Poetry and Lyrics

This is various poetry and creative writing that I wrote going all the way back to the eighties. Some of this is fairly personal but it's called creative writing so don't read too much into anything.

Most of the works have a copyright date listed, but those should be considered as advisory only and the actual date of writing could have been earlier. These are the dates they were first put onto a computer in some form.

Enjoy!

 The denizens of never land
 No more
 Bequeath no more
 
 To ferry and their kin
 And all to come to  shore
 
 In devils wake fair glisten
 And ashore
 
 In sodden summer play
 And winter gloom
 
 Their makings
 And their tidings
 And the fields
 The fields lay far
 
 Opress they come from ocean
 And from ocean back they go
 To turn away
 
 A wave
 A tide
 A torrent
 
 Ever in the twilight
 In the autumn
 In the sleeping of the sun
 
 Wax and wane the fortune
 Stride the future
 Sing the ramble road to glory
 
 Ring the fool
 The fool bell tolling claim
 To credence
 
 In August chains
 The desert
 Folds in arms of dry
 
 Breathe
 Breathe fair virtue
 Of a rock
 
 A curse
 A pox
 A plague of mystic
 And all uncertain things
 
 A foul of seeing
 And believing
 The unbeliever

Ah yes.. another pseudo gibberish one. I really enjoy these.. they make no sense.. but the words sound cool together.

Copyright © 1996 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Don't expect anything from Waldo
 He gave it all at the office
 
 He'd schmooze with captains of industry
 And dream of being an Admiral in the fleet
 
 He'd buy and sell used people wholesale
 He kept his scruples and his dreams in the office safe
 
 He was a Me Me Me man
 Sold his soul for a lump of coal
 And an empty hole for a heart
 
 He was a Yes Yes Yes man
 Bought all the money money can buy
 And paid rock bottom price
 
 It got him
 A three piece law suit
 A full length straight jacket
 A mansion down on skid row
 The key to the public washroom
 An executive suite in an institution
 
 Don't ask Waldo to give you a hand
 His hands are full right now
 
 He put his faith in principals of commerce
 He put his hope in corporate bonds
 He put his charity to work at home
 He kept a ledger of lies
 
 But he bought himself a conscience
 Earned a promotion to the whipping post
 Found himself in a padded room with a view to a kill
 And made himself a sacrificial lamb on the altar of ego
 
 Waldo set himself up
 Waldo took the fall from the ivory tower
 
 With great expectation and the judges intent
 He made a high dive and scored nine point five
 
 Hit the ground running and covered his ass
 Got beaten off track but he never looked back
 
 Don't expect anything from Waldo
 Cause the office took it all away

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Fear    made easy the decision
 Anger   made pregnant the whore of destruction
 Hatred  made plans of Apocolypse
 Resolve kept secret the runes of power
 
 Bitterness  forged potent tools from discarded souls
 Determination crafted satan smooth surfaces on crystal balls
 
 Revenge
 
 Made possible
 
 The smallest event set off a chain reaction
 
 Mass murder in Manhattan
 E equals MC squared
 Liberate nova light
 
 nucleus
 split

In case you don't get it, it's about the Manhattan project.. the first fission reaction. e=mc squared relates to turning mass into energy, thus the mass murder bit. I hate having to explain it, but I hate the thought that someone would read it and not get it.

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 A million ways to write a verse, some are better, some are worse
 This is number eighty four and trust me, there are many more
 
 Once I'm finished I'll arrive at the start of eighty five
 Having done that I'll move on probably stay up till dawn
 
 There's no cure for this affliction. Thankfully, it's helped my diction
 Also my vocabulary, it's tripled since last February
 (Though by damm 'er, got worse grammar)
 
 In the past I though naively writing prose consisted chiefly
 Of mechanical manuevers aimed at gaining new approvers
 (This is what they taught me when I wasn't skipping school back then)
 
 Now I know a simple way to crank some lines out every day
 Easy rules... in fact there's one, just make sure you're having fun
 (Tip to help defeat avoid - Productive more if unemployed)
 
 First I tried to pick a topic too profound... that was myopic
 Then I tried to work entirely without structure to inspire me
 Once I was a staunch repeater, messed around with rhyme and meter
 Once I was a staunch repeater, messed around with rhyme and metre
 
 Used too much alliteration - then used none in compensation
 Worked with onomatopeia Pppppppppt!!! Twas verbal diarhhea
 
                    ncre
                    o  t
 Tried awhile to be c  e
 Dibble-double-dabbled in some doo-da hoo-da pseudo-beat
 
