PURPLE SKIRTS AND PINSTRIPED SHIRTS

I still see you in that short purple skirt,

With leather boots that came up to your knees,

And me in a blue and white pinstriped shirt.

I think of you dancing — blithe extrovert.

I recall songs about juniper trees.

I still see you in that short purple skirt.

It was our world then — our own rock concert —

A flower land with butterflies and bees,

And me in a blue and white pinstriped shirt.

I remember how you would laugh and flirt

And how you’d jest and joke and charm and tease.

I still see you in that short purple skirt.

I often dream of you — my just desert? —

Periwinkle eyes, blonde hair styled to please,

And me in a blue and white pinstriped shirt.

When the memories fade there will be more hurt

And I will forget our shared histories.

I won’t see you in that short purple skirt,

Nor me in a blue and white pinstriped shirt.

LOTS OF LIES

Do they not know that they are telling lies

As they spin their stories and plot their plots?

How can they trust the frauds they publicise?

Can you not see dollar signs in their eyes

As they promote their bogus Camelots?

Do they not know that they are telling lies?

They brook no quarrels and reject replies,

Because their venal shams buy patrons’ yachts.

How can they trust the frauds they publicise?

All their schemes are devious pies in skies —

No widespread gains, only donors’ jackpots.

Do they not know that they are telling lies?

They swarm around sponsors like greedy flies

That love the garbage heaps of vacant lots.

How can they trust the frauds they publicise?

We few, who know their world view falsifies,

Crave the day when their conspiracy rots.

Do they not know that they are telling lies?

How can they trust the frauds they publicise?

SORROW

On most days my tears are ready to flow,

I hold them back with earnest distractions.

My eyes are soon wet with my timeworn woe.

Whether the skies are grey or all aglow,

I see nought that might be called attractions.

On most days my tears are ready to flow.

The world spins round and makes a baffling show,

Dancing to songs of dissonant factions.

My eyes are soon wet with my timeworn woe.

Hurts come and stay and are so slow to go —

Some tangible but others abstractions.

On most days my tears are ready to flow.

Loneliness is part of the fiasco —

No one sees my dull dissatisfactions.

My eyes are soon wet with my timeworn woe.

When did I come to this rotten borough?

How did I lose all in all transactions?

On most days my tears are ready to flow,

My eyes are soon wet with my timeworn woe.