsied and swirled.
With an odd nobility,
With elegant gentility,
They took Regency conventions
And rejected those pretensions.
Reclaimed dignity – their ancestors’ intentions.
Then I felt a slight uneasiness
From my elevated space.
The guilt from a colonial past
Might show upon my face.
These ‘Negroes’ danced so fine for us,
Had made it so sublime for us,
Transported from another time and place.
The old queen shook her shaker
At the dancers down below.
Sent spells and spirit-blessings,
As the madness ebbed and flowed.
This new black aristocracy
Was surely some hypocrisy;
Was something, that really shouldn’t be.
The spectacle was overwhelming.
The noise, the power, the shock!
Still alive after two hundred years,
Alive, yet so baroque.
Was hanging by a thread,
Would likely soon be dead,
But would stay alive forever in my head.
I sat transfixed. My hair stood up.
Face locked in manic grin.
‘Twas then the dancers called me down
And asked me to join in.
I found myself a part of it,
Dragged into the heart of it
And to the heady madness I submit.
This weird, bastard-child of two cultures;
This genteel, hybrid that rocked
Was now over as quickly as it had begun.
It had temporarily twisted the clock.
I came out sated – amazed.
I came out elated and dazed,
To the afternoon sun still ablaze.
Wow!
© Barrie Cannon 19th - 21st January 2006
(Based on an experience in Cuba, February 2000)
- - - - - - - -
The Greatest Lie of All
THE GREATEST LIE OF ALL
There seems to be a concept
Universal in appeal,
That man can live with woman
And that happiness is real,
But tolerance and loyalty
Are easy things to steal,
When passion dies and boredom
Is the only thing you feel.
It’s always in the distance
Shining pure and strong,
It lets you touch it briefly,
Then suddenly it’s gone.
You try to hold it
But the passion starts to pall,
It seems to me that love is –
The greatest lie of all.
Let’s not be taken in,
We should suspend belief.
Our parents ought to tell us
Earthly heaven is all too brief,
But they just encourage us
To sail the hidden reef
of their mistakes, and watch us sink
From gaiety to grief.
It’s always in the distance
Shining pure and strong,
It lets you touch it briefly,
Then suddenly it’s gone.
You try to hold it
But the passion starts to pall,
It seems to me that love is –
The greatest lie of all.
I’m not here to live up to your ideals,
And I can’t demand that you live up to mine.
Let’s just be ourselves -
And if we like how freedom feels -
We’ll meet halfway and things will be just fine.
Boys and girls walk different paths
While seeking the same prize,
Want love from each other,
But have to compromise.
Know each other inside out
Love gradually dies,
Predictable and selfish
Both just end up living lies.
It’s always in the distance
Shining pure and strong,
It lets you touch it briefly,
Then suddenly it’s gone.
You try to hold it
But the passion starts to pall,
It seems to me that love is –
The greatest lie of all.
© Barrie Cannon. Good friday evening, 5th April 1985
- - - - - - - -
The Last Laugh
The Last Laugh
I fancied you for years; I worshipped from afar.
When we started going out, you were my brightest star.
But you played around,
Let me hit the ground.
When I needed loyalty, you were nowhere to be found.
You used to be my joy,
But I was just your toy.
You carried on with other men; – deception you’d employ.
You showed me things I didn’t want to learn.
I used to be happy – but you made me stern.
Alone in my room at night, how I would yearn.
But one day I’ll have the last laugh.
Yes, I’ll have the last laugh.
I’ll have the last the laugh, when I watch you crash and burn!
We went to places; I took you near and far.
You left me for another man who had a better car!
I won’t curl up on your mat.
I’ve got more pride than that.
Be sure I won’t be far away, when he drops you flat.
No bitch is going to jerk to my chain.
What ‘goes down’ comes around again.
Can’t wait to hear YOUR love’s gone down the drain.
You thought I’d always be there; I’d always return.
Thought you would spend all the money I could earn.
I’d come at your demand, then the meeting’s adjourned.
But one day I’ll have the last laugh.
Yes, I’ll have the last laugh.
I’ll have the last the laugh, when I watch you crash and burn!
I’m still in touch - with friends that we both know.
I still go to places, where we used to go.
I’ll keep my nose to the ground,
Yeah, I’ll be sniffing ‘round.
When I see you crying, my joy will be unbound.
I know where this is leading you,
To the bitterness you put me through.
That man you dumped me for, dates others too.
My loyalty and love you decided to spurn.
I’d see you out with other men; my stomach would churn.
But I knew one day, our positions would turn
‘Cos now I’ve HAD the last laugh.
Yes I’ve HAD the last laugh.
I’ve HAD the last laugh; NOW I watch you crash and burn.
© Barrie Cannon January 22nd 2006 (2 hours)
- - - - - - - -
The Now
THE ‘NOW’
If you’re on the road to destiny,
There are many who are not.
Or if you have the gift of leisure,
It’s a precious thing you’ve got.
To have the luxury of choice
Is a privilege to treasure.
But the time we have is limited,
Make sure it gives you pleasure – DO IT NOW.
We must send all sensations back,
This is our obligation.
Be a worthy ‘player’ in the ‘show’,
As thanks for our creation.
The present is the only life
That we can really know.
The ‘source’ is hungry for results,
No excuse for living slow – DO IT NOW.
Attack life with pugnacity,
Consume it with voracity,
You owe it to creator and to self.
Take a chance – dance the dance,
Satisfy and gratify.
The greatest sin is sitting on the shelf.
If you’re going to do something
Make sure you do it well.
Your efforts bring their own reward
And leave a tale to tell.
There’s no apathy in history,
It is passion ‘makes the mark’.
For better options later
Means TODAY we ‘strike the spark’ – DO IT NOW.
While you’re waiting for the ‘green light’,
Or a written invitation,
You let your life just slip away
In lost prevarication.
