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Date Posted: 14:09:44 03/01/14 Sat
Author: Lazlo
Author Host/IP: ppp-99-12-241-192.dsl.wlfrct.sbcglobal.net / 99.12.241.192
Subject: Re: Happy Birthday, Brian
In reply to: Linda 's message, "Happy Birthday, Brian" on 08:06:05 02/27/14 Thu

Beautiful poem Linda. I know I'm a day late but it's okay, I'm not much for posting Birthday messages. In the past I've re-posted old posts of Gerry and Mary on these occasions. This time, I'm, re-posting a poem from a poster named Mark, who posted this here way back in 2003.

riffs for brian/thanks once again

a little welsh bulldog
a chap from cheltenham spa
oh how he could dust our brooms
and everything else

that guitbox howling silver
like it crawled right out of the american delta
that hoodlum soul jangling beyond
the tambourines
yeah, somewhere between the satyrs
and the saints

elmo lewis discovered america
before columbus
his hair was as golden as his heart
was dark and solid and pure
as delta mud

that kid from the cotswolds had the feel
he stole lps from the record shop
and got the sack
it wouldn't be the last time

brian was bo diddly's little blonde cousin
he pissed all over your forecourt
and laughed his wheezy asthmatic laugh
by jove would you let you daughter
marry one

they're on the telly again luv
snarlin at us
bleedin barbarians they are
and bound for wormwood scrubbs
let em carry on
and croon those savage negro numbers
where they bleedin belong

they're a menace to society
and all
we'll fix their little red roosters
alright

brian's pa
thought he'd make a splendid dentist
mr tooth decay shut up
and meet howlin wolf
and have another hit of this
gas gas gas

as alexis could testify
this kid from cheltenham extracted
the hell out of the slide guitar
before anybody over there and here
even knew what it was

running dodging leaving
and weaving it all into something edgy
and dark and precious

being there while setting up
a home-made amp
all his malchicks could tell you
going while coming
a bright blur of ectoplasm

deeply detected
absence itself in a dandy fashions
suit
paint it black you devil
that sitar of yours
was never the same again

bust a gnome
bust a maestro
you were one fragile package
and who could hang
the blame on you

still we're gonna miss you
brian
you went strutting
cock of the walk
down the kings road with Jimi
mr jones
wrapped in a fucking fantastic afghan
coat

with the saddest of bags
packed under your haunted eyes
castles cave inward on an african beach
joujouka pipes
skirling through the mountains
of rif

thanks for just being there
trouble doncha come round here
no more

upward into the loam
he flys
this cat from somewhere else man
a little welsh bull
drown in his own chlorine dream
with more than a little help
from his friends

all the way to pooh corner
via swingin london
via the spa
via yazoo city
via the moons of neptune

intergalactic prince
of no expectations
another one with the touch
yeah and the feel
and mr johnson's hell hounds
on his trail




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