Am I a Doomdjent? (Doom poet)
All contents- poem and Blog text - © Louis J. Casson 2018 All rights reserved.
Hello everyone!
Some recent poems and lyrics.
“Sapeur” lyrics in a Reggae style, apologies for the cod-jamaican patois, best I can do. For those who don’t know a Sapeur is a finely dressed to impress gentleman, competitions for Sapeurs are often held in African countries.
“All sorts of dead” = living yet not fully. Someday I’ll write a happy poem but it was not that day! Perhaps “rebirthed balances out “All sorts” to some extent? I’m still musing whether I’m the poet of Doom Metal (a DoomDjent) – perhaps there’s a case to be made!
“Our corner” a love poem.
Enjoy my poems & lyrics, till next time, take care.
Best wishes,
Louis
Allsorts of dead
Sunday’s dead lies sleeping soft
After three pints, veg and a roast.
Bank holiday’s dead walks bored
Through shopping malls,
Penned in by clouds and rain.
Workday’s dead eke out their tasks,
Tired with watching the clock.
Allsorts dead in various ways,
Lie deceased yet twitching in their graves.
Rebirthed
If it’s dead it twitches too much
See how the stump shoots out wisps of life.
Kicks against our movings on, filed and forgettings.
Perhaps we were all wrong
See how it rebirths, its seeming death just a pause
Between verses of its song.
Sapeurs
Pass me mi hat and cane,
Deck mi all out wit mi jewels an ting. See in tha mirror what a fine man I's bring.
I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some too bad Or a robba. I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some two bad Or a robba.
Lively up yourselves!
Lace up mi shoes get mi coat just right.
Wit a spring in mi walk, set for tonight.
I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some too bad Or a robba. I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some two bad Or a robba.
Come. I hear you sing!
Get on tha dancehall moving grooving tha floor
I’s no tired got to do some more.
I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some too bad Or a robba. I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some too bad Or a robba.
I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some too bad Or a robba. I's best ok being a sapeur Betta than being some too bad Or a robba.
Our corner
I have stood again on that corner,
Where minding my own business
We chanced to meet.
And the leaves rustle like ghosts,
Moved by the wind, damp with autumn’s sleet.
I have passed by each morning,
That PC folder, full of your emails of love.
Unopened every day, not to be read again,
But not for deleting.
And the morning’s tide of new mail seems unwelcome:
Voices, echoes, without meaning in their greeting.
I have felt your loss and hoped that you’d return,
You didn’t but I coped.
To realise that to love again,
Is not an if but merely when.
And so I can look out at
What for so long I could not bear.
Over there, at what used to be
Our corner across the square.
All contents- poem and Blog text - © Louis J. Casson 2018 All rights reserved.