Jesus, Carpenter.
Time-served in his father’s shop
Left home to find work.

When I am an old man I shall not wear beige.
I shall wear faded denim and cowboy boots which are down at heel and need soled.
I shall spend all my money on guitar strings and magazines and beer,
And buy coffee for the old women wearing purple.
I shall still wear a golden earing, like some kind of ancient, gypsy minstrel,
And go out in port and starboard socks like Kate and Anna McGarrigle.
I shall sing the protest songs I learned as a teenager
That demand to know where all the flowers have gone.
And I shall argue in public with traffic wardens and slow check-out girls,
And swear loudly at religious zealots and politicians
To challenge the arrogance of their self-promoting dogma.

I shall turn up at music festivals with my guitar
And people will look and say, “I thought he was dead.”
And I will release a CD of new songs
That shall have on its cover a cautionary label which says:
**** Parental Guidance!

Just for now though, in my sombre middle age, I have to act responsibly
And not embarrass my friends and family.
I have to eat sensibly and not drink too much,
And pay my taxes and vote.
But later on, when I am old, my friends will know
That in my dotage I am just rebelling late in life
Against the strict, grey Presbyterianism of my youth.

After a long struggle with electronic devices,
The Hand-Written Letter has peacefully passed into obscurity.
From the earliest Egyptian hieroglyphics,
to the hastily scrawled note in pencil,
from parchment and quill to paper and ball-point pen,
The Hand-Written Letter led the way in written correspondence,
bringing together the writer and the reader
in a way that emails never could.

Let us remember how we chose the paper,
how we picked and filled a favourite pen
and then witnessed the wonderful marriage of paper and ink
as the blank page filled with living words,
until finally, in that last, intimate moment,
it is placed in an envelope and sealed with saliva,
and in that moment’s parting kiss
you send something of yourself.

Radi was a hungry lion,
Radi was a lady hater.
One day Radi
Met a lady,
Radiator.

In this day and age
Where can you find a glyphic?
I’d like to hire one!

Poor men talk to God.
Rich men talk of wealth and fame.
Poets talk to ghosts.

Ingredients:
One voice lifted in song,
Two hands ready to play,
Six strings, freshly picked,
One guitar, perfectly tuned,
One foot to keep time,
One heart full of inspiration,
One positive mental attitude
Without any artificial additives.

Method:
Blend gently together,
Fold in a warm, mellow mood,
Play for as long as it takes,
Or until everything good rises
Into a bluesy, folksy, mixture
That will satisfy the hungriest hungry soul.
Serve anytime, anywhere.
Goes especially well with friends, singers and other musicians.