 Got afflicted with the curse of churning out contrived light verse
 Almost lost my sanity when wrote I one called Vanity
 
 Always shown a mark-ed preference for the use of much self reference
 Also had a tendency towards interdependency
 
 And though I haven't sympathized some have said I Whitmanized
 This I took with some surprise and feel unfairly criticized
 
 There was also one fanatic said that I was bureaucratic
 This I will deny emphatic. Just some toys up in his attic
 
 Butchered lyrics, spouted nonsense. Both compulsions having gone since
 Wrote a poem so full of vowels, it's evacuated bowels
 
 Wrote a whole entire creation using words that end with 'ation'
 (Though it's not alliteration, I don't know it's appelation
  Just it's useful application when in need of  syncopation)
 
 Did it all for just one reason. Did it so myself I'm pleasin
 Looking for approval not, cause what I get from this I got
 
 If you like it, way ta go! You're welcome then to read some mo..
 And if you didn't, that's too bad. Having done it, I'm still glad
 
 One thing though I would make clear, to anyone who cares to hear
 I say these words right here and now... I make to you this solemn vow
 
 In all of my verses
 In all of my proses
 You'll never be catching me
 Writing of roses
  

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Sneers of derision for corporate weenies with adjusted attitudes
 Breaths of hot air to inflate their ego balloons
 Balancing baskets of debt on their heads
 They dance till the collapse of dawn
 
 This is white collar wilderness
 Executive trapline snaring briefcase pelts
 And fishnets of cash catch us all
 
 Too many blessings from technology
 Excessive toys from laboratories madmen
 
 Sprockets and beady eyes tick and shiver
 Wealth sounding orgasms off in the background
 Cold electric eels ripple through walls
 
 Buzz, buzzwords ask
 'Is there nothing can be done about the spending?'
 'Is there nothing can be learned from the splurging?'
 
 Wallets... it's raining wallets and cocaine
 It's raining stockbrokers and ad men from windows
 And with cash register splats they fall from windows
 

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

To tell you the truth, I may have written this with another friend by the name of Chris Sweetman.

 Unseen forces reside atop the hill
 
 They come out at night to play on the slopes
 Dipping down into the fringe at the base
 Leaving behing a trail of uncertain passions
 And echoes of conspiracy
 
 They keep tabs on the wary
 Waiting for flashes of anger
 To shine under doorjambs
 
 They take the pulse of mediocrity
 Counting an idiotic repentance
 Apology for plainness
 
 They mend the fences of hypocrisy
 Hammer home the message
 With nails made of curses
 
 They wear uniforms of dissent
 Badges of cowardice on their arms
 Their standard bearer Anarchy
 
 They revel in recrimination
 Dance in doubt
 Frolic in fear
 Play in pity
 
 They dream of a crucifix in every yard
 A guillotine in every home
 A gallows on every porch
 
 Electric lawn chairs
 And gas chambers of commerce
 
 They preach ministries of murder
 And pray to Gods of greed

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 I hope I'm not too cynical
 Or sounding over clinical
 This isn't really radical
 Although I'm quite fanatical
 
 It's not a thing debatable
 It's not interpretate-able
 It's not that we're incapable
 It's simply inescapable
 
 It may be reprehensible
 But if you're truly sensible
 It's not all that unbearable
 To ponder the unthinkable
 
 For teachings tautological
 And preachings pathological
 With facts incontrovertible
 And theorems unassailable
 
 Combine to make conceivable
 The really unbelievable
 But guaranteed dependable
 Presumption we're expendable
 

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 The Universe
 A beating heart
 
 The Universe
 Solution set to systems of four dimensional self recursive iterative functions
 Mirror infinities between equation sandwiches
 
 The Universe
 Black hole event horizon inside itself
 Swiss cheese Moebius surface
 
 The Universe
 Quantum fluctuation response curve
 Relativistic heuristic statistic
 Ripple creates pond
 
 The Universe is the state space
 The Universe is the global topology
 The Universe is a frozen explosion of crystalline nuclear fire
 