Don’t put off till tomorrow
All that you can do today.
Chances may not come again,
‘Then’ is not the place to stay – MOVE ON NOW.
Attack life with pugnacity,
Consume it with voracity,
You owe it to creator and to self.
Take a chance – dance the dance,
Satisfy and gratify.
The greatest sin is sitting on the shelf.
You’ll never justify yourself
From the comfort of your chair.
Watching others make it happen,
While you wish that you were there.
To look back on an empty life,
Is betrayal of the ‘you’.
There’s not as much time as you think,
To do what you COULD do – DO IT NOW.
The only law, - “Do what thou wilt,”
Should not do harm to others.
Try and move the whole thing forward;
Try to learn from one another.
Be subject to the ‘Realm of Busy’,
Seek to realise some potential,
Because once the ball is rolling,
Your gains are exponential – PUSH ON NOW.
If there’s a peak you want to reach, - don’t turn.
If there’s a ‘high’ you want to try, - don’t burn.
That journey to the unknown, - take it.
Music that you want to play, - make it.
Then you’ll have a life that’s tasted,
At least you’ll have a life not wasted.
If there’s a story in your head, - write it.
A cause that you believe in, - fight it.
A place you want to visit, - view it.
An art you want to learn, - pursue it.
We never can be sure how much time life will allow,
But we know tomorrow never gets here, so let’s - DO IT NOW.
© Barrie Cannon 9th, 10th, 11th November 2005.
(Idea came while watching John Otway at Rockinbeerfest, Godmanchester 21st August 2005)
- - - - - - - -
Divine Madness
DIVINE MADNESS
Out of step from school days on,
He wouldn’t follow
Pastimes hollow,
Looks on lesser men with scorn.
Others sense the martyr born.
Some keep back but some are drawn.
Crawls and staggers,
Bawls and swaggers,
Born a leader not a pawn.
Madness divine,
God protect your precious jewel.
Madness sublime,
God protect your chosen fool.
Some far horizon in his sight;
Rushing boldly,
Crushing coldly,
A tortured soul in panic flight.
Knows he’s right, - the vision’s bright.
Though all around is darkest night.
No compromises,
Just despises
Those not searching for the light.
Looking for the reasons,
A life spent searching for the cause.
Ignoring all distractions,
Always pulled on by the force.
Destiny is calling,
Another moth drawn to the fire.
And what IS his calling,
A bloody tyrant, - new messiah?
Ignores the chaos in his wake,
Careering, flailing,
Searing, maiming,
Must push on for his reason’s sake.
A lonely, headlong rush at fate.
An end he dare not contemplate.
Cold and splendid,
Never bended,
Seeking love but finding hate.
Madness divine,
God protect your precious jewel.
Madness sublime,
God protect your chosen fool.
Years have come and years have gone.
Disillusion
Feeds confusion,
The chosen path leads ever on.
Still no answers, still a no-one,
Just hurt and pain a lifetime long.
Lurches friendless,
Searches endless,
Could it be that he was wrong?
Madness divine,
God protect your precious jewel.
Madness sublime,
God protect your chosen fool.
© Barrie Cannon. December 1983
- - - - - - - -
Blue Mist
BLUE MIST
Heating, - cutting, mixing, rolling.
A labour of love - and holy sin.
The bell of higher consciousness is tolling
And once again the ritual begins.
Draw all the curtains, - shut the door.
Tapes and albums thoughtfully chosen.
Lights dimmed, cushions on the floor,
And for a little while time is frozen.
Blue mist, time is stretched, suspended,
Blue mist, bodies loose and lead*,
Blue mist, daytime worries ended,
Blue mist, music fills your head.
Such detail, - such awareness,
Magical new insights of rareness.
Music, - fully interlocking,
Music, - complex to extreme,
Blue mist, a million thoughts come flocking,
Blue mist, living spacious dreams.
*(NB like leaden)
© Barrie Cannon (1 hr flat) December 1984
- - - - - - - -
City Boy
CITY BOY
It’s 7.00 am, I s’pose
I should get out to work,
In pinstriped suit of clothes
I wear as a foreign bank clerk.
At the bus queue, soaking wet,
I watch the thing go by.
My whole life’s tedious pattern’s set,
It just makes me want to cry.
If I could escape from my boredom trance,
I’d hit the streets and take a rebel stance.
But, here I am once more,
I watch the hands turn slow.
Each day such a small-talk bore,
On and on and on it goes.
Got to get out in the open,
Feel my spirit start to fade.
Can’t keep clocking in and out,
It’s not the way that I was made.
If I could escape from my boredom trance,
I’d hit the streets and take a rebel stance.
Dinnertime will come and go,
It’s time to do the post again.
If anything gets lost, you know
I’ll be the one who gets the blame.
Still, it’s nearly time to quit,
They can’t touch me when I’m through and out.
Again my fire of freedom’s lit,
Now I can scream and I can shout.
I will escape from my boredom trance,
I’ll hit the street and take a rebel stance.
I’ve hit the street with my rebel stance -- -
Till tomorrow.
© Barrie Cannon December 1984
Re-worked from original song by Phil - Southend
- - - - - - - -
Collioure
Collioure
So, this was it, THIS was to be the ‘ONE’ day.
I left my friends to paddle their canoes around the bay
- and went on a chemical adventure.
In town I watch a pizza heaving on my plate,
It felt rubbery and strange, - I over-salivate.
I quickly left, as my self-consciousness came.
I WANDERED AROUND THE OLD HARBOUR CASTLE,
The ubiquitous supermarket trolley, dumped even here,
This time cast over into brambles below,
By fools unaware that paradise was so near.
Indeed, such fools could never know.
I WALKED UP ONTO AN ANCIENT HEADLAND.
