The Mountain
Your goal looms before you
Those on the peak a dream
They seem to have got there easily
And you just want to scream
You plough forward with your footsteps
Each meter drives you on
The more you look towards the sky,
the more your dreams are one
But doubts demon follows silently
waiting to strike you down
And as the mountain soars before you
You feel like a clown
You never seem to walk as fast
As others on the road
Your footsteps become smaller now
As self-doubt begins to goad
He tells you that it can't be done
that eventually you'll fall
and instead of striding proudly on
you want to break and crawl
An inch is like a lifetime now
your belief is almost gone
but against all doubt and misery
you know you must go on.
The Label Queen
I am the label queen
and I am not shallow.
I crave love and comfort,
and Dior as its hallow'd.
Can I buy your tender kiss
with a declaration of love?
Or would you prefer I bought you
a fur lined pair of gloves?
My lonely viscous temprement
draws me to your soul,
and I long to see you smartly dressed,
in an Amarni suit. Made whole.
My burning heart is broken now
but in you it concedes...
that since you do not love me
I'll have to settle for Hermes.
Isn't love just a label?
Arnt we kidding ourselves?
When it comes down to it
We're all just browsing shelves.
The Builder's Boy.
One day when I see you working
your muscles pumping,
your face smirking
You know I am watching
you feel it well,
and the other bit feels as well
You work it harder,
push on and on,
the macho style, that you don
The top comes off,
the trousers tighten,
a full grown man you could frighten.
But a young man is
what you want,
opening up, as you grunt.
The shame of it,
you mustn't flounder,
your wife's given you a nine pounder!
But you watch back,
and think on it,
the sex, the fucking..........oh shit.
You somehow find yourself walking near...
you've slipped your number to the queer...
True Love's Face.
Its hard to look your true love in the face,
knowing it can amount to nothing.
Seeing him as he is, a perfect man in my eye.
Were any portrait so fair? Alas no!
For if it were I'd by means acquire it,
and stare at it so!
The gleam of eye, the curve of brow,
the perfect framing of unkempt hair.
Cleopatra's skin, smooth as silk
does encapsulate my fair mans skull
and if I were to kiss it but once, heart,
forever it would pull.
Is it not fair and right and virtuous
to dote on such a one's beauty?
Their face burnt into the memory of man.
To such a face, insult is a mask,
for covering its grace, denies the world
a sun under which to bask!
But why oh why can I not tell him so?
Is he the only one unknown to its charms?
For he works and walks, speaks and woes.
If it were my face, a mirror would catch me,
gripping my eyes,
no one and nothing more would I see.
He must be virtuous and sincere,
he cares not for such outward radiance
for how can he? Not being a man of vanity.
His heart must lie in a deeper place,
but for all my efforts,
he sees not, my face.
