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Roger Jameson: Poetry and Lyrics


Some folks claim he was saved by a fork tongued man in a black top hat
But you tell me son have you ever seen a hero who looked like that
This world is filled with love and gold buried in nursery rhymes of old
There’s just one way back home where you won’t be so alone

Cherry Street
I feel strange like something real’s about to die
Strange and weak from out of the corner of my eye I see you
Antique Daisies on your dress
Dressed up kind and gentle with some kind of mad distress
Something’s wrong, the scent of brimstone’s all around
Run and hide under your bed don’t make a sound
Close your eyes something real’s about to die
Hold up tight pray for the angels as they fall out of the sky
Watch from your window the Last Day Parade on Cherry Street
Treasure the trumpets and the marching band still on their feet
And try and take your time, try and ease your mind, try and make believe
That you can leave this world and fly so far away
That thought should make you smile safe in your padded room if just for a little while

Brimstone Part One
She catches light as it slides through the room, I watch her dance and absorb her perfume
I feel the heavy desire in the air, she’s so secure in her beautiful chair
Far past the evening and into the night she harbors stars as she plays with their light
Someone’s in trouble but she doesn’t care, she cuts the cord as she dances on air

(I’d say during the 4th they will get some rain… when the carnival comes to town, most th’ time it rains…
…when the carnival comes – it rains)
Brimstone Part Two (The Tavern)
Come won’t you sail with me, sail away darling
Sail with me all the way, all the way home…

There’s a small ship out there down by the water… (Come won’t you sail with me all the way home)
Brings with it sorrow misfortune and fear… (Come won’t you sail with me all the way home)
It’s been awhile since I’ve seen a young woman…. (Come won’t you sail with me all the way home)

Cellophane flowers and a late summer parade… (Come won’t you sail with me all the way home)
It’s been some time since I’ve been around here… (Come won’t you sail with me all the way home)
Nothing has changed ‘cept this ache in my heart… (Come won’t you sail with me all the way home)

Brimstone Part Three
Johnny-Come-Lately rode in on a horse made of steel
With fire in his belly and a sinister form of appeal
He was dressed to the nine’s debonair in his jacket and tie
With two tiny demons beside him that helped him to fly
He was looking for something - not love, but a memory like that
And all the girls swooned when he smiled and tipped his top hat
Miss Margaret was fair a real beauty by anyone’s eyes
She was promised to William but Johnny-Come-Lately came wise
She could not resist when he smiled and held out his hand
And everyone danced to the sounds of the Labor Day band
The children all smiled as they sat and drank lemonade
Johnny and Margaret they made their way down to the shade
It was hotter than hell underneath that shade tree by the house
But John, he was cool, convinced Margaret to take down her blouse

Dandelion Wine
Give me all the candy in the world, I would give it back for just one night with that sweet girl
Pockets full of shiny rocks and sunshine in her hat, I’ll remember all my summer days with you like that
Fill my glass with dandelion wine, polish silver from the core of some forgotten mine
Laughing children playing in a park some kind of game, that sweet girl and I dance hand in hand beneath the rain
Tiny little ponies and an old stray yellow cat, memories of a king and queen in a bright blue bonnet hat
Little pools of glassy froggies, tiny water mites, we will love each other through those long cold winter nights
Sing your song of color and of love, watch the little birdies fly so brilliant up above
Hold your breath and make your wish and keep your fingers crossed if I can’t hold your hand again then all will sure be lost
I’ll just be here dreaming of the day, butterflies will guide you back to me along your way
Hoping you might show up wearing bows tied in your hair and that yellow summer dress you wore the day of our affair

Angel Of Flatbush
Angel of Flatbush, won’t you step out into the hallway, shine some light on my doorway and help me get through the night
Angel of Flatbush, please don’t bat your eyes in that slow way, I won’t kiss your red lips on this day, but one summer day I just might
Please don’t tease me with your smile, make me believe in love for just a little while
That would be cruel, even for you
Angel of Flatbush, won’t you save a piece of your heart for me, there’s a place I know where the dancing’s free, I haven’t been there in quite a while
Softly surrender all the visions I know of you, all your beauty that shines on through those dark and lonely eyes

(Six white flowers in a can, planted by the fork-tongued man
Pull them out and watch them die, angels fall out of the sky)

6 dead white flowers in a can, watered every day by a fork-tongued man
5 antique daisies on the ground, little children dancing all around
4 tiny aphids, they’re all skipping in a row
How could they know it would be so hollow?
Drip, drip, drip, drip…
3 drops of blood falling from the table to the kitchen rug
2 tiny demons in a pie gobbling ladybugs as they flutter by
They’re all marching… marching in the summer’s last parade
While John and Margaret clap and cheer and watch them from the shade (take down her blouse!)
How could they know…… it would be so hollow….