Behind me the sun bathed the pretty town and bay
But ahead, I saw the sweep of a timeless mountain ridge
Ahead, hazy and eternal it curved away,
As I climbed ‘ever higher’ on my pilgrimage.
Its terraced fields swept up the steep sides,
As they had always done, - for centuries, forever.
I marvelled at the continuity it seemed nothing could sever.
I KNEW THAT HERE TIME HAD BEGUN, - A REVELATION!
On that holy headland, I sat and never spoke,
Among the ancient rocks, I watched the dark blue sea.
Among old olives and stunted dwarf oaks,
Crippled were those gnarled and windswept trees.
The rocks were covered in deep, crusty lichens
And mosses, - many types were there;
Dry tufty grass and weathered shrubs
Spoke of eternity ------------ I suddenly KNEW where…………!
I HAD STUMBLED UPON EDEN!!
This was the FIRST place, the oldest place on Earth.
This was how it was before Eve, in a time before birth.
I was alone, - then the spirits called my name
And I was Adam, - in a time before fame.
I watched the insects, I felt the sun so warm;
I sat alone for hours and felt the world turn
And saw the passing of many lives, before I would return.
I cast my seed upon the earth - - -
It was a sacrament, a celebration, for this was holy ground.
Then the time to leave Paradise finally came around.
I saw a woman coming up – did she KNOW where she was going?
As we passed – looked in each others’ eyes,
- - - And there was knowing!
I REJOINED MY FRIENDS AT CAMP, AND LATER WE RETURNED,
DRAWN BACK TO THE HARBOUR CASTLE – DRIFTING MUSIC WE DISCERNED.
Watching two ‘electric minstrels’, a small crowd now stood;
No words, only divine sound they made,
While beside us small boats bobbed and swayed.
(Oh, the ethereal music they played!)
How could two unknowns be so good?
Unique, spellbinding – I was entranced by them.
A man in evening dress ‘robot-danced’ by them.
- - A strange and magical circus.
The place! The music! – That chance had brought me there.
I knew it had been special – I had seen something rare.
We walked back to our camp in the darkness.
We passed dark pools left by the tide,
Surrounding us on either side.
‘Round the cement path laid between the jagged rocks.
TO MY AMAZEMENT, IN EACH POOL WAS A SMALL CITY.
Every different plant and weed fluoresced,
As did tiny fish, as they darted and traversed.
None of us knew or could have guessed;
And these pools were many, - each a little universe.
LIKE GOD LOOKING DOWN ON A FUTURISTIC SPACE-CITY.
Yes, THIS was the ‘ONE’ day!!
The day above all others!
A gem from start to finish
That time will not diminish.
It was worth it all – just for the wonder.
I had SEEN!!
© Barrie Cannon – Written as prose Nov 2005. Written as poem Jan 19th 2006
(About a day in September 1992. The musicians were PADNOISE)
- - - - - - - -
The Gaping Hole
THE GAPING HOLE
I was five years old when Daddy left,
Mum never told me why.
I’d wake sometimes in dark, bereft
And hear her softly cry.
By window, watched the road outside
And hope for his return.
Had I done something bad or wrong? -
This question used to burn.
No Christmas gifts or birthdays,
He didn’t seem to care
About the emptiness he’d left me
And how I’d need him there.
He never knew the deep distress
The need to be her dad’s ‘princess’.
In need of love, - chose badly,
I clung to any man I could,
Was meek and mild and malleable,
Gave in at times I never should.
The marriage wasn’t happy long,
He said I cramped his style.
Belittled or ignored me,
Went out alone and rarely smiled.
Was glib about his indiscretions,
He didn’t seem to care
About the emptiness he’d left me
And how I’d need him there.
“How can I get you to respond?”
I’m reaching out to make a bond.
I never, ever had a man who loved me very long,
To have someone belong to me and to someone belong.
Was I SO heartless in past lives to be rejected SO in this?
Is it SO much to ask for, just a little taste of bliss?
Oh, the gnawing, empty feeling; my sunken, withered heart.
Someone hold and cherish me before I finally fall apart.
He left me with a baby boy,
Someone to need me now.
Without his father’s guiding hand
I coped, I don’t know how.
Son got in with the bad crowd,
Always caused me consternation,
Said I over-mothered him,
Showed me no appreciation.
Told me that I smothered him,
Gave me no consideration.
He left home young and rarely called,
He didn’t seem to care
About the emptiness he’d left me
And how I’d need him there.
In you my final hopes were riding,
My son, a man I hoped at last that I could take some pride in.
Will I never make connection?
Will I never make a bond?
There’s emptiness forever –
And a gaping hole beyond.
We all need to be needed,
To be important to another;
No-one ever wanted me
As daughter, lover, mother!
Society led me to believe
I’d satisfy my soul, but
With all my expectations gone
There’s just a gaping hole.
© Barrie Cannon 1st October 2005
- - - - - - - -
Biting the Hand
BITING THE HAND
There’s a cancer on the face of Gaia,
Consuming all it can.
It arrives
And then it thrives,
Destruction without plan.
There’s a cancer on the face of Gaia,
Creeping and insidious.
It blooms,
Then it consumes;
Her beauty then made hideous.
The cancer just proliferates
And won’t control its birth.
The cancer just obliterates,
The most destructive force on Earth.
It gobbles all resources up
For things it doesn’t need.
Its very own destruction
Lies within its seed.
It ravages and damages and doesn’t give a damn.
It knows there is no doubt, “I consume, therefore I am.”
There’s a cancer on the face of Gaia,
Consuming all the ‘green’,
With so much haste,
Makes so much waste,
It really is obscene.
There’s a cancer on the face of Gaia,
Creeps into every cleft.
Though she’s spacious,
It’s tenacious,
There’ll soon be nothing left.
To bite the hand that feeds it
Is not a smart idea.
To shit on its own doorstep,
Is a purpose so unclear.
