Cumquat Errogeny

The lyrical musings of Kevin Mitchell, 22 October 1991 — 11 June 1992.


Index

3-0

All Change
At The End Of The Day

Baptism Of Tears

Cold Sweat
Contexts For Living

Dreams

Economy Of Expression
Emerging From Sleep

Fed By Vibes; Starved Of Learning

Head And Shoulders
Heavy
Hope Vs. Mope
Human Nature

I Can't Get No
Ill
It Lives

Man Finds Truth

No Comment
Not Sleeping But Dead

Of Your Life

Poor Lyrics To A Good Song
Portal To Paradise

Reality At Arms Length
Redemption Value Song (Ode To A Tiger Token)
R.I.P.

Slow Death By Liquid
Spectre Of Lost Generation Messiah
Spin The Wheel
Step Right Up
Summer Of Discontent

That Sort Of Boy
The Cold
The Fruit Of All Evil

Viva Guido

Watcher's Waiting
Wave The White Flag
When We Were Very Young
Wild Man Of Chelsea
Winter Sun
Worms In The Rain

~


Spin The Wheel

The talking jaybird snaps
Commands, in broad rhetoric
To the loading of another breached defence
Once more
Historically steeped, the hill
Stacked and smoking, reveals its true anti-colours
Strike up the banned with clashing symbolism
Ringing the fears, then tighten choking

The master stroke, condemning all
In a single floorless movement
Yet `no foundation' could not stem
Nor nip the budding demon seed
A gaping generation cannot grasp
Without repeating, the failings of another

What more to do?
Educate? Elimination of distaste?
When freedom means expression
How can we disposes
Our inklings of disgust
Borne from the hoarse, cavalier
Charged up mentality of others

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Step Right Up

Pay your money and make your choice
To chart a course in even keel
Or ride the cerebral roller-coaster
Slowly climbing. Automaton
Till with head in clouds oblivious
Hurtle groundwards, clinging tenuously to rails
The slenderest comfort twixt here and another place
Wherever

Man clings to man - brothers in arms
Babes in the wouldn't you like to know
Altogether, so many pieces of the puzzle
Still not in place
The patented willowy path we weave
Leads us not into emancipation

Good fortune only smiles upon those reflective enough
As to appear to beam back

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Wild Man Of Chelsea

All points north and back again
Now reading like an entry
From a cheap quotations book
Time takes the edge off even
The sharpest of our wits
Turning sour as a portrait
Of week old cream
Whiskered away catatonic
Behaviour such should be heard of
But never (ob)seen

Unwrapped, the parcelled rogues
Revealed, tin-foiled
Too much a risk
The gloves were off
All riled up with nowhere to go
In defiance of the purity
Of immaturity

Give him an Oscar!

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Not Sleeping But Dead

To the world - unemotive
In receipt of full quotation
Marked in-can decadence
The massed scarring of events
(A tissue now lying)
Has taken its terrorific toll
Upon one man's hip
Sinking all hands on a deck
Of false greetings cards

Ms. Bun, in the baker's oven
Done runnered
Pie, pudding and plum tuckered
Dream on - you'll never know
Way to go - far and wide
Sensations never to subside

"To die! To be really dead!
"That must be glorious!" - Bela Lugosi, 1931

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Spectre Of Lost Generation Messiah

Stephen, oh Stephen
You should have died
Yes, that would have been fine
It would have been nice
But you did not follow the example
Of your hedonistic icons

Incarcerated in the constraint
Of your own ideals
Missing the counterpoint
That you must destroy
In order to Destroy
Melodic, harmonic
Angelic destiny
Rhapsodic, symphonic
Means so much less to me
To me now

Never force what
Will not come naturally
Acts with such contrition
Condition only scorn
For the early mystic mourning

Inspired of your non-demise
So much, oh so much
You could have meant to all
Watching, waiting for a sign
Walking thinly veiled
The lines drawn
Before you were re-born

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The Fruit Of All Evil

Adam, on the eve of his only destruction
Stands, in reflection
Casting his memorous net
Upon the miasmatic waters

What of spite, could have brought
To him, monad
His devilish daughter
Hellish offspring
Loaded with intent?