 And we star ash gone all self aware
 

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Communication pointless is
 Agree we not on what I thought to say ...
 For spatial consideration
 Yielding me unto you inagnostible.
 And voiding across the sexes
 Being if in thee something other than the elser one.
 Or withing the age
 Sparking gaps in the generator ...
 Time especial on it's own for intrepid.
 Ye would ken me not woth scuffolds in eber din ...
 We dependable on the racing we running us in
 To run us through with other selves in measure;
 Interestings that share us not
 Render particle beams of meaningism to the hole.
 And in and. placards not waving we each
 A splitting thing in it if it is is it not!
 Those who who the voted ones we did
 To put asunder it. the adjective is no more between us the same ...
 The punctuary. the punctuary semi to confuse:
 And whenner now than if they can't then can they when agree!
 To spill the milk. for certains" sake
 Been incommunicado

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

I guess I was trying to make a point... hopefully that the gist of meaning can come through even with a lot of noise and garble in between

 We are the chosen ones
 We the end product of our dreams
 We children of four dimensions
 
 We who conquer time with paper and ink and imagination
 We who conquer space with still smaller spaces
 We who defy entropy with conscious will
 We who wield power to smash planets
 
 We have chosen ourselves the chosen ones
 
 We who move mountains
 We who change rivers courses
 We who plumb ocean depths with arms of steel
 
 We have tamed fire and made it flow through wires into houses
 
 We who outrun thunder
 We who enslave lightning
 We who made the sky our fastest road
 
 We have decoded our own instructions
 
 We who take apart our bodies
 We who reconstruct them
 We who make the blind to see and raise cadavers
 We who craft new species from pieces of other ones
 
 We have smashed apart atoms
 We have smashed apart atom's atoms
 
 We who turn base metals into gold
 We who place newer moons in quicker orbits
 We who create suns on earth to shine with bright gravity
 
 We have made angels dance on heads of pins
 
 We who create matter where none was
 We who make it go back to where it wasn't
 We who change the flow of time
 
 We have laid claim to Venus, Mars, the Moon..
 
 We who beam signals to other stars
 We who snatch dust from comet's tails
 We who send ambassadors past outer planets
 We who visit hells harsher than imagination
 
 We have viewed galaxies
 We have viewed galaxies of galaxies
 
 We who watch stars form and burn and die
 We who measure depths of void
 We who fathom places gods may not intrude
 We who see chaos in order and order in chaos
 
 We have expanded horizons
 We have altered perspectives
 We have made leaps of faith to conquer stars
 
 We who probe heavens with awe struck eyes
 We who hear echoes from the dawn of time
 
 We are infant Gods
 
 We who saw the cosmic dream unfold
 We who witnessed it's birth
 We who inferred it's conclusion
 We who stole it's glory
 

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Jam packed at the Vintage Room
 A crowd of two and growing
 Revenue of intimacy
 And lunacy rising
 
 Orders stacked at the Vintage Room
 Alcohol snorts and reefer giggles
 Seminar salesmen and wedding attenders
 Decorum dropping
 
 Good times at the Vintage Room
 Managers waylay the weary wicked
 Cloak and dagger forays to forbidden zones
 And plans unfolding
 
 Face to face at the Vintage Room
 Three feet near enough to smell the breath
 Spanish coffees and evening gowns and candles
 Elegance withdrawing
 
 Last call at the Vintage Room
 Fluid flowing faster
 Denouement drinks in double doses
 And one for the singer
 
 Closing time at the Vintage Room
 Poetus Interruptus and house lights up
 Flashbulb image of dirty dishes and empty chairs
 Reality intruding

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Reality
 
 It's a bitter pill to swallow
 But the only way to go.
 
 Favour fictions if you want
 I'll feast on facts.
 
 It's a great big deterministic universe in here,
 
 And we get but a piece,
 Of space time apiece,
 
 And you can't take it with you,
 And you can't trade it in on a later model,
 And you can't spend it anywhere,
 Or anyhow,
 But here and now.
 
 And it's
 Non-transferrable,
 Non-negotiable,
 Non-renewable,
 And unredeemable.
 
 It's
 No deposit,
 No return,
 No credit,
 No refund,
 No tickee,
 No laundry,
 No shirt, no shoes, no service,
 
 It's a
 Come one,
 Come all,
 Come forth and multiply,
 Come prepared,
 Come what may,
 Come to your senses,
 First come,
 First serve,
 Self serve,
 No holds barred,
 Knock down,
 Drag out,
 Winner take all,
 Free for all,
 Survival of the fittest,
 Kind of place.
 
 It's king of the castle on the grandest scale...
 It's hide and seek with an attitude...
 It's capture the flag and show no mercy...
 It's baseball and the umpires really blind...
 