The Late Parade
Well, the summer’s almost over and the boys are all returning to their homes
And the girls along the dusty shore, they go back to their girlfriends all alone
And the poets and the players try so hard to keep it on
Instead of going home they’d rather share it with someone
As for me I wanna share my time my heart and all my love with only you
The late parade is marching and the girls they all look pretty in the sun
And the boys all take their shirts off in the street and try to challenge everyone
And they’re all so young and pretty dancing slowly hand in hand, and the young men carry daisies trying to be some lady’s man
As for me I wanna share my time my heart and all my love with only you
Well, I heard they tore that house down by the shore - that little place we used to go
The one with all the antique paintings hanging in the hallway just for show
And the pictures told the stories of a hundred-year-old man and the women that he loved in his big house out in the sand
As for me I wanna share my time my heart and all my love with only you

Blood On White Tile
Drip, drip, drip down the corner of the table, broken shave razor cuts deep down into your skin
You blame and you hurt all the living for the ghosts that still haunt you
As you scratch little lines in your arm like a cute little homage to him
Don’t you wish that you had a friend that never let you down
Don’t you wish that you had a friend that always came around when you needed him most
To tear you away from the world and never look back
Where were you, my friend, the day the world went black

The March Of The Aphids
Yippie yippie yo yippie yay! (yippie yippie yup!)
She’s finding a place in the world where she can grow her flowers!
In a land full of sun where Daddy and Mommy dance and there is nothing but fun in big green fields to run!
Yippie yippie yo yippie yay! (yippie yippie yup!)
She’s renting a room in the park where she can plant her daisies!
Where the bluebirds sing, the horses run free, and there’s you and there’s and there’s me and we love everything! You’re the Queen, I’m the King!
How the little insects dance and sing, in the Perfect Garden they now own everything!
And they hold their Summer Parade where ladybugs march and aphids dance a masquerade!
Yippie yippie yo yippie yay! She’s finding a place in the world where she can grow her flowers! Yay!!

The Nightmare
The King and the Queen had a tea party for three and invited the Bear from the Old Hollow Tree
They called on the man in the white coat and tie to bring them their tea and two slices of pie
But the man in the coat was a stubborn old goat and refused to oblige all their wishes
Instead he just sat and gave his top hat to the fork tongued man who delivered their dishes

Dust To Dust
Some folks claim he was killed by a fork tongued man in a black top hat
But you tell me son have you ever seen a villain who looked like that
Only in fairy tales and dreams. It was a suicide it seems, a way to get back home where he wasn’t so alone
I don’t believe in demons, I don’t believe in gods, and I sure as hell do not believe in you
When the truth comes out on all these sins, o my Brothers, tell me what are we gonna do
This world is filled with blood and gold buried in nursery rhymes they told
You never believed them in the end… but that fork-tongued man became your only friend
Roger Jameson
ROOM 119

Motel room in early September
Summer struggles to hold on
Even while the cool air begins its early march towards fall
The sun shines low in the horizon
Turning the white buildings pink
Slowly killing the surrounding mountains
In a subtle fire of lavender shadow

The tiny room stands alone in time
Locked in it’s own bitter stale torpor
Softly surrounded by the permanent smell of three
Maybe four thousand cigarettes
And the dull, aged walls haven’t seen white
Since long before we were born
The hallway carpet is orange and sickly matted
Evenly patterned with tiny blue squares
Appropriately accented by random spots
Of soil and chewing gum
The complete foundation tied together
With an aging stairwell
That looks as if it is on it’s last good leg

Inside our space I sit and strum my guitar
Watching as the leaves turn their sullen autumn color
And fall from grace outside of our window
Like tiny pastel parachutes against dusk’s sun

All the while holding on to the sadness
That soon you will be gone
Leaving with the summer

As right as rain

I study your body as you lay on the small double bed
I follow your figure all the way down to your belly
And watch as your right leg, crossed at the knee
Keeps time with my song
All the while
You lay contently on your back
Squinting your eyes
Staring like stone at the ceiling
Pondering over the tiny plaster bumps
Which are yellow with cigarette smoke and age
I sink deep down into your thoughts
And watch you trace animal patterns in your head
As your fingers color tiny circles
Through your wire black hair

And I know at this moment
That the summer no longer shines on us
That the angels have lost our number
That, even now, as you lie on this bed
Beautiful and certain
You are just a grand illusion
A magician’s immaculate trick
To be gone with the leaves
Like a late summer parade

I begin to count the small yellow flowers
Surrounding your body on the light green bedspread

I lose track somewhere around seventy-five
Roger Jameson
Blood on white tile
Pools and spreads heavy and deep
Absolute and precise
Like small vermilion ponds
On a vast alien canvas
Blinding – smooth like fallen snow
In tiny perfect square patterns
Across the floor

Little rivers of red
Run across the shiny surface
Turning abruptly into straight perpendicular lines
As they intersect with the seams of grout

Blood on white tile
Slow and deliberate
Cutting a deep and permanent contrast
Into the ceramic surface
Leaving a thick black trace
On the immaculate landscape
Like the memories in my mind
That led me out of my childhood
And onto a seemingly endless
String of confusing pathways

