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Waltzing through the chaos that life’s left for today,
Dragging along my battered horn in case she wants to play
‘Scuse me, Ms. Bartender, but I’ve got something to say
Ain’t nobody listening to the radio anyway

I don’t need a soapbox, no suit or microphone
Just a little place to spread some truth wherever I may roam
I speak straight from the bottom of a bottle left at home
The struggle’s so much easier when you take it on alone

Hear ye, hear ye, gather round to hear a tale
Of dreaming big, working hard, but destined still to fail

Shredding that loopy little melody,
The craziest cat you ever did see!
Make you feel so alive, ladies screaming, “Wow boy!”
I jump and I jive, cuz I’m a bebop cowboy
"Jazz is dead."
~Anonymous
Aa Harvey May 2018
The end of this party that we call love.


Fire lighter’s and raise them high,
The time has come to reach the end.
The end of all those things we did.
The end of you, the end of me; we are at our end.  


From a pit, I whispered to you
And all you saw were lips that move.
In silhouettes I made my move
And I fell so deep into love with you.  


A thought of loss for you my dear;
My wish to start a life apart,
Has never brought you to feel so near…
Why are you still here?


Sorrowful but satisfied;
All the tears I cried, I wish I had never cried.
So sad to see you later with your beautiful smile,
When all I want to see is the end of all time.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Chris Neilson Dec 2017
Big Hands I know you’re the one
for a biscuit pocket and chinwag
A precursor to a personal space invasion
A bleeping scanner and search of a bag

A tardy band built on clinical percussion
With an audience led by an rsi pigeon
What about the coat, though, the coat!
Created with beautiful faux fur precision

“Don’t touch the coat, what gave you the right?
Who do you think you really are?
An extension of my very being
Now get me a prosecco from the bar!”

From a damp December rooftop terrace
Entranced by a magical musical mastermind
With  eye watering waves of perceived emotion
A rarer kindred spirit is hard to find
A account of a gig I attended last night with a friend
i imagine us
watching concerts and gigs, 

enjoying our nights;

singing and jumping to our favorite songs,

looking and smiling at each other,

your arms around me,

holding my hand later on,

and kissing—i love the idea of you

kissing me, baby.
Chris Neilson Jul 2017
The gig economy
is the new rock n roll
deliverooing to Uber drivers
gets you off the dole

They're not called shifts anymore
that's far too dull
pretend it's something it's not
let's give it an added pull

Flexible hours or exploitation?
depends if you're worker or boss
very few have a job for life anymore
it's said rolling stones gather no moss

Let's all go to our next gig
you don't need a union card
grab a brush and sweep the stage
imagine you're not mentally scarred
A whole generation now part of the "gig" economy
Joe Black Mar 2017
-Do you love me?

-Yes!

-How?

-Till death!

-I thought longer...
Joe Black Feb 2017
Walked near her slowly,
Brushed with hand, breathing slowly,
She came closer, shaking,
Warm, quite, soft...
Her eyes were shing like a moon,
They were telling way too much,
I've start to play with her with hand,
Slowly put her legs apart...
Hand was filled with warmth of her soft breast,
Movement up and down she been waiting for...
Then thrill pierced inside of me,
And white liquid dripped..
At that moment i felt enravishment,
That's how i milked a cow for a first time...
Sobriquet Nov 2016
It's 3 am when you wake me
with cold hands in the shape of chords,
breathing stories and whiskey
spilled on the p.a by a guy
asking for songs.

In between saturday and sunday
you tell me about the  bikes
in town for the rally,
lining the streets in rows of inert thunder
while their people drank
and moved to the music you made.

It's 4 am
before morning finds the bluff
to light up the world's earliest hours
good morning you say
before we fall asleep,
laughing at your own joke.
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