On The Road.

Poem By Ripper Jones

The motorway was grey-blue
As it always was
Cars and lorries rushed past
The lorries sucking us into themselves
As they sped past dwarfing us
Whoosh - >>>
And we felt it
As we chugged along
At a sedate thirty-miles an hour
In the slow lane.
The three-wheel Reliant Robin
Had seen much better days
And it was wonderful to see it move
As it didn't look like it could
It now churned out black exhaust
Which they assured each other wasn't the engine
But the carburettor
Despite neither of them knowing
Anything about cars and their engines
But putting a litre of oil in the engine
Every few days should have been a clue
Cultural rules
Demanded that every male
Know quite a bit about cars
So everyone gave advice to each other
The recipient of the advice not knowing
Whether the advisor
Was talking nonsense or not
And the advisor thinking
That if it sounds at all plausible
It must be right.
Giving false information to each other
And nodding sagely through the car conversation
Cars not starting well, it must be the plugs
No, I think it's the battery. Or it could be both
Could be the carburettor
Or not
All this
About their cars defects
Which inevitably gave in to thoughts
That they could fix it without knowing
Anything about cars
And working on
Defective information
Some people were battery people
Who always advised to get a new battery
Whatever the fault
Then there were the starter motor men
Who insisted
That a new starter motor
Would cure the cars ills
Although, this wasn't a car
But a little van full of blue smoke
Which got worse with each portion
Of each mile
The duo were on their way
To a booking at a social club for working-men
The musicians final resting place
After other avenues
Towards fame
Had been exhausted
It was a different
Set of rules here
No playing too loud
Rock and roll after the break
MOR stuff before
‘Caroline' by Status Quo
‘Gypsy Woman' by Neil Diamond
It was advisable
To do a few
Country and western numbers
Because working people
Liked this genre for some reason
Perhaps the torment
Of their life
Listening to this stuff
For depression
Leaves you with it
But ce la vie
We put one or two in
or tunes that might sound
vaguely country and western
The main thing was
They were mainly three-chord-trick
Type songs
Easy
That suited us
Rock and roll with a twang
Such is life on the road

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In the reflection of vanitas
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You deny death a hundred times a day

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And they pray all night, all day.
See a prayer now as its heavenly trail
Leaves no doubt as to its whereabouts
But look - it's gone the other way

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Lots of great people await your report.
In the mad-house you sit
Like a king giving a remit

The Illusionist.

Like a thousand pound suit that hides cheap underwear,
Like gloves that hide crooked hands,
Like soldiers that die of fright before they can shoot,
Such is life.