So was sown future's seed
He could not resist
Nor fail to be drawn
Into destiny
This cumquat errogeny
A mother to us all

Foolish, much poorer
Experience taught
That once brought to life
The colours of taint
Ones going to run and run
Cannot be unpainted

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Reality At Arms Length

Through the window I watch
I see you pass me by
But I do nothing
If attention I seek
Purely by thought energy
My mission is a failure
Here I shall rot alone

Keep back, encroach not
Vestal, verging ridiculous ahead
Free of shoulders restraint
To expand perceptions
Previous, unsought
Reneg all things taught
Questions scenic views
Headline blues persuade news

Clever forever
In all directions at once
Till no hidey remain without
I; conquer all, ergo must be love
Enough is more than enough
When stuffed goodly

Coming into land
Touching down yet scoring no points
Too sore to touch where it fits
And starts then stops

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Watcher's Waiting

Face at window stares down
Silent the scene
Eyes motion left, then right
But not take in
Recalls to memory all
Things past, slender the grasp
Brief the glimpse that
Brings the smile that
Fades, though radiant glow
Remains to those who know

Passer-by moves on
Leaving trace, barely
Yet unique as snow around
What if? No best not dwell
The done never can not
It's bitter out, forget
Years heal wounds
If left untouched

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Viva Guido

War has broken out
Or so it would appear
From the gunfire in the distance
And the methodical explosions

Some poor soul is getting his tonight
There's no hiding place
Flares lighting up the sky
Missiles whistle overhead

Looters out in force
I can spy the gathered mob
Encircling the pyre
Chanting revolution, till

Rebellion is crushed
With casualties a minimum
Peace is re-declared
At least until next year

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R.I.P.

The incorruptible corpse
Of rebellious youth
At the mausoleum of teen-fashion lies
- In a state!

Safe from the cultured vultures
Prying to pick clean the bones
Of every last scrap
Wishing deny the spontaneous act

That which cannot be summoned at will
And is free from the restraint
Of outside influence

Within - a force more powerful
Than without, will out
Prevailing despite the march of time
Nurtured `'gainst all odds
In the shadow of adult acceptability

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It Lives

Sitting back on laurels, resting
In relief he sighed, "It's over"
Life he had at last breathed
Into his own baby
Created something
Where before nil did exist
Self satisfied
Like Shelley's Dr. before

The monster
Stitched together pieces
Yielded by others, called his own
Lumbered its way into others' lives
Expressing opinion without malice
Or ignorance of mindless folly

Then reality harsh dawned
That respite, not end of toil
Had but occurred
To this infant, regular kin must be conceived
Blood of a similar vein
To go forth and spread the family name

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Dreams

Some say we dream in colour
Vivid, bright, in remembrance of another
Times gone by, places yet to see
Our hopes and fears, innermost reflections
Revealed to no other

Some say we drowse in black and white
Flickering monochrome across the screen
The sight — an old movie
Rerun once again
Before our eyes
Closed in somnambulation

I say what of those
Never graced with gift of sight
Can they, then not imagine
While their bodies take respite?
And if they do then how does this relate
To what we see
And to how things really are?

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The Cold

Snapping at your ankles
A team of wild huskies
Laden with burden
The stark times ahead

Whistling round your ears
Bitter the tempest
Swirling atmospherics
Mist — by no one

Chilled to the bone
Now cold as marble
Ice melts, still
The big freeze in dominance
Rules resilient
Then with reluctance yields
To prevailing seasonal change

Onset spring and soon
To save all from
Such a fate
I never knew such pain
Could ever be felt without
Fear of death

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That Sort Of Boy

The sort of boy who
Never took his shots
Grew up too much, too soon
Whose presence and awe
Radiated out until it filled the room
Unseen to all who did not look
Though spied by those
Seeing the signs
(Consult your history book)

The sort of boy who
Had to win, even when he lost
Victory over the populace
Sought at any price
Feeling superior negated feelings
(Inferior)
A trait to taint the many
Not one for the few

The Sort of boy who
Cried and cried in vain
Till the only thing that made any sense
Was his own name
In self-fulfilment, set about the task.
Scaling the heights
To achieve all previously beyond his grasp

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Baptism Of Tears

Last night I
Thought that I
Had died and gone to heaven
But now, this morning
I know that I just died

I found you, I admit
As others find religion
Though is it all not but a step
Along the path to find ourselves?
And using the wisdom, surely
More important than
The place it was discovered?

