"Please Dont Laugh"....

a lovely poem by J C Ashby...rather an accidental discovery....bt how aptly it fits into the theme of my thoughts at large in life.


"Please Dont Laugh"


I have given up trying to be grown up
And Spend my time in adolescent joys:
Finally thrown my 'I am Jesus' face off
And gone out to the boozer with the boys.


One time i took my stand a little distant
Listened to their jokes and felt superior
Quivered at the mention of a pair of tits;
Coloured from my toe to my posterior


For many years i looked round for a model
And two or three times thought i had found one,
But when i tried to pin them down to study,
A boy remained, i found the man had gone.


The first one had a pride that stank like mine did
The second had a nibble with a tart,
The third one curried favour with the wealthy,
The fourth, poor sod, became obsessed with art.


One more said that he would pin his faith in love
To rid the world of adolescent strife,
But quickly called me outside for a punch-up
When some kind neighbour said I'd jumped his wife.


My mother thought the world was growing rotten,
That God would take his loved ones for His own
Perhaps that's why i sometimes feel so lonely
Playing blues records on the gramophone.


Last week i went out walking in the country
And heard the turtle dove call from a tree,
I didnt stop to listen to his love-song
I knew he wasn't singing it to me.

As i came home i had to pass a cripple
I thought i ought to smile as i went by,
'Now there's someone that you should try and love son,'
I walked straight past, I couldn't meet her eye.


A candidate for office came to our house
'Just look and see sir what my party's done,'
I pointed to a block of flats like barracks
And trees that stood there weeping for the sun.



Kind Dr Best's the one who'll cure my sickness
In his still waiting-room i sit and pray,
He'll give me Soneryl to help the night on
And heart-shaped Drinamyl to cheer the day.



So farewell to the purple-headed mountain,
The family house, the rive running by,
Exotic over-ripe fruits in the winter,
The Atom bomb that lightens up the sky.


O Father will you cross my brow with water
And place my tired hands upon my chest,
Remove my testicles and their appendage
And teach me how to love with what is left.