To consume its host in total,
Should be a cause for fear.
But reason will not stop it,
As it smothers, year by year.
It ravages and damages and doesn’t give a damn.
It knows there is no doubt, “I consume, therefore I am.”
It’s devious and clever and
The one thing we can’t ban,
Because the thing destroying Gaia
Is the cancer that is MAN!
© Barrie Cannon October 2005
(Idea and several rhymes came to me on M4 driving home from Bristol Wednesday 19th October 2005 then written in total in 1 hour Friday 21st October 2005)
- - - - - - - -
A Gift Taken Back
A GIFT TAKEN BACK (LOSING THE ONE)
Where are you now, my precious one,
Who gave me all I lacked;
Who found me on a lonely path
And helped to bring me back.
When I was locked-in, lost and wrong,
You lit my heart and fed my soul.
Disjointed, I did not belong.
You woke me up and made me whole.
Where are you now?
Where are you now?
Where are you now I’m needing?
Now flowers without water will surely fade and die.
You killed a thing of beauty,- I have to wonder why.
Now suddenly I’m blinded by the one who made me see
And made to live in hunger for a life I thought could be.
They say its better to have loved and lost
Than never to have known it;
But worse it is to pay the cost
When knowing you have ‘blown it’.
How few make real music.
How few write real words.
How few can help each other
Make some sense of the absurd.
We found each other answers
When confused and raw and tense.
With disbelief, ran laughing
To a future that made sense.
Where are you now?
Where are you now?
Where are you now I’m bleeding?
For you, my love was incomplete,
I have to love all nations.
You loved strangers you would never meet
More than my dedication.
On idealistic principle,
You threw our dream away.
In bitter disappointment,
I hope you rue the day.
You brought candles to my bedroom,
You brought music to my sleep.
You brought flowers to my table
And a relief that made me weep.
With so many things in common,
With so many ways that ‘clicked’;
We’ll neither find another
With so many ‘boxes ticked’.
Where are you now?
Where are you now?
My soul again needs feeding!
Eclipsed by this Moon, the darkness descends
And returns me to pointlessness that never ends.
That year full of magic I long to retrieve.
Pity the fool who dared to believe.
© Barrie Cannon 1st & 7th June 2006
- - - - - - - -
Dictator's Dilemma
DICTATOR’S DILEMMA
(A hypothetical conversation between common sense and a would-be dictator [D:]).
You say your solutions are logical. Logic may be unanswerable because it can be so absolutely wrong. Would you take terrible, logical steps KNOWING they were wrong?
D: Yes, because logic is all we have to cling to, - to make sense with. To deny logic is to accept chaos – and with the acceptance of chaos comes anarchy, destruction and madness!
But perverted logic also can bring destruction and madness. Would you rather have the horrors of cold impersonal logic to the uncertainties and passions of chaos?
D: Yes!
Then you deny passion and humanity!?
D: Perhaps.
Would you condemn millions by logic?
D: To save the World,- yes!
But whose world, - yours?
D: The World is the World! Someone has to care, to bring order and control, to take the necessary steps!
And are you qualified to make those decisions?
D: I have the power and the will!
And, no doubt, the ego and the greed, but do you have the right?
D: You should be careful…..!!
But you have no greater understanding of the grand plan than those you condemn. The World has it’s own logic, is yours better?
D: I am strong enough, I can do it, _ for the greater good!
Ah, they all say that! Logic is a broad overview. The minutiae tell a different story. To apply unbending logic is to play God!
D: Logic IS God!
And are you God’s instrument?
D: Perhaps
More so than everyone else? Are we not all one, from the same source? - Would you destroy yourself?
D: Aah! The dilemma ……
Power and a place in history or apathy and oblivion!
© Barrie Cannon January 2006
- - - - - - - -
Oh, Time
49. OH, TIME
Oh, Time!
You trickster!
You provider and destroyer!
You create a moment
In which the soul can sing,
But even as it sings,
You subtly change it, and lessen it
And dim its memory.
Oh, Time!
You misleader!
You bring us to fruition;
In beauty and in strength:
But even as we celebrate
You make us redundant
In the eyes of those
Who follow.
Oh, Time!
You deceiver!
You giver and stealer of dreams!
You make us ‘Kings’ for a day;
Lords of all we survey;
Then sow the seeds of doubt
And put us back
Where things are hollow.
Oh, Time!
You user!
You overseer of all things
Wonderful and terrible.
We do your will in hardship.
You dim our pain
But ensure it will return,
And you make sure we never learn.
Oh, Time!
You tyrant!
You lover and creator!
We love you for opportunity
While dreading the cost.
We worship you with the fear of the lost,
And we quake at your feet,
In awe of your indifference.
Oh, Time!
So impatient!
So restless and ruthless!
While creating new perfection,
You are so dismissive
Of the perfection already made,
And do not let it stay,
But brush it all away.
© Barrie Cannon (30mins.) Tues. 14th August 2007
- - - - - - - -
Ultimate Gain
ULTIMATE GAIN
There’s no return to then and there,
No way to see the when and where,
There is only ever NOW and YOU.
Between the breaths that come and go
Are answers we yearn to know,
To change confusion for the wonder of the true.
This is for all those who know
And the many who have known;
And those who know they WANT to know ---
The seekers and the shown.
Come on, let’s go back to that plane.
Come on, you children born of Cain,
We’ll push on through the blinding rain.
Lets go back to that field, ----
The ‘Field of Ultimate Gain’.
To enjoy this privilege, - this gift,
Needs just a small dimension shift.
By ancient meditations thoughts are stilled.
A blinding light that lets us see,
Where roars the silence endlessly.
Our need for peace and clarity fulfilled.
This is for those who sought and found;
For those whose hungry hearts found food;
For those who stood on higher ground;
Those whose thirsty souls were quenched for good.