In all my years of searching
There I was all the time
Hidden under my own nose
— An in the body experience

And now...
I must get used to living
In the shadow of the bombshell
That you dropped

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Man Finds Truth

Man finds truth on a cereal box
But the brand is kept a secret
Making sure it's something
No others live to regret

Do you really want to know?
I don't think that you do
And the TV shows again
That rerun of Columbus
— Nimbleless oblige (well bred)
And, but heard the world over

Stop being profane and
Start being profound!
But our only common ground
Once green, is now hammered out
— A thin sheet and wrapped
Swaddling, around babes up in arms

I stole all my own best lines
And gave them to another
To spite this face
Foul countenance, irredeemably non-divine.
And it hurts!

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Cold Sweat

Time creeps around once more
— Dreaded encounter
Appointment with fear set for 17:04
God of anxiety bays
Now sacrifice, it must be made

Keep stiff the upper lip
Try not to let bravado — front
So thinly veiled, slip
Look not right or left
With mind set
On traumatic task in hand
The hand bitten by that on which it feeds

Why this agony and pain?
When expedition of necessity
Not selfish gain
I do not ask to inherit this Earth
Meekly or in any other way
But, just for once
To nip into Sainsbury's
And effortlessly purchase all I require
Would make my day

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When We Were Very Young

There the two grown children sat
In playful recognition
Of each other's Utopian ideals

"You show me yours
And I'll show you mine"
But with not an ounce of initiative
Between them, they remained
Sucking on the thumbs
Of their respective inhibitions

Suckling a fear of the half known
That has feasted for too long
Off some semi-mythical, collective sense of awe

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An Open Letter

My pen is wont to ejaculate upon the page in a manner as haphazard as usual. But sometimes the cryptic is no way to solve the puzzle, (you can forget cross words too, they do no one any favours).

Powerful words indeed, but meaningless without cypher. So on (and on...) with this unsponsored massage of the senses.

When I became reborn into this world, my eyes opened by forces powerful beyond mortal comprehension, yet which dwell dormant within us all, I knew once and for all - my purpose had still to be fulfilled. Indeed, the journey to reach its end had barely begun and the few steps already travelled - unwittingly so, blindfolded (though I could not see it at the time) and without a safety net. But of course, one is only necessary if you should fail, and who sets out to achieve (!) that?

However, to disclose the exact nature of my quest would be to give the game away. Let me just say, "To whom it may concern, time will yield the answer, but when, only you can be sure."

Well what did you expect, it's in my blood!

KM.

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Fed By Vibes; Starved Of Learning

Regression in the face
Of another's dominance
The pigtails pulled in anguish
Inducing sub-conscious kow-tow

Sorry, but it's true
— Called as seen by one
Who does not know

What else could be expected?
Everything, if anything
Is to be accepted
Going easy gets a long way
But don't expect to ever
Be felt sorry for

Two stories of differing sides
Collide, but who can
See the join?

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Head And Shoulders

Good. Very good
Almost perfect
But not quite
You see it takes so little
To spoil 'beyond compare'

And drag down to the level
Where competition struggles
For survival of the fittest
Into attention seeking glare

So. Stand tall my son
With chest puffed out
Be proud
Your level-headed best
Is all you have
To make you stand out in the crowd

But when they pin the medals
On those others
Less deserving
Lose no heart
Remember
Where you finish
Is all relative to the place
From which you start

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Winter Sun

Winter sun looks nice
But it still feels cold to me
In vain he shines, like Louis
Though this Sun King has long since been deposed
The massed crystalline formations laugh
Contemptuously in the face
Of his pathetic rays
Now casting on the water
A sad reflection
Of more potent days

Days of the long shadow
In the eve
The memory of which
Can bring about no reprieve
But he has been suspended there
For the longest time
And will outlive this temporary
Harsh regime
Times pass: slowly
The icy mist it turns
To steam

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Heavy

Like the straw never to snap
What care you?
In the field of fire, tempered
With even judgement
Open to all in general
Closet by specificate

I, who with similar incline
Bide time, fit to judge none
Neither praised
Nor buried be
But left, carcass brazen
By deceit
Subject to whim
Am cast like stones thrown
Through condemnation
Into futility

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Emerging From Sleep

Arise
The dawn, new and fresh
To match my soul
That which sleep has cleansed
Purged of sin
The impurities of thought
(Sub-conscious)
Sucked away by dreaming

Apologies
I make none
For the repeating of myself
After all, it happens
Every day to all
In every way

Slowly
At first, till energy summoned
Is suffice
To throw back those
Security blankets and re-enter
The world's (un)fair
To ride that crazy carousel

Thought: Is life the fantasy we submit ourselves to when not in slumber?

