Notney Moor
(To be sung to the tune of “Down Below“)
There’s a place I used to know:
Notney Moor.
I was there not long ago,
Notney Moor;
Now it blooms against the black
Like a private zodiac;
But it seems I can’t get back,
Notney Moor.
Kindly world of who knows when,
Notney Moor!
Where I stayed awake past ten:
Notney Moor;
I could grasp the rules of games,
I read all of Henry James,
I remembered people’s names!
Notney Moor.
Oh I know it can’t be far,
Notney Moor:
There are signs up in the bar:
Notney Moor;
But I’m stranded in the gloam
Like a broken garden gnome,
And I can’t find my way home—
Notney Moor.
Hagseeds
They sit around and snack all day,
Or snore to make the angels sob.
Why don’t you smarten up? I say;
Why don’t you try to get a job?
You’ve no idea what effort means.
You haven’t got a lick of pride.
There have to be some magazines
Or study groups you haven’t tried!
They fill my space with tat and junk:
The litter must be two foot deep.
I’d rather they were wild or drunk
Than permanently half-asleep.
Can’t you do something people like?
I ask them, pleading. Can’t you sing?
Or how about an open mic?
Or maybe desktop publishing…?
No use. They do not care a jot;
They hum or twitch or simply sigh:
These slobs of darkness, doomed to squat
Inside my brain until I die.