National Poetry Day Countdown – My Top 3

As it’s National Poetry Day on Thursday I thought I’d countdown my three personal favourites from my back catalogue.

Number 2: The Back Of My Old Truck

Late on that summer night.
We were leaving Nashville for the Vegas lights.
When my old truck packed up.
You laughed and said, that’s just our luck.

While we waited I drifted off too sleep.
As you softly sung a lullaby next to me.
You whispered “Rest, baby, while we wait”.
And held me in a sweet embrace.

Somewhere at the back of my mind.
You’re dancing with me for the very first time.
You’re little dress dropping to the floor.
Whispering, baby, that you want me more.

I was high on this pretty sight.
Running all the red lights.
There ain’t nobody else around at this time of night.
You were calling me baby.
Driving me crazy.
Ain’t no way in hell even god could’ve saved me.
And you gave up, you gave in.
There was no way you were never ever not gonna let me in.
That was that, I was in luck.
When you said “I do” in the back of my old truck.

Early on that winter dawn.
I could feel, girl, I could’ve sworn.
Somehow I just knew it.
You laughed and said I’m talking sh…

Then the joking turned to joy.
I sorta hoped it was a boy.
To kick the football around with me.
I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

Nine months flew by so fast.
You were standing on the bathroom mat.
When happened.
It finally happened.

And I was high on this perfect sight.
Running all the red lights.
Thanking god there’s nobody around at this time of night.
I was praying for our baby.
Going a little crazy.
You were screaming at sky “Lord please just save me”.
You never gave up, never gave in.
You pushed and pushed until I held her safely in my hands.
That was that, we were in luck.
When we became a family in the back of my old truck.

Summer time in ’98.
You grabbed that football by the front gate.
You said “daddy come and play”.
Hell, I didn’t hesitate.

When you made the high school team.
It was the happiest you’ve ever been.
You said “Though I’m just a reserve”.
It was the damn least that you deserve.

And I was high on this perfect sight.
Stopping at the red lights.
This place will still be busy until later on tonight.
I was looking at our baby.
Growing up – lord save me!
Dressed in that football shirt that my daddy gave me.
She never gave up, never gave in.
You worked and worked until the coach said “Alright, you’re in”.
That was that, it weren’t no luck.
I was a proud father leaning on the hood of my old truck.

National Poetry Day Countdown – My Top 3

As it’s National Poetry Day on Thursday I thought I’d countdown my three personal favourites from my back catalogue.

Number 3: Dreams Come True

I saw photos from the weekend.

You were there.

Rosy red cheeks and that long blonde hair.

Dancing like you owned the bare dance floor.

Not a care in the world, or a single bad thought.

That saccharine smile, hiding all kinds of bad.

A infectious kind of innocence.

And a sorry kind of sad.

Because I know I won’t be there, to hold you know more.

And I know all I’ve got, are these lonely thoughts.

I close my eyes and imagine.

What my life could be.

A hero in a fairy tale.

With my princess next to me.

So if I think of it.

Just imagine that.

Dreams come true.

Duvet days on Sunday’s.

Hide all day under the sheets.

Always saying something, even when we didn’t speak.

But those days have vanished.

Like a disappearing act.

You told nothing but lies, and presented them as fact.

Now you’re screaming like a banshee.

And I’m howling like a wolf.

We’re distorted like Picasso, instead of perfect like Van Gogh.

Now I know that you won’t be there, when I get home from work.

So I shut out the world, and disappear into thought.

My heart it bleeds without you.

My head’s all black and blue.

Now that knight in shining armour is.

A bullied boy with a chipped tooth.

In the parking lot.

You imagine that.

Dreams come true.

Now I’m blinded by this rage.

Crashing like waves in the sea.

Spitting out your name, like every time you cussed at me.

And I lost you in a tangle.

In this opaque misery.

Hoping when I dream of you, that you still dream of me.

And I’ll imagine that dreams come true.

Because it’s nothing but a nightmare.

When you are not in it.

Just a dark and lonely tapestry, of the blackest pitch.

And the more I think of it.

Just imagine it might come true.

I tried calling you this morning.

To ask you out to lunch.

But the answer from you voice-mail, put me into a trance.

I know you’re out there somewhere.

Happy with someone else.

So I’ll keep my dreams with me, high up on the shelf.

You see I’ve still got those old photo’s.

From the first time that I knew.

I’ll have to spend my days, just dreaming of you.

And perhaps I might get lucky.

Perhaps I’ll strike some gold.

Perhaps when I stop dreaming.

I’ll find my dream’s come true.

Moonlight

She didn’t smoke a cigarette, or even drink a beer.
There’s something funny going on, it’s something pretty queer.
She’s normally hanging off the bar with someone half her age.
But the full moon’s got her in a trance and feeling kinda dazed.

He’s usually outside picking fights with truckers twice his size.
Tonight he’s inside playing pool and trying to sound wise.
The barmaid pulling pints and she’s just trying to ignore.
The moonlight shining through the glass and knocking at the door.

It’s been a strange night.
This funny moonlight.
Trying with our might.
To ignore the moonlight.

It’s colder than it should be in the autumn time this year.
She’s shaking like a leaf with this cold snap of dread and fear.
He went out to the shed to fetch his tools, or so he said.
She found him hours later with the hatchet in his head.

She called the police and told them how she found him on the floor.
But the moonlight in her eyes is all that the policeman saw.
He asked her this, and asked her that, and finally let her go.
And discovered two weeks later, her body buried in the snow.

It’s been a strange night.
This funny moonlight.
Trying with our might.
To ignore the moonlight.

The moonlight shone upon the bigamist in his fast Porsche.
He took the corner far too fast and tumbled in to the gorge.
The man told his little lovers not to dare tell a single soul.
But down the stairs he tripped and he caved in his fragile skull.

It’s been a strange night.
This funny moonlight.
Trying with our might.
To ignore the moonlight.

The moonlight’s sinking fast behind the hilltops in the west.
No-one said a word about last night, it’s for the best.
The daytime came around and people shuffled to and fro.
Not mentioning the one’s who ended last night in a hole.

Oh what a strange night.
In this god-damn moonlight.
No matter how hard you try.
You can’t ignore the moonlight.

That crazy moonlight.

That crazy moonlight.

That sick and twisted moonlight.

© 2014 Nick Burgin

Autumn of Discontent

Leaves of gold, honey and bronze.
Shed forth from the tangled fingers of a swaying arm.
Unto the serpentine labyrinth beneath.
Keeping the old giant bound to its eternal place of rest.
Until, naked and quivering.
The skeletal body succumbs to the ravages of time.
Arms grow weak and, crashing to the earth below.
Signify the end as our giant falls foul the autumn of discontent.

Song Lyrics and Demo’s

Song Lyrics and Demo’s.