Just Get The Car
I’ve got a job
Serving in a bar
If that’s my lot
Just get the car
I’ve got a woman
Sits home all day
Just waiting there
To pick up my pay
I’ve had a dream
Could’ve been a star
If that’s all over
Just get the car
I’ve got a child
A little boy
Who breaks my heart
But brings me joy
I’ve got a home
Got to pay the rent
But before I do
It’s always spent
I’ve had a life
Away from this bar
If it’s at an end
Just get the car
I had a wish
Silly little dream
But my Mama said
Boy what do you mean
I’ve had a drink
Led to affairs
But if there’s food
My woman don’t care
I’ve had a life
Dreamed of the stars
If that’s all over
Just get the car
The Girl With The Pale Blue Eyes
It was a cold November morning,
And the gods fought in the skies,
That was when I first saw her,
The girl with the pale blue eyes.
Her dress it was made out of tartan,
And her hair was as black as the night,
She saw me and then she smiled,
And the grey skies gave way to sunlight.
I remember we walked as we spoke,
Kissed and my life would never be the same,
As we danced through the night together,
That first dance again and again.
In the morning I woke to discover,
Whilst I slept she’d gone from my side,
Nothing left but an imprint in the pillow,
Of the girl with the pale blue eyes.
I raced to the place we first met,
Hope against hope she’d be there,
I searched the streets of this city,
But not a sign of her could I find anywhere.
As the years passed I never forgot,
Whilst my friends laughed as I searched,
For the girl with the pale blue eyes,
Who I loved as if she was the first.
And as I take you home this evening,
My darling I won’t tell you no lies,
Know I’ll be gone in the morning,
Just like the girl with the pale blue eyes.
Nana (I)
What wonders have you seen through those eyes?
The decades you’ve watched pass you by,
Growing up you never said what it was like,
It’s funny we never talked about your life.
A million memories I see written on your face,
The laughter lines I begin to trace,
Was George the first don’t want to know if the last,
It’s funny we never talked about your past.
In every recollection I know I’ll find you there,
Someone to love me, someone to care,
You’d tell me no matter what it’ll be alright,
It’s funny we never talked about your life.
You introduced me to lemon tea and ball room dancing,
Saying the wrong thing and not apologising,
Saturday night dinner, meringue after the football match,
But still no talking about your past!
And now the visits I can make become rarer,
Sometimes I’m scared you’ll think me a stranger,
The understanding fades as I look in your eyes,
The past gone and with it memories of your life.
Is this why I bottle everything up inside?
I always thought it was just my foolish pride,
But what if we find that the simple truth,
Is Nana I’m just a lot like you?
The Weeping Willow
Early in the morning
The weeping willow cries
For a man that it loved
His children and his wife
Way back in sixty eight
They got took by a fire
The weeping willow wails
For all those who have died
My dad he knew the girl
They were stepping out
But her daddy didn’t want
Their romance putting about
He said my dad was no good
Wouldn’t amount to anything
Told the town he’d forced upon
Sitting on her front porch
My Gran listened to the lies
Told about her little boy
As the weeping willow cried
Out the back hidden from view
She could hear them sing
Two lovers in harmony
As he gave to her his ring
Then one night it happened
They say Pop was in a rage
Found my daddy hanging out
And my daddy was afraid
Those four walls reverberated
You heard them back in town
My daddy never spoke again
About what was to be found
On an early Sunday morning
A blaze lit up the sky
They found my daddy cursing
The good lord asking why
The girl that he loved
Perished in the fire
And in the misty morning
The weeping willow cried
The Things That I Love About You
When it all goes wrong it’s always my fault,
The blame is never with you,
If I’d have listened to you it would have been alright,
If only I’d listened to you,
When we argue I know I’m in the wrong,
Because that’s what you always tell me,
And if I didn’t give in we’d still be fighting,
These are things I love about you.
When you sulk because for once I stood up,
Like a man and said no to you,
And then give in because you never will,
I was wrong how could I of ever doubted you,
I should have learned to read your mind,
You shouldn’t have to keep telling me,
What you wanted of course was not what you said,
These are things I love about you.
When you cook I’m left to clean up,
Because that’s not something that you do,
Like the ironing or using the Hoover,
That’s what I’m here for, for you,
When you talk on the telephone,
It’s always whilst I’m watching TV,
You talk so loud I can’t help but hear what you say,
These are things that I love about you.
When you want a drink you’ll hold out your glass,
And say will you get it for me,
And I’ll go because I love you,
And I know someday you’ll go for me,
Because you love me too, I know it
No matter these things that you do,
I love you, I love you, you know that I love you,
But tell me why do you love me.
Megalomania
If I put my pen down on this page,
Where will it go?
Who knows?
There’s so many ideas inside of me,
But are they right?
Is black not white!
I’ve often thought and thought, thought
And thought again,
Just who is to blame?
I’ve solved the problems of society,
I fed the world,
And got the girl.
Povert
y could be ended wars averted,
All you have to do,
Listen to you know who.
Recognise, understand the answers,
That have to be,
Given by me!
This is where this particular journey ends,
Nowhere else to go,
Megalomaniac in tow!
My Poetry’s No Good
My poetry’s no good,
Because my English teacher said so,
It doesn’t rhyme or fit the rules,
She said.
So I read a poem,
But I didn’t like it but that’s just me,
Why am I reading? I’m uneducated,
I’ve not got an English degree,
But she has.
My opinion is so overrated,
I’m just one of those who reads,
Who because of a lack of education,
Should be told what to think.
Now critics I’m sorry,
If I’ve put you in a catch 22,
If this is good because you like it,
Then what I’m saying’s not true,
So listen to my English teacher,
She said my poetry’s no good.
About The Author
Tomas Cody grew up in Stoke-on-Trent and spent his formative years trying to escape school life in the pubs and clubs of the city. Surprisingly he managed to get enough of an education to land at Leicester University where he continued try to escape education and mostly he succeeded.
Now living in New Zealand Tomas has continued to try to dodge bettering himself and instead works a nine to five to pay the bills.