May 10, 2015

 

 

So still the blades of

grass on Springside,

that welcomed home

at close of day,

the one reliable

in his routine,

who came and went

with easy sway.

 

So watchful in

anticipation;

the blades of grass

searched with intent.

But now sit so lonely,

and respectful;

missing familiar steps

that came and went.

 

So still the blades of

grass on Springside,

now it’s sunk in

they’ll never hear

the engine stopping,

the car door shutting,

as raindrops, for each,

produce a tear.

 

So sad, the blades of

grass on Springside,

for they feel too,

their time is nigh.

They know that sound;

it’s all too familiar,

as the lawn mower

comes ever closer by!

 

 

 

 

 

May 7, 2015

 

 

Oh, for the sound

of Fortisimo!

His voice at a screech;

he sure let me know,

when he was lonely,

or tired of being ignored.

When in need of human affection,

oh how he yelled and implored.

 

Oh for the sound

of Fortisimo!

I’m half the person I was

as he probably knows.

I could win the Lotto,

that had rolled many a week,

and not feel as happy

as when his love I would seek.

 

Oh for the sound

of Fortisimo!

That little Siamese bastard,

just won’t let go

of my stolen heartstrings,

my mind, and each thought.

But my family would leave home,

if another I bought!

 

 

 

 

And of the ones he

thought who might,

he found Delphinia

a total delight!

 

She tapped into,

his inner senses.

They experimented with

unknown consequences.

 

And of the ones he

thought who might,

his gut feeling was

to prove him right.

 

By dawn Delphinia

was on her way.

No questions asked

at close of play.

 

But how small the world

with the travelling elite;

she found Mendotta to be sat

in the very next seat.

 

(They had once attended

the same ‘Finishing School’,

in Switzerland,

where the air is cool.)

 

And she passed on to Mendotta,

the number of a guy,

who she nicknamed ‘Perry’,

who she suggested, she try.

 

Astonished, Mendotta

accepted with grace;

at the same time feeling

a flush to her face!

 

Later, the ladies ‘air kissed’

and went separate ways.

How temptation, tantalisingly,

with the mind, stays!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy was only,

halfway to paradise,

when he left us broken hearted,

and made the final sacrifice.

 

and Dusty; other artists,

always outsold,

left a catalogue of music,

with hits of pure gold.

 

Robert Palmer, the coolest:

Sheffield’s king of smooth.

Effortlessly crooning;

our troubled minds to sooth.

 

and Adam, the one;

another hit machine guy,

with whom we kept faith,

until his untimely goodbye.

 

The exodus of Bob Marley

had us wailing all day,

and three little birds also,

had so much things to say.

 

‘Twenty four hours from Tulsa’

sang this storyteller singer:

Gene’s gentle, moving words,

in our hearts still linger.

 

and taken so young,

suddenly Mark was gone,

off into the clouds

to ride his white swan.

 

and Roy Orbison sang,

for only the lonely, too,

before leaving on a journey

back to his Blue Bayou.

 

Paul from Cockney Rebel,

in the cruellest way left:

when a twist of fate took him,

leaving fans bereft.

 

Phil fulfilled his dreams,

to become a pop star.

His loyal fans still toast him,

with whisky in a jar

 

The wind cried Mary,

and he had to go;

our great guitarist, Jimi,

who we all loved so.

 

and not just in Massachusetts

did the lights all go out,

when Robin joined his brothers,

leaving us sad beyond doubt.

 

Most recently, Ben E King

drifted off to sleep.

Under the boardwalks of our mind,

his memory, we will keep.

 

Our love affair with Errol

started with a kiss.

His smooth, seductive voice,

we sure are going to miss.

 

So many more were taken,

So many, I could name;

It comes with liabilities,

this fickle game of fame.

 

So many idols lost;

sudden death hard to digest.

Their music, their legacy;

our gain at their bequest.

 

May 2, 2015

 

 

It’s a brave man now

who will sell hot spuds,

at two in the morning,

if he values his goods.

 

 

 

 

and the window of

her soul; double glazed.

To keep out the sound.

To keep in fire, that blazed.

 

and the window of

her heart; single paned.

To gather moisture,

from cheeks, tear stained.

 

and the window of

her mind; thin plastic.

To scratch the surface

of a life, fantastic.

 

and the windows of

her eyes; fresh air.

No defense has she,

for she is not there.

 

 

 

 

Is it anger?

Maybe.

Is it pent up

stress?

Is it

the end result?

Is it

collected mess?

 

Is it

the challenge

of the

high wire?

Is it

nostalgia,

setting

the soul on fire?

 

Is it

a platitude,

said to

fit in?

Is it

roaring passion

hidden

deep within?

 

Is it

life,

in it’s

rawest form?

Is it

the needle

in the eye

of the storm?

 

 

 

 

April 30, 2015

 

 

Rap out the beat,

and make it rhyme.

Suck on a lemon,

suck on a lime.

 

In eagerness,

up a gum tree climb,

waiting for Big Ben

about to chime.

 

Rap out the beat

for Tony’s Time Machine.

Suck on an orange,

suck on a nectarine.

 

Rap out the beat

as soul and rock combine.

Suck on a watermelon,

in the bright sunshine.

 

Rap out the beat;

give it all you’ve got.

Suck on a peach,

suck on an apricot.

 

Rap out the beat,

as if in a hurry.

Suck on an apple,

suck on a sweet strawberry.

 

Rap out the beat;

forever is manyana.

Suck on a grape,

suck on a ripe banana.

 

Rap out the beat;

get high, get merry.

Suck on a coconut,

suck on a lush black cherry.

 

This live show a must;

let music set the scene,

with repeats all week,

most days in between.

 

Relax for two hours;

switch off that TV screen:

It calms a dental surgery

far better, than a magazine.

 

So rap out the beat;

just make sure you’re there,

Suck on a passion fruit,

suck on a conference pear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 26, 2015

 

 

No fortune favoured

those most brave,

who gave their all,

for an early grave.

 

So young, so willing

to die, if needs be,

in order to keep

this great country free.

 

Today we remember

a century ago,

those who were lost,

those who we loved so.

 

War never the answer,

if talks there can be,

but when talking fails,

no option to see.

 

We give thanks for each man;

someone’s father and son,

and uncle and brother;

through them, life goes on.

 

And we celebrate today,

in time honoured tradition,

those who brought us great hope,

yet ended in perdition.

 

 

April 23, 2015

 

 

Coming Soon

Tony’s next LIVE ‘Time Machine’

on 6^th May.

In the meantime

are repeats of

two recent programmes

at the usual times

 

Wed      11.00am

Thurs      8.00am

Frid        01.00am

Sat         19.00pm

Mon       11.00am

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