Let’s go back to that place devoid of pain.
Let’s go back to that place from whence we came;
That place where we crave to go again,
And I’ll see you on that field ----
The ‘Field of Ultimate Gain’.
From where creation comes unbidden;
Where—life’s secrets all are hidden;
Where everything existing was begun.
A place of certainty, not doubt;
A space within and not without;
Where everything we are, we become.
Go back-inside and find this force –
That sent you here to feel.
Returning home, back to the source,
Eternal, always real.
Come on, I call you once again.
Come on, you children born of Cain,
Whose existences forever wax and wane.
Come, join me on that field, ----
The ‘Field of Ultimate Gain’.
Away from this world to which we are born.
Away from this emotional storm,
Where we try to pin the timeless to a time.
Back where there are more answers than questions;
Understandings too subtle to mention.
Knowing that infinite, sublime -----
That is our home,
Where it began and always will be.
Yes, we can go home,
Regain that joyful serenity.
Beyond our dreams’ stagnation,
Beyond our degradation,
Beyond imagination
Is that boundless, open field,----
The ‘Field of Ultimate Gain’.
© Barrie Cannon August 2006
Idea and few lines came while at Rockinbeerfest, Godmanchester . 20th Aug. 2006
Written at Tribe of Doris festival, Devon. 26th Aug, & last 2 sections added 3rd Sept 2006.
- - - - - - - -
A Flower Child Died Today
A FLOWER-CHILD DIED TODAY (1967)
No more will you feel cool grass beneath your feet,
You who revelled in the warmth of the sun
And the birds’ song when the light and darkness meet
And another carefree day is run.
No more to watch the swaying flowers
Dance for you in the sifting breeze,
Hear the tinkling waters as you dream for hours
Beneath the sighing leaves.
No, not for Alison: Your peaceful friends are mourning.
You joined the new believers, committed and willing
To stand for peace and what was right.
Protest this war and end more killing,
Stood up to police and army might.
“Flowers are better than guns,” you said
And gave a soldier a flower from your hair.
To his savage rifle-mouth went straight ahead
And put the flower there.
But not for Alison will be a peaceful new age dawning.
A stupid needless bullet, left you lying there.
The soldiers didn’t know you and little did they care
For the friends who mourn your passing
And the shattered dreams you shared.
Though one recalls a girl who gave a flower from her hair.
Does he still think HIS is the way
When a ‘flower-child’ died today.
You died for the cause as just a face in the crowd,
Lovely, naïve, idealistic and proud.
What does that soldier think? --- whose friend
Cut you down for only loving him, --- brought about your end.
Something else died too, that day ---
The dream that men can change their ways,
When a ‘flower-child’ died today.
© Barrie Cannon 1968
A true story of a girl student killed during the hippy anti Vietnam War protests at the Kent State university campus, Calif. U.S.A. My 1st ever poem.
- - - - - - - -
Second Chance
SECOND CHANCE
My waiting game at last had reached its end
And I was allowed my taste of truth.
Released from mere existence, a new special friend
Helped me celebrate my ebbing youth.
A lovely flower bloomed large for all to see
From dusty years of mediocrity.
Time at last did treat me fair ---
Some joy amid the rush and tear,
But now I only dream and stare
And wonder was I ever there ---at all?
I let her slip away, then all seemed black.
My memory reaches out to bring her back.
Then time became my enemy,
It held my love away from me.
Then some years on, she contacts me, from that past so rare;
This girl I met, then knew, when young and lost.
Destinies entwined through something we both shared;
Two lovers paths once more are strangely crossed.
Our humour, characters and bond
Have still not changed, -- they lie beyond.
We talk as though those times stood still,
I feel again that long lost thrill,
It seems our lives lie with Fate’s will,
Deep loneliness suppressed until --- she called!
We went on our own ways, our needs to learn;
Once realised, we knew we must return.
This second opportunity that offers plenty
Must be taken now, or two lives are left empty.
© Barrie Cannon 1969 / March 2006
Written almost entirely in 1969. Discovered on two separate scraps of paper in March 2006.
Combined, honed and finished only to tie up this ‘loose end’. First verse loosely based on my 1st holiday romance.
- - - - - - - -
The Summer of Love
THE SUMMER OF LOVE. 1967 (2)
You can never know what it was like,
Begin to understand how ------
That joy, the peace, the bells and beads;
I can taste it even now,
Fresh as yesterday. Fresh as rain on parched ground;
That infectious optimism growing all around.
A faint reminder is all it needs
To bring a surge of fond recall.
Maybe you HAVE experienced it, not realising,
When you feel at one with all.
A greater happiness than usual, its reason unclear,
When all seems good and right ---
When your ‘everything’ is here.
A soft wind blows through flowing coloured clothes
And the sun is warm and bright.
Only lovers may be oblivious to this beauty because
They are so deep within that same joy that once was.
Our generation did not have to die, in millions, by war;
As our parents had done, and their parents before.
We challenged the old order with Utopian dreams.
We were the ones to make the old ways redundant.
That realisation! – that all mans’ journey and schemes
Had all been leading up to this moment. ---
Leading to US ! (or so we perceived).
Oh, to be young then, to be young and believe.
Against old stagnant values we kicked with impatience.
A trans-atlantic phenomenon, our new-age renaissance.
We became a huge groundswell,-- we ‘catalysts prime’.
We started thinking globally for the first time.
We didn’t want to dominate any other race;
Loving our fellows in a global embrace.
Learning from all cultures and beliefs,
Wishing to alleviate all griefs.
We rampaged through literature, theatre and art;
Music and fashion, we tore them apart.
We kicked against staleness,- dry dusty authority.
To taste and try everything --- a learning priority.
New spirituality, pagan and earthy,
Came from a new thirst to know.
An evolving new-age philosophy,
As the movement continued to grow.