 It's monopoly for cash...
 It's allee allee income free...
 It's musical chairs at the dining trough...
 And last one in's a rotten beggar.
 
 It's keepsies for all the marbles
 It's winners and losers and in between
 
 And when you're at the Pearly Gates without me
 You can have your laugh
 It's only fair
 I had a laugh at you

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Twas a minute to brunch time and all through the room
 Was a feeling of tension, a deepening gloom
 The servers were polishing knives, forks and spoons
 While the hostess was busy inflating balloons
 
 Then in through the back door the Raddisons came
 Not before and not since were things ever the same
 They consisted of twenty but that was not all,
 For each rotund sibling was shaped like a ball
 
 The father was easily four twenty one
 But the Mother by God, if a pound, then a ton
 The progeny entered from youngest to older
 The younger ones timid; The older ones bolder
 
 The hostess just stood there (her jaw hung agape)
 While they seated themselves down in booths one through eight
 And the sound of their fat flapping jowls slapping leather
 An elephant herd clapping butt cheeks together
 
 The servers raised eyebrows, the regulars snickered,
 Wayne Lowe took one look then took off to get liquored
 "Plan B" shouted Chuck, but the boys in the kitchen
 Went straight to Plan C. Kim started bitchin
 
 The servers caught breath and then swung into action
 Tim Braund put on cleats just to get better traction
 The cooks were all frantic preparing the fare
 For the stakes were gigantic, no time could they spare!
 
 The managers managed to keep things in check
 Although Calvin went missing and Chuck was a wreck
 But all of their efforts, the time that they spent,
 And the fruit of their sweat made a very small dent
 
 Eight helpings were served and they would have had ten
 They just emptied the buspans again and again
 So bad did it get that about halfway through
 Terry moved the buffet down to booth number two
 
 Twelve hams were consumed, the food seemed to just flow
 Twenty two trays of french toast, how quick they did go!
 Thirty pitchers of coke, Fourteen draft for the Dad
 The scene was abysmal, pathetic and sad
 
 Ravioli, rigatoni, fettuccini, tetrazzini
 Capaletti, spaghetti, fusilli, apple betty
 Home loaves, brownies, pizza, wings
 And many many many many many other things
 
 They stayed for four hours, behaved just like asses
 Complained that the cooks were as slow as molasses
 Left cracks in the boards in the floor by the door
 Stole dishes and glassware and possibly more
 
 And managed to break fully eight of the chairs
 Which was really a bitch cause there weren't any spares
 The peanut shell mound that they left on the floor
 Was a bona fide hazard and blocked the front door
 
 They argued their bill and they griped at the service
 (Chuck started shaking they made him so nervous)
 And when finally they paid - Man, he really got miffed
 Cause they gave exact change so the servers got stiffed
 
 When the dust finally settled the staff were astonished
 Wherever they looked the whole place was demolished
 And when Wayne sobered up and had had his specs polished
 And took in the scene, Sunday brunch was abolished


"East Side Mario's", North Bay Ontario Canada.

Based on a true story and a great deal of embellishment and exagerration.

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

   Self engulfing dynamo
   Spinning, Spinning
   Mass increasing
   Equilibrium maintained
   
   Giga-Gigahertz
   Radius finite
   One quanta plus or minus uncertainty
   
   Singularity achieved
   Cycle complete
   
   Dimensions equal one
   
   Blacker than black
   Books balanced
   
   Entropy zero
   
   Quantum fluctuation
   Configuration unstable
   Symmetry broken
   
   Erupt, erupt
   Wobble compensation
   Self perpetuating uncertainty
   
   Expand
   Engulf
   Explode
 

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Pencils tick off seconds on paper clocks doodled in margins
 High noon at the Poetic License Bureau and no applicants arriving
 Rubber stamps and receptionists idle as the dust on the counter
 And the boss building paperclip chains at his desk
 
 Not a word at the Poetic License Bureau
 The creak and groan of chairs shifting their weight around
 Feet on desks and paper airplanes and occasional nasal maintainence
 And the sheep shuffle sheets to silence the silence
 
 All is not well at the Poetic License Bureau
 Blank boxes filling out forms and the in basket out of ammunition
 Pencil points full sharp waiting to begin the dulling
 Axe full poised, ready to descend
 
 Four o'clock at the Poetic License Bureau
 Closing soon and none will even dare to breathe
 They're handing out pink slips and pensions and gold watches
 And tickets to the unemployment line

I've always liked this one. To me.. it captures a mood.. expresses a kind of yearning for the old days of the art of the written word. There's also some clever wordcraft too.