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Redemption Value Song (Ode to a Tiger Token)

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That's how much you're worth to me

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Poor Lyrics To A Good Tune

She's going away
And I miss her
Even, I'm sad to say
Before she's gone
So how's it going to feel
On those cold and lonely nights
When my loving arms and lips
Long to hug and kiss her?

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Human Nature

Back in the really good
Old days

To walk upon the Earth

Plied and shaped
Like putty
Features we came to know
And love

Home - we knew it as
Our country fair
Till attitude, far stronger
Than Mother's seemingly
Spent force
Took in its own hands
Knowing best what course
To take

How can we hope to duplicate
Acts whose very subtlety
Are above and beyond
Our perception?
Though still we try
Clumsily, as best we can
To forward march in
No particular direction

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All Change

Look about you
What do you see?
So many things taken for granted
If it were there yesterday
And will still be tomorrow
What point is there in present contemplation?

It's the little things that change
Unnoticed in this way
Which lead to much greater upheavals

They thrust themselves upon you
With no word of introduction
Expecting your world stood to attention
On its own head
Picking you up by the ankles
And shaking the loose change of life
From your pockets
(The price you pay for being too complacent)

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Ill

The racing pulse
The rambling mind
The sweat, neither fire nor ice
The adrenaline rush required in desperation
No amount of kick-starting could provoke

This is life without living
Feeling sorry for oneself
If only I took precautions
Paid more attention to health
Then this predicament so present
Would be an alien encounter
Not a regular occurrence
With each breath drawn
Through ever tightening tubes

A good night's sleep would work wonders
And allow myself to make so bold
As to not believe I'm dying
From this thing they call a cold

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3-0

What was that?
Wait a moment
There must be something in my ear
It's just that I thought you said...
Ugh!!

How fortunate you are
Not to be born in days gone by
When bringers of ill tidings
Were meted out gruesome punishment
Now the grisly fate only applies
To all short-term aspirations
The name is the same
But the context has been changed
To protect the fallible
No trophies in the cupboard this year
Laurels upon which to rest
Have long since withered and died
Still, there's always next season

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Summer Of Discontent

It was a day not unlike any other
With no specific point of reference
To tie memory of it to any particular moment in time

A simple stroll
Beneath a canopy of cloud
Making attempts to mask the sun
Though not its heat
Free and easy

The smell of freshly mown grass wafting on a gentle breeze
From same direction —
The still active purr of its mechanical executioner

Onward further
'Til silence reigns supreme
Blue above meets green below
On a horizon with no soul between
To mar the scene

The time has come when clothes can serve no purpose
This is true sun worship —
Naked; prone upon the alter of the Earth

The moment passes
Distraction, both sight and sound
Serve to herald a retreat
And cause reflection
Upon the wretched nature of our over crowded lives

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Wave The White Flag

The time is now
To say goodbye
And call it quits
You cut your losses in the past
— Then we bled
Now we're dry
And the sands of time run out

Pack up your troubles
In your undiplomatic kit bag
And we'll smile
To think the end is not in sight
Is to be out of your mind

If you desire the call to arms
— To raise alarms
To bring about change
It's as good as arrest
Then fine — we pay the price

There has to be another way
A better way
To have a say
— Be heard
A million voices speak
And count as one
Falling only on deaf ears
Those same controlling ones
Over the years
Caused countless stinging tears
The juice by which the bitter pills
Were swallowed
No more — cheers
Here's to a brighter tomorrow

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Contexts For Living

There's a time for speech
And a time to listen
The prudence of wisdom
Is knowing the difference

There's a time for learning
And a time to teach
To ensure the future's
Beyond the reach of

The grasping hands
That claw and scrape
To rape our Mother Earth
Savage, brutal and satisfying
To those whom wealth
Is the solitary worth

There's a time for action
And a time to be still
The ebb and flow of mortal will
Cannot command the rise and fall
Of the superior force
That links and binds us all

There's a time for proof
And a time to believe
That without war
We can fight to achieve
Goals hinting at Utopia
If we teach the doctrine
Near and far

There's a time for relinquishment
And a time to acquire
Without faith in the whole
How can we seek to aspire?