We fought to get justice, freedom and truth.
A brave new frontier, this time driven by youth.
The ‘pill’ brought us sexual liberation.
Psychedelic drugs fed lateral thought.
We found Eden in a mass intoxication;
We found a path that so many had sought.
Men grew their hair long, more wild than before.
Our music was new, electric and raw.
There was ‘acid’, there was ‘dope’;
There was colour, there was hope.
We railed against conformity with freedom of expression
As we spiralled in our dizzying transgression.
It was a joyous assault ‘across the board’,
As a more open society we strove toward.
It was transcendental, loving and gentle;
A mass acceptance of what was right.
We had touched the fundamental ---
The World would have to see the light.
We thought it would last, that we would prevail.
So how could it cease, -- how could we fail?
Pt.2
Human nature will not change so easily.
The establishment ridiculed us slickly.
Power and vested interests would never let it be;
The hawk’s talons don’t release their grip so quickly.
To die as just a fashion was too cruel;
To be dismissed as just idealistic fools.
Such disillusion, as things reverted to normality;
The rejecting of our dream for practicality.
Was it just naivete’ as some would suggest?
Without our forefathers’ struggles – a generation blessed?
Or were we the victims of our own excess?
Idealism nurtured by a drug-fueled caress.
Or was it a glimpse of a far older reality,
A dream to unite under one commonality?
So many felt our destiny betrayed
As cohesion and momentum started to fade.
Derided and undermined by the ‘old-guard’ in control;
They killed or jailed our heroes, but now change was ‘on a roll’.
It seems we WILL take our place in history.
No other youth-culture left such a legacy.
Youth now had a new political identity
And a freedom it never had before.
We took the right to challenge and think free
And protest against unpopular laws.
Protection of the lowly and the planet as a whole;
It WAS a turning point and a glorious goal.
“All we needed was love” in that magical hour;
Smiling faces, tinkling bells, the power of a flower.
A last gasp of innocence with incense combining,
We shone like the stars, with strength in our shining.
The kaftans and Afghan coats, where did they go?
They’re still here decades later – in a warm afterglow!
In the hopes and attitudes of many new young ---
The concern for the planet that we had begun.
I believed then, -- it changed my life,
And I believe now, -- WE had a greater dream !!
© Barrie Cannon 1969 & 24th-28th Nov 2006
Originally written as prose. An attempt to state the impact & legacy of the hippy movement.
Most of the 1st part written in 1969. When I found the jottings in March 2006 I wrote most of the retrospective part 2. Finally rewrote it as a poem 24th – 28th November 2006.
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Stages
STAGES
Teens
At first we see only beauty in the glass;
Beauty, time and endless possibility.
Sure some destiny will come to pass;
Certain we hide some great ability.
The World has turned and waited long.
We herald a new golden dawn.
We will not age. We will stay strong;
Cheat death and mans’ fragility.
Yes, we are the chosen, - humanity’s flowers.
Yes, we are immortal and the World will be ours.
20s
So we look for clues and grow in confidence.
We dabble in variety and make the odd mistake.
Though talented, spending more time ‘on the fence’.
Squander life as we await that fateful ‘break’.
We don’t get the most from what we try.
Some say we let potential slip by,
While waiting for that ‘fate’ to take us high;.
Perceived self-worth impossible to shake.
We keep our own faith while we linger and play;
Convinced one day we will fly higher than they.
30s
Now doubt starts eroding former certainty,
Through lost opportunities and bad decisions.
What has become of the youthful guarantee?
Reality and faith are in collision.
Society and peers have pulled their strings.
Drift into family-life that clips our wings.
Still dreaming of doing greater things,
But chained to obligations of provision.
Within this searching soul that others doubt
Is that flame of self-belief that won’t go out.
40s
Does ‘Life begin at forty’ ? – No, it’s really half spent!
Mirrors show we’re not immortal after all.
All the friends and partners that came and went,
While we are waiting for that destiny to call.
We try to move forward, we try to compete.
Denying, we refuse to admit our defeat,
And our place – just another ‘face’ on the street.
We too are gripped by the mortal descent.
We are shocked - as old expectations die;
We are rocked as early preconceptions fly.
50s
‘Radio Heartbreak’ spreads the news, - ‘Another hero fallen’.
Like ‘existence-cornerstones’ they tell us who we are.
They live ‘out on the edge’ for us; (we still await OUR calling);
Now they leave us naked after taking us so far.
We try to stay the same, try to hold back time.
Keep a boring career that dulls and confines;
As if going forward is to embrace our decline.
Birthday after birthday – marks our sinking star.
Our subconscious now kicks our dread from slumber.
And we begin to fear the sound of a number.
60s
I look in the mirror, counting the grey.
The image looks through me, not known anymore.
There are a few more lines that won’t go away,
I look away quickly from that once adored.
Who are you? – Which is me?
Am I that? – Can it be?
Immortal was just fantasy!
The speed of the passing years leaves me in awe.
That face in the mirror with eyes full of doubt –
Its ME looking in, someone else looking out.
70s
Oh, such reproachment; hating what we’ve become;
Oh, the pathos of the radically lost.
Once the mirror’s image and the man were as one;
Now the ‘stranger-round-my-soul’ portrays lifes cost.
Come to terms with being just a faceless clone.
Would have tried harder if only we had known.
Just how briefly this existence was on loan.
Once athletic, now pathetic, we stand in life’s frost.
Now all we hear is the tick of the clock
And a laugh in the distance continues to mock.
80s
Have we wasted this creation with small preoccupations?
Our final destination was never in doubt.
The journey itself gives just remuneration;
To have loved and been loved is what its about.
Our memories, our moorings in time.
The good times we had in our prime.
The problems we beat on our climb.
With confusion and worry beside us throughout.
We live with our conscience, actions and consequence
But hopefully rich and wise in experience.