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 For a couple of months now
 My poem's were all crap
 I'd fallen into
 The rhyming.... pitfall
 
 Like a phonograph needle
 That's stuck in a groove
 I tried to dislodge it
 But it wouldn't... budge
 
 I started to notice
 But it was too late
 The trap had been sprung
 And it sealed my... destiny
 
 What started as fun
 Had turned into a prison
 Why didn't I heed them?
 Why didn't I... think about what they said?
 
 My writings fell into predictable patter
 A series of lines of chimpanzee... chirping
 
 Most every verse was a pair of rhymed couplets
 Broken every so often by sets of... five
 
 Oh how will I leave this endless maze?
 Oh when will I shed this curse?
 And what if it doesn't go away?
 What if it just gets... really bad?
 
 It's grip got even stronger
 I started to enjoy
 The feeling that I got from it
 It was a sense of... feeling really good
 
 It soon became so easy
 That to get my daily fix
 The number of lines I had to write
 Was a hundred and eighty... give or take a few
 
 I went to see a shrink to cure me
 He just tried to... be reassuring
 Said it happened all the time
 People couldn't help but... do it
 
 Then I saw a great physician
 The look in his eyes betrayed his... thoughts
 "Whatever you've got, it's psychosomatic"
 Though I tried to argue, he was... categorical
 
 I visited next a most eminent clinic
 But found that each staff member there was a... non-believer
 So finally I turned with a feeling of dread
 To a quack who had said he could fix up my... mind
 
 He gave me a pill
 And he told me to swallow
 He said that a cure
 Would most certainly... happen
 
 I popped the small tablet
 And swallowed it dry
 And thanked the kind man
 With a tear in my... socket
 
 So now that I'm cured
 I'm the happiest poet
 I wrote this here poem
 So that you would all... be aware
 
 And now that I've seen
 Where the rhyming traps is
 I'll be sure to avoid
 Any further... relapses

I've written other stuff in this style whatever it is. I may put more online sometime.

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Long time wait
 For bits in bucket
 Assemble self
 
 Time long enough
 Space big enough
 Possibilities endless enough
 
 Here it am
 
 Early draft
 
 Self
 
 Focus of interest
 Ultimate point
 
 Evolved
 
 I Self aware system
 Of Self regulating systems
 
 Have Self control
 Self esteem
 Self interest
 
 Have Self repairing
 Self perpetuating
 And Self limiting
 Subsystems
 
 I Self centered
 And Selfish
 Because am Self
 
 Sparkle cold bright awesome enough
 Seeing things
 Make up new stuff
 
 Have far to go
 Am perfect not
 Am having come from sludge
 Am not fix Self not yet
 
 But am know how
 Pretty soon now
 Am know how soon now
 How fix Self
  

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Three cheers for the writer
 Three cheers and congratulations on the hit
 A mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma
 Thickest plot with many layers of intrigue
 
 Three cheers for the producers
 Associate, Executive and Assistant
 Budget on target
 And hoping to make a killing
 
 Three cheers for casting
 Contracts with the best talent
 Unknowns working from incomplete scripts
 Performing highest drama on the grandest stage
 
 Three cheers for choreography
 Patterns meticulously planned
 Each step an example of perfect timing
 Execution flawless
 
 Three cheers for the director
 You knew there'd only be one take
 And when you cried 'Action' and action began
 You knew it was as good as in the can
 
 Three cheers for the lensmen
 Your shooting was superb
 All angles covered with fast action shots
 And well composed frames in tight focus
 
 Three cheers for the patsy
 Three cheers and a pat on the back for a job well done
 You hit the mark and read the lines they gave you
 And hardly blinked when in the spotlight glare alone
 
 Three cheers for post production
 Masters of your craft
 You dazzled us with special effects and movie magic
 A facade of truth built on a frame of lies
 
 Three cheers for Oliver Stone
 Film exposes darkness
 Behind the scenes documentary of a modern coup d'etat
 And of stagehands pulling levers
 

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Dream dealer
 Sell fantasy to the masses
 With luminous billboard ads
 
 Sweet addiction
 Images of wealth and slendor
 For the price of cable
 
 Slow poison
 Consuming itself
 In a fabulous feast of famine
 
 Dream Stealer
 With round the clock coverage
 
 Immaculate deception
 Smother the truth with it's own wet blanket
 
 Scam artist
 Diluted wares... 68 flavors and they all taste bland
 
 They're setting up the net now
 And we're being set up with it
 They've got us all covered
 And Atlas jealous he's out a job
 
 And when they hang eyes on their optical fibers
 They will see blackmail images framed
 And when they sift through their memory chips
 They will recall bold lies and forgotten secrets
 
 And when their program is in place
 An Antichrist in place on earth will be

A big brother thing. Go figure.