Not necessarily despairs
(Although there were moments
Filled deep with the emotion)
But rather a true understanding
Or misunderstanding of love
Distant and precious lovers
In a tired world of white and gold
That is now only lost in the shadows
Of a few sharpened moments
Locked forever
Crimson and dark
Inside of my mind’s eye
Roger Jameson
I remember June
Still warm and comforting
The sun hot on our faces
As we lay out over a wide field of grass
Listening to the distant sounds of children laughing
Your beauty shines through in an almost unnatural way
As if you belong to the sun
Dancing around him in a brilliant circle
His light attaching to your every curve
His warmth not wanting to leave your body

Maybe the two of you have met somewhere in the past
Away from your’ living room
Where you find solace and comfort
And he was just enough to tempt even you
Away from your thoughts
And your books on the fantastic

Perhaps you ran to him
Like a long awaited lover
Returning to his side
Aching for his touch

And just maybe he kissed you so deeply
That you forgot yourself
Lost your head
Lost your heart

Lost in a dense veil of smoke and mirrors
He will always love you
Will always hold you deliberate
His light clinging tight to your body
His warmth filling your skin with color

And no one will ever touch you
In quite the way as he did

Perhaps you were consumed by his essence
Burned down by his fire
Dampened by his heat
Blushed by his knowledge of your body

And still unable to help yourself

Perhaps you surrendered your soul
And unable (or unwilling) to deny the feelings
That burned between you
Perhaps you came out on the other side
A little more of a woman

And maybe that wasn’t such a frightening feeling

And perhaps it was even a little deeper
A little more intense
A little more chaotic and uncontrolled
A touch more consuming
A tad bit more painful
And certainly more organic and violent and real
Than any of your books could ever describe

In only words

Perhaps you found this to be true
In spite of yourself

Only you know for certain
Roger Jameson
Last night I was lying with her
As the rain fell lightly against the front screen door
And I thought of the summer
Long gone now
But forever a part of my memory

And I thought of the fields on the East Coast
The ones I used to play in as a child
And I though of their thick grass
Green and sticky from a late afternoon storm
Clinging individually to her ankles
As we ran endlessly through the field
In and out of the wildflowers
And the lilac shrub

I thought of the lightning bugs
Flying frantic in the night
Like tiny beacons
Waiting for something
Waiting for someone
Waiting for anyone
To thrust them from their’ mechanical motion
Into some kind of redeemed existence
An existence full of promise
Without the millions of confused peers
Maniacally rushing to land somewhere
To get anywhere in their’ vast endless world
Filled with everything
But inevitably void of anything

And as I lay there
Watching her dream
I thought of the poets
And all the men who struggle to write
Of women such as her
And as I was lying there
Feeling her breathe
I thought of the lilacs
Only tangerine in color
Once again growing wild among the flowers
In that warm damp summer field
And the rain came frantically down
Beating heavy now against the front screen door
And I sigh
Trying not to wake her
As I watch her breath rise and fall
In the warm comfort
Of our own room
Roger Jameson
Inside the “blue room” - late December
We lay together like lovers
Holding each other in a warm clutch
While the snow outside blankets the northern New Mexican canvas

Crouched and asleep beside us
On the cold wooden floor
Is an old stray dog
That you brought home the night before
As we stumbled back to our room in the snow
Having spent the late evening and most of the night
Playing music with the locals
In a small tavern – lonely and surrounded by nothing

Feeling like all was right with the world around us

You were still a stranger then
Alive and artificial
Wearing a brilliant mask
Hiding the darkness
That was forever present
In your misguided heart

I awoke to a series of shallow whimpers
Looking out over you
Towards the sleeping dog on the floor
The dog you had insisted was a wolf
As he followed us home the night before in the snow
I got up out of our bed and opened up the front door
Quickly the dog woke up, and without hesitation
Walked deliberate into the early morning gray
Never to be heard from again

She holds a razor in her right hand
And crying, runs it along her left wrist
As she lays crouched in the corner
Of my small bedroom bathroom

When I think of you
I think of a long, yellow dress
And the surrounding darkness holding your silhouette
As the light collects around you
In a tight white circle
Because it wants to be close to you
Wrap itself around your essence
And touch the warmth of your skin

I remember your hair
Long and soft
Like running water
Covering your shoulders
Wrapping around your features
In tiny waves
Soft and delicate
Touching your face
Brushing over your eyeglasses
Making you less than perfect
But perfect enough to spin me
Dizzy and confused in euphoria
Trying to cover too much ground
In the short time that we are together
Holding on to every second
For fear of the lapse of time
Before I might see you finally – once again

This is my true confession
As I lay now staring through the bedroom window
Trying hard to think rationally in this dark room
While somewhere out there
You wonder with small pieces of my heart
Hidden neatly away
On the smooth surface of your lips
Along the corners of your mouth
Deep inside your tongue
Underneath your fingernails
Enveloping your body
Not wanting to find their way home
Roger Jameson
Creeps in like a serpent
And takes hold of the lonely heart
Roger Jameson