So we were NOT immortal but just another stage;
Maybe divine, or an aggregation of particles.
We were NOT to be the ones to turn the final page;
Maybe dross, or the ‘genuine article’?
The time has come to pay off life’s debt.
Dreaming ‘tween worlds as our sun starts to set.
The last thing we want is the last thing we get. (death)
Existence, though confusing, is magical.
However we lived it, theres no going back.
Regardless, we’re just fleeting ‘sparks in the black’.
© Barrie Cannon Started April, Finished 21st – 23rd Nov.2006
A few lines were on file for years then whole concept and first three verses written in April
2006 with the rest written 21st – 23rd Nov.2006.
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Cometh the Day
COMETH THE DAY
Why today?
What was so awful about today?
Was it even lonelier than all the others?
The silence even louder than before?
Did he feel that bit more smothered
That he just could take no more?
Had even his memories faded from sight,
Or were they just a little TOO bright?
The sounds of history in the air,
Like nightmares always hanging there.
Why today?
What was so different about today?
Was he let down one time too many?
One more bill he couldn’t pay?
Seeking hope, --- not finding any;
Were the clouds a darker grey?
Did one more burden on his doorstep
Add so much to his sadness?
Make him refuse to take one more step,
And drive him to this madness?
Why today?
What was so terrible about today?
Was there one more bad decision
He could not help but make?
One more act of derision
That he was forced to take?
Was there no sun to lift him --
To give him light so seldom seen?
Did the colours round him get so dim?
Did the river seem so clean?
Why today?
What was so heinous about today?
That he couldn’t smell the flowers,
That he couldn’t hear birds’ song?
Sitting in his room for hours
Wondering where he had gone so wrong.
Were the shadows even darker
In the corners of his room?
Were his options even starker
As he stared into the gloom?
Why today?
What was so odious about today?
Did something happen in his past
That killed his self-esteem?
That festered right up to ‘the last’
Made his life a prolonged scream?
Did he fail another interview?
Was he snubbed by one more girl?
Were there children, never calling, who
Didn’t see his empty world?
Why today?
What was so dreadful about today?
Unattractive, overweight or flawed?
Perhaps painfully shy;
Perhaps he was always ignored,
Or was it just his day to die?
What depth of desperation?
We hope we will never know;
What total dissipation
Made today the day to go?
Why today?
What was so unbearable about today?
Maybe too deep within his fears
To find the needed ‘lift’;
Too fragile in this ‘vale of tears’
To see life as a gift.
Were these the reasons
He couldn’t crawl over the’hump’?
Were these the reasons
That today he made that jump?
© Barrie Cannon. 13th & 14th August 2007.
( Dedicated to the memory of Steve Cable – good guitarist and friend )
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Individual
INDIVIDUAL
Don’t tell me how to think ,
And don’t tell me how to feel.
Don’t tell me ‘I don’t get it’,
Or tell me what is real.
Don’t tell me whom I should respect,
Or tell me right from wrong.
Don’t accuse me of neglect ---
To which group I should belong.
Don’t tell me what’s not funny
Or what I shouldn’t say.
What I laughed at yesterday
Might make me cry today.
We make our own philosophies
From what we see and understand.
We live in chosen ‘comfort-zones’,
Formed by another’s hand.
You tell me we are all ‘valuable’,
We are children ‘of the gods’
I try to keep thoughts malleable
In spite of all the odds
I may not want all ‘in my face’,
But try to be polite.
I prefer to have a bit more space
From those who say ‘they’ are right.
If I choose to disassociate;
If to some, I don’t relate:
Don’t tell me that I violate;
Don’t tell me that I hate !!
We may be ‘brothers in creation’,
But don’t tell me who to save.
We must find our own salvation
On our journey to the grave.
You tell me I am too wary,
Though I still hope for the best;
Others’ actions can be scary ----
Make me keep things ‘to my chest’.
I shudder at some ‘brothers’’ acts,
Making people hard to care for.
Am I bad to just ignore the facts,
Ignore the ‘why and wherefore’?
For those with common things to do ----
With attitudes I share;
I am happy to spend time with you ----
For the others I don’t care!
They have THEIR own associates
To whom they can relate;
To whom they go for succour, ----
So I leave them to their fate.
The human population
Is in dire need of a trim!
I can only love a few of them,
The rest must sink or swim!
It doesn’t matter who survives
The madness of this life;
I try to make mine wonderful,
And minimise MY strife.
If I choose to disassociate;
If to some, I don’t relate:
Don’t tell me that I violate;
Don’t tell me that I hate !!
We may be ‘brothers in creation’,
But don’t tell me who to save.
We must find our own salvation
On our journey to the grave.
While not always gregarious ----
Keep people at arm’s-length,
At least I am not nefarious.
I will survive on inner strength.
Don’t get over-emotional,
I am always friendly to my ‘brother’.
Your condemnation is just notional,
I would never hurt another!
If told that you can't be yourself,
Resistance will get stiffer.
It's better being on 'a shelf'
Than not allowed to differ.
To refute someone's core beliefs
Is denial of the 'you';
To just be me is such relief ---
"To thine own self be true".
Love me as I am,
Or don’t love me at all.
I will fight any one of you
If backed against the wall.
I am an individual,
Not yet-another clone!
And if I really have to,
I can make it on my own.
Just judge me by my actions,
And what you see me do
Notice If I am honest
And how I am to you.
Do I treat you fairly ---
Do I make you smile?
Am I even tempered,
Haven’t I loved you for a while?
© Barrie Cannon 0.30- 1.45a.m. Thurs. 17th May 2007
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God's Gift
GOD’S GIFT
I see her in the park again,
Her face cast to the ground.
There seems to be a cloud of rain
That follows her around.
Once, she smiled ----
Was then beguiled
And flattered by an older man
Now nowhere to be found.
