Bury me standing up on my feet
As I have spent a lifetime upon my knees
Praying to gods I may never meet
Yet doing my best to abide and please
Bury me standing beneath the ground
So I stand with pride like the ancient trees
Reaching above through the sacred ground
To the heaven that only a dead man sees
Ian Duquemin
Under The Midnight Sky - Lyndon Queripel
The spring tide is not turning
It’s still on the rise
It’s never been so high
There’s another bridge burning
It no longer sighs
The flames begin to fly
Under the midnight sky
The wind of change is moaning
How it howls and cries
Here is a fear I can’t deny
Now the Earth starts groaning
There’s tears in my eyes
But my mouth feels so dry
Under the midnight sky
Lyndon Queripel
It’s still on the rise
It’s never been so high
There’s another bridge burning
It no longer sighs
The flames begin to fly
Under the midnight sky
The wind of change is moaning
How it howls and cries
Here is a fear I can’t deny
Now the Earth starts groaning
There’s tears in my eyes
But my mouth feels so dry
Under the midnight sky
Lyndon Queripel
Wailing at the Wall - Stephen A. Roberts
I sit and admire the sweep of the bay
from the doomed old zero-star café
a mug of hot tea and a slice of cake
it's safe to eat 'cos the rating's fake
In the salty wind my eyes both swim
the view is good but the outlook grim
as the timber creaks and the plastic flaps
they carry on selling their Novichok baps
Like the dance band on the Titanic
they've been condemned by bad planning
between the rocks and a hard place
this poor treatment leaves a bitter taste
Ask yourself: are they selling poison gâche?
because this no-star rating doesn't wash!
Stephen A. Roberts
Bordeaux Boys - Richard Fleming
From Bordeaux sea-wall children leap
into, what must be, chilly sea.
At high tide here, water is deep,
far, far too cold for you and me
despite the July evening heat
but, nonetheless, young boys compete
for smiles from girls, respect from peers,
and never seem to feel the cold.
They laugh at us, our groundless fears:
we must seem crotchety and old.
When young, from other walls we dived,
incautiously, yet we survived.
Richard Fleming
into, what must be, chilly sea.
At high tide here, water is deep,
far, far too cold for you and me
despite the July evening heat
but, nonetheless, young boys compete
for smiles from girls, respect from peers,
and never seem to feel the cold.
They laugh at us, our groundless fears:
we must seem crotchety and old.
When young, from other walls we dived,
incautiously, yet we survived.
Richard Fleming
Jules and Jim - Edgar Allan Poet
Jules forgot to feed the tiger,
which was very careless of him.
He worked at the Circus Zeiger
with his trustworthy colleague, Jim.
There, Jules would feed it Tiger-Mix
while Jim would teach it to do tricks.
Just a inattentive blunder
but, oh, its consequence was grim.
Jim, poor Jim, was torn asunder,
then Raj the tiger swallowed him.
It’s obvious, it must be said,
that hungry tigers should be fed.
Edgar Allan Poet
which was very careless of him.
He worked at the Circus Zeiger
with his trustworthy colleague, Jim.
There, Jules would feed it Tiger-Mix
while Jim would teach it to do tricks.
Just a inattentive blunder
but, oh, its consequence was grim.
Jim, poor Jim, was torn asunder,
then Raj the tiger swallowed him.
It’s obvious, it must be said,
that hungry tigers should be fed.
Edgar Allan Poet
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