The Hippy Life,  
I tried it twice.  
It was peaceful,  
it was nice.  
But I couldn’t help feeling
I was wasting my time,  
sitting in fields
and making up rhymes.  
I tried to be free
in spirit and love,  
and to give myself over
to the fairies above.  
But what was the point?  
What point could there be?
When you didn’t have
any free love for me.

The Hippy Life
I tried it twice.

I live in a tin *** house
with clatter and clutter
and not an ounce of living space
my tin *** house is sad and sorry place.

Junk piled on furniture
and muck on the walls,
my tin *** house doesn’t get
many visitors at all.

The fence is falling down,  
the flowers dying in the heat.  
My tin *** house is such a mess,  
a tip could not compete.

The spider’s webs’
are the only thing that grows
and from the taps,
it's only cold water that flows.  

So yes, my tin *** house
is a sad and sorry place
and my tin *** family
is in a sad and sorry state.

If I’m going to die in my twenties,
then I’ll die at 27.

Death by misadventure
is the most fun way to go,
a drug fuelled ****
or champagne overdose.

I’ll burn out like the greats
Hendrix and Morrison
Joplin and Cobain.

I’ll leave behind my mates
to sit, with sneers and snub
at their reckless friend who became
a member of the 27 club.

I wrote to my MP  
to protest a motion
allowing a business  
to purchase the ocean

The Ocean Corporation
should not charge for waves
or the soft rhythm
of the water’s gentle touch,

Should not charge us to sail
off the edge of the world,
which is where we escape when
we’ve been charged enough.

They have to charge
wrote back my MP
Do you want the bill
For the Ocean’s upkeep?

Do you know what it costs
to hose down the wales
and shine up the sharks?
It’s not like a railway
or a national trust park

So I write back,
and with four letter words
express my distaste
at the answer I heard.  
The Ocean’s been fine
for millions of years
it needs no shine.  

The stunning mystery
that soothes troubled souls
who sit at the edge
and wait to grow old.
The beautiful sight
That accompanies lovers
On a beautiful night.  

I ask you again
please
do not privatize
the sea.  

(I am awaiting his next response)

I used to think
All that mattered
Was to be remembered
When I die

But now I’ve realised
There is beauty
In being swiftly forgotten
When life passes by
I won’t be anything then
Except dirt on the ground
My life, my love, my misery
A gift – shared only with you