Isle of Sheppey

slates / war lyrics

Some of these had an airing in quic_lude, a (very) fugitive anti-war publication put out by me & Sean Bonney back in 2003. They are as relevant now as they were then & I want to post them here before the weasel in question is 'gone'. Originally called "war lyrics" I preferred the title "slates" for obvious reasons but either will do really. I might do some more...

3 beach huts

Assart 34

34

When I was sir thomas wyatt
& I dreamt I shot arrows in my
anne Boleyn bra. She was just
being herself by my slow-grown
yew self-bow I am sir thomas
wyatt I said (we were both
idiots) & I live in a tent
on the field of the cloth of gold.
I shot arrows in a minute.
She died on a shiny turret.
O anne Boleyn I made your head
into an italian sonnet.
Tremendous on the face is you
(she loves to wear a lame bra too)

Must be one of mine...

In the Assarts no. 33

33

I loved you o anne Boleyn
instead of thomas wyatt I
wrote your falling name on my
mistake. You in very small
trunks. You in dark green.
You in tough smooth tops.
Since I went to pieces
alas my american tats were this bad
when I got off with your head
then I was sir thomas wyatt
yes no don't know why
I spent my life in wood.
These hands made the best french boots.
These hands make the best english bats.