Her pram casts its long shadow.
A loveless child makes its demands.
Excitement now seems long ago,
Replaced by reprimand.
Romance confused by lies ---
She let him lay between her thighs.
Now stuck in this forced lifestyle
That she cannot countermand.
She just wanted to be loved,
She just wanted to taste bliss.
She didn’t want her youth removed;
She didn’t forsee this.
What she sucked in with pleasure
She soon spat out with pain.
Now entered the World
Is her soft ‘ball and chain’.
She was too curious too early ---
Was then envied by her peers:
Has become sullen and surly,
Now personifies their fears.
Romance long-gone,
Now she shuffles on
School-friends see her as a warning.
She seems older than her years.
Embarrased and shamed, --- ‘pudendous – pudenda’
‘Hi-jacked’ by Nature, with its own agenda.
Where once was social stigma
She never could have borne,
Now is just a sense of loss,
Seen in her look, forlorn.
For want of circumspection
She ’s been pulled in all directions:
There were hard decisions to be made
And the ‘chafe’ of neighbours’ scorn.
To see the World through her sad eyes
Would be more than I could bear;
Yet she sees it, and she bears it
And she will, for many years.
She sees her friends all having fun,
But the hard thing is not disgrace,
But life now over, though just begun, ---
Its dreams now all displaced.
Yes, she ‘s been ‘hi-jacked’ by Nature
That gives scant regard,
For a childhood left trampled ---
For a life made so hard.
Now robbed of that childhood
That won’t come again ---
It ’s hard not to resent
This small, frail ‘ball and chain’.
© Barrie Cannon started December 2006 – finished 17th May 2007
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Then Silence
THEN SILENCE
When man came to this island
It was virgin, new and wild.
New families came to farm it,
When I was just a child.
How we loved that funny bird,
With its booming call;
Its antics and its clamour,
Not long before its fall.
With us we brought our dogs and cats.
For aeons thriving here, sublime,
Trusting, --- without threats.
I used to see them all the time,
They almost seemed like pets.
They nested on the ground;
Their call I would always hear.
I hardly even noticed
There were fewer, year by year.
With us we brought our dogs and cats.
There came ashore, the ship-borne rats.
Each night I sit upon my porch;
My land now tamed and giving.
More underbrush put to the torch
To make our families’ living.
I would hear them on the hillsides,
A sound once so common, so old;
The call has an added urgency, now,
That makes my heart turn cold.
With us we brought our dogs and cats.
There came ashore, the ship-borne rats,
And towns replaced their habitats.
Every night for the last few years,
He calls for a mate, ---now never there.
His yearning cry moves me to tears,
A heavy aching in the air.
Once more he splits the evening
In tones ringing and clear;
Always calling for that mate,
Who isn’t there to hear.
Oh, you poor lonely bird, ---- your distinction, ----
To be the last of your kind, ---- then extinction !
Tonight, once more, I listened for his call,
It never came. ---------------
© Barrie Cannon ( 75mins.) Fri. 18th May 2007.
- - - - - - - -
Eternal Fascination
51. ETERNAL FASCINATION . ( AN ODE TO BREASTS )
If ever there was something guaranteed
To make a fool of man,
Its lurking deep within his seed, ----
Been there since time began.
I really have to mention
This ‘something’ quite sublime
That holds a man’s attention ----
A ‘chesty’ woman in her prime.
It ‘s an eternal fascination ----
Never becomes a bore;
Though maternal, mans’ preoccupation ----
Is a thing we can’t ignore.
Something that’s both soft AND firm
Is the object of our lust.
This thing that makes our reason squirm
Is a shapely woman’s ‘bust’.
Sometimes really just too big,
Sometimes nearly nought:
Unless a man is a sexless prig,
They are never far from thought.
They may be fatty tissue,
It may be only flesh;
From straining garments issue,
Our interest always fresh.
They can be globular or conical,
Occasionally grotesque;
Both beautiful and comical
And the focus of burlesque.
Yes, I am a ‘boob’ man,
You now know that for sure.
If you talk to me of legs and ‘bums’
I’ll show you to the door!
Such objects of divinity
Enhanced by bra-pushed heavage;
The subject --- femininity,
Within a handsome cleavage.
When pushed together -- up and out,
From dress low-cut and tight,
Bulging with a cheeky pout,
A mesmerising sight.
To cup them in your hands
And feel the pleasure of their weight,
All men worldwide will understand ----
A joy to contemplate.
The crinkled aureolae
Of different width and hue,
With that nugget in the middle
That seems to beckon you.
The tops so gently sloping
And the rounded underneath;
Nipples hard from gentle groping
And teased between my teeth.
Is it memories of nurture?
Is it memories of food?
Withdrawal is such torture,
(It) Must be something in men’s blood.
To be a slave to an obsession
Can often be too risky
And even writing of my passion
Makes me feel a little ‘frisky’.
Yes, I am a ‘boob’ man,
There isn’t any doubt.
If you talk to me of legs and ‘bums’,
I’ll have to throw you out!
‘Boobs’, ‘funbags’, ‘baps’ or ‘tits’,
They go by many names.
It ‘s true , we love them all ‘to bits’,
They are always good for ‘games’.
‘Charlies’, ‘hooters’, ‘norks’, or ‘jugs’,
Their nicknames seeming endless,
And while girls let us give them hugs
They never will go friendless.
Please don’t be indignant,
It ‘s just a bit of fun;
In mans’ success significant ----
From since we were begun.
I am very appreciative
Of every woman’s ‘charm’.
We are snared by your ‘initiative’:
My rhyme means you no harm.
It ‘s Natures crowning-glory
Making something so tactile; .
And so I end my story,
I hope it made you smile.
(c) Barrie Cannon. 16th & 17th August 2007
Written at ‘Rockinbeerfest’ Cambs.
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