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Slow Death By Liquid

At six O'clock I let you in
And I come up
Try though as I might
There's no enjoyment there at all
I'm sad to say
Just entertainment for the even sadder few
If there is no procurement
Then what am I to do

Maybe this is my station in life
Though my train of thought
Has long since left and been
Perhaps, derailed
— Who cares?
I'm sure that I don't know

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Economy Of Expression

So much to say
In so few words

"I love you"

Not very original
I would be the first to admit
But I think that it takes some beating!
So why can I never say it?

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Portal To Paradise

There before your eyes
The solution
To all your troubles
An answer to your prayers
Laid out before you
Pinch yourself for conformation
You're not asleep
And you're not in Kansas either

So step forth to who knows where
And whatever may await
Adopt that fatalist approach
Ignore all things narrow and straight
Do not try to confine a yard of thought
Into the pint pot of acceptance
The few true boundaries which exist
Are the ones we cannot see
And once you've crossed the threshold
That is the future
There can be no turning back
So be young, be beautiful and be free

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Worms In The Rain

Wriggling, struggling
We despise
Those slimy, Selfless
Being alien to our form

Saviour unfair
To drizzle down
Dampened spirit
When with sympathetic urge

Toil, of no malice
Spites still
Bites deep in parts
Fleshed by pompous lie

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Of Your Life

Clock of the body
Independent of the abstract
Tied to neither zone nor phase
Controls by ultra-fine movement
Bejewelled with life

Keepers of the time
Withhold all chimes from feeling
No quarter given past our appointment
Engaged to fate, unwound by sloth
Still in the running

All seeing, the eye
It blinks and then we are gone
Cast into faded memory
Historic footnotes to creation
Past presents for the future

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I Can't Get No

Satisfaction guaranteed
The need to be — fulfilled
A purpose to all ends
More than halfway met
And yet

That certain, special something
Is still missing, last seen
— Inaction; presumed a dead loss
(Weight to be pulled)
A knuckled millstone around
The slenderest of necks

I love to hate
And I hate to love
But I leave that all behind
When in sweet reminiscence
— A place not too far from here
But beyond the reach of mortal man
And plenty

Oh, how sad re-entry
To this plane can be
Jet, stark in contrast
To leaving, suffice said
That to be is, not to be happy
But to dispel the reams
— Volumes aplenty
Surfeit counterbalance material
— Things, meaning so little
Borne of the few
Affect so many

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Hope Vs. Mope

I hope to travel along life's path
Not looking back
Seeking new quests
Rising to meet each challenge
With a vengeance fresh

But plodding on regardless I will go
Sights — firmly retrospect
Still betrothed in the memories
Which evoke the deepest feelings of desire

I hope to do the best I can
Whatever. And achieve
That which can never be revoked
By malice, or defiled

But settled, as ever
Compromised upon some lowly stile
Is where I will be found
No majestic throne for I

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No Comment

I will not be forced or coerced
Against my will
To pass remark by my lips
Or to spill it all
On anyone

To sit in suffering silence
Is my licence
You may subject me
To crescendos
Of howling mental anguish
From the tortured souls
Of those who came before
But my tune remains unchanged

The dancing blades that dice
The three blind beggars
— Men or mice?
Wend their weary way
Towards ultimate sacrifice

Though all this may have
No influence on me
It does not mean
I am unfit or cannot see
The injustice ever present
All abounding. Yet

When a thing surrounds
Total immersion
Objects subversion
From another which way
To points
So directive set
Preselective
Until it alters
All perspective

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At The End Of The Day

The time has come to say goodnight
To all our heavenly creatures
And let's hope the bugs don't bite
It's such a long time

To be sucking on the host
But sometimes you have just got to
Prayer forms protection from the ghosts
Black of the space twixt dusk

And when the dancing shadows fawn
Before the cracking of the clouds
And the coming of the dawn

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This page © Kevin Mitchell, 2010.