Category Archives: Songs

When I Forgot How to Love

When I Forgot How To Love


Everybody loves love. Well, everybody who loves loves love at least. This poem, however, is dedicated to a man who loves love so very much that he is convinced that the effect of the absence of love would be the complete collapse of reality. No, this is not some invented character of mine. Jon Anderson was the lead singer of the prog rock band Yes for many years. He’s completely insane in a fairly sweet way. He sings about love a lot, but one song in particular (If It Wasn’t For Love) teaches this particularly apocalyptic message. This is my tribute:

When I Forgot How to Love

When I forgot how to love
My life fell apart
My legs blew off my body
And they fell into my heart

My hands turned into milk
The milk poured into the fire
The fire of love went out
And the fire of hate grew higher

My bottom was inverted
And drawn up into my mind
My body flew into itself
And left the world behind

The children of the mountain
All turned into Fred Astaire 
The moon fell out of orbit
There was no one left to care

The ground shook in an earthquake
As the sun burnt out above
The universe collapsed
When I forgot how to love

Phil Collins has been trying to remember how to love since 1981

Phil Collins has been trying to remember how to love since 1981


David Bowie

David Bowie



From Kate Bush to another musical legend. David Bowie, also known as the coolest man on Earth, is a musical hero of mine. Such brilliant performances and dedication to doing things however the hell he wants are becoming increasingly rare qualities in musicians these days. That being said, Bowie has not always treated himself particularly well. A life of sex, drugs and rock and roll can really take it’s toll. Luckily, he seems to have sorted himself out now.

He has a crazy eye which, along with his sometimes extravagant stage outfits, gives him a very striking appearance. His voice is also unique. So unique,  that it has been parodied many times including by Adam Buxton and Joe Cornish in their old podcast. It is from Adam and Joe that I have borrowed the phrase ‘wuzza wuzza’.

This poem/song is a tribute to the huge cultural impact of Mr Bowie

David Bowie

That jumpsuit! ha! HA!
Way too loose
(Keep swinging) but ah-wuzza wuzza
Wuzza the use?

Way too cool now
Tone it down!
(Keep swinging) but ah-wuzza wuzza
Wuzza the town?

Get some rest dude
Pale as paste!
(Keep swinging) but ah-wuzza wuzza
Wuzza the waste?

Those aren’t even words Zig
You’re seriously ill!
(Keep swinging) but ah-wuzza wuzza
Wuzza the pill?

Get yourself help Dave
Thing of your health
(Keep swinging) but ah-wuzza wuzza
Wuzza wuzza wuzza wuzza
Wuzza wuzza wuzza wuzza
Wuzza yourself?

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues



The Bishop of the Bruised

The Bishop of the Bruised

Celebrity has always been a strange thing. Certain people who are seen as being good at certain jobs are very nearly worshipped. These days, many so called ‘fans’ of celebrities seem to be in it more for the sense of belonging that being in a fan club brings. Suddenly, this celebrity is put on a pedestal and given meaningless titles and names that the fans themselves, often young people, don’t even understand. The real reason for their popularity is lost in a tide of nonsense. Unfortunately, this can easily turn nasty, as it does for the poor man in this poem. This is kind of a half-poem-half-song kind of deal which actually developed from a short story I wrote.

The Bishop of the Bruised

A simple man with simple gifts
Of wisdom, patience, empathy
Is idolised both near and far
By all the people he set free

Hail! (Hail!) To The Wonder of the Age!
Hail! (Hail!) To this Victoriana Sage!
We had a dream that you removed your shoe
And blessed us with the smell
It opened up our eyes
From which a joyful torrent fell

An anonymous, internet agony uncle
Working only on weekends
Knows not quite how much he’s done
And finds himself with many friends

Hail! (Hail!) To The Father of the Year
Hail! (Hail!) To this Incendiary Seer
We share a hope that you’ll tear out our hearts
Replace them with a chair
Then send us to the North
To make a show of what we share

They march upon the old man’s house
And drag him screaming from his bed
His body’s broken, shredded, torn
Each wraps an entrail round their head

Hail! (Hail!) To The Bishop of the Bruised
Hail! (Hail!) To this Medic of the Misused
We’ll keep a love of your excessive ways
Alive in all we do
Still weeping for the joy first known
When you removed your shoe

Einstein's scalp. 45 quid off Ebay

Einstein’s scalp. 45 quid off Ebay


The Worm is a Bird

The Worm


This month marks the return of Kate Bush to the stage! On 26th of August she will again tread the boards of the Hammersmith Apollo and perform live for the first time in 35 years! Kate’s music is full of the most wonderful stories and hypothetical situations. What if you were a kite? What if you were Houdini’s wife? What if you could experience what it was like to be a firework? What if you danced with a charming man and discovered the next morning that he was Hitler? What if you could use an offering of your own blood to bring a snowman to life for one night of passion?

Ok, so the less said about the snowman thing the better, but the point still stands. This poem is a tribute to the imagination of Kate Bush and asks the question, what if we could see the world through the eyes of an earthworm?

The Worm is a Bird

You said you admired the earthworm
It’s grace and simplicity most
I said that I thought you were crazy
Such strange admirations to host

You said not to judge all too quickly
I said I was sure as could be
You said Spend the day as an earthworm
And then, just like me you will see:

The worm is a bird
That sails through the ground
It flies through the Earth
With seldom a sound

I wrapped myself up in your clingfilm
I slimed myself up with KY
I took to the soil in your garden
And swiftly I started to fly

I flew below roses and tulips
I slid beneath daffodils too
I wriggled my way past the parsley
And then, just as you’d said, I knew:

The worm is a bird
That sails through the ground
It flies through the Earth
With seldom a sound


You try any of that ‘worms are birds’ crap round ‘ere and we’ll cut you