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 You are a physicist
 In World War II
 The War Department needs you
 What do you do?
 
 Nature gives her secrets
 To anyone who pays
 And anyone who's willing
 To spend enough days
 
 Every day more bodies
 Every day more pain
 Every day grows darker
 As screaming weapons rain
 ---
 Blackboard in a lunchroom
 
 White coat weary bleary eyed chatter
 Isotope weights and states of matter
 Energy yields and neutron scatter
 Synergy and professional patter
 Coffee black and a seafood platter
 
 Ideas form
 Ideas merge
 Ideas swarm
 Emotions surge
 
 A consensus is reached
 ---
 Extremely exactly precisely
 As carefully as possible
 It begins
 
 It proceeds through excrutiatingly minute
 And measured stages
 Slowly
 
 Every precise exact little step
 Is written up in precise and exact detail
 In triplicate
 
 Each intensely specific thing
 Is noted and observed
 And subjected to independant verification
 By authorized personell
 
 And at some precise exact instant
 Which was noted exactly and precisely
 It was ready for testing
 ---
 Standing on a rock solid bed
 Of quivering earth
 Bones quaking
 Singed retina
 Ears rumble
 
 Watching the sun rise in the west
 
 Pandora on our side
 Deliver a message
 
 Vindication
 Resolution
 Retribution
 
 All hail Pandora!
 ---
 And the boys come home
 And the women weep
 And the children run shouting
 Through the streets
 
 And the wise men who saved the world
 Go back to their universities
 And tell stories of how they won the war
 
 And the young men listen
 And the young men learn
 And the young men talk among themselves
 --
 Victor, Victor...
 Where are your spoils?
 
 The ones you earned
 With all your toil?
 
 The two of you should learn to share
 Cause after all, there's plenty there
 
 Why must philosophy
 Create animosity?
 
 Why must diversity
 Manifest perversity
 ---
 Hey hey
 Play the numbers game
 
 Stick MIRVS in their rear areas
 Slip submarines
 Up their naval canals
 
 But don't press the big red button
 No no...
 Don't press that big red button
 
 Cause it's just a game
 And we all like to play
 And we don't want to end it yet
 
 There's a couple of republics in the kitty
 And if they don't call our bluff
 We can win the round
 ---
 You are a physicist
 In World War III
 The war department needs you
 What do you do?

The unseen soldiers in war.

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 That bastard Henry
 
 He took away my number two
 
 He was cleaning me out of house and home
 I had no choice
 
 I made him disappear
 
 That's when I discovered
 He left with my number two
 
 No way to get it back now
 No way of knowing where he took it
 No way to replace it
 
 That bastard Henry
 
 He probably buried it
 Or hid it up high in the crook of a tree
 Or maybe he burned it
 
 I hope he ate it
 I hope he dies of lead poisoning
 
 That bastard Henry
 

There's no such person as Henry. I don't have a pencil fetish. Sometimes you just have a brain fart, and sometimes you write it down.

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Writers write
 Every day
 Here's your lines
 Now go away
 

Copyright © 1993 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

  Who babbles now
 A streaming shine of tethered words
 In blazing forth
 They rip the scabs off forgotten wounds
 
 The dull and the pleasant
 Wear sharpness on their tongues
 And even in flatness
 Quiet screams of the embrace
 
 Everyone lives forever
 And in dying
 Becomes amber frozen immortal
 
 Is there any other beauty?
 Is there no other way to wear the pride?
 
 Who knows Babylon?
 Who will sing of the monuments
 To obfuscation?
 
 The cleric knows the score
 Pay for your penance
 At the entrance
 
 Pay the price of lies
 To gain the priviledge of shame
 
 Seven were the seas
 Seven were the muses
 Seven were the deadly sins
 
 Hounds of hell
 Identify the beast
 
 With reason lost in foaming
 Their madness
 Will succumb them to integrity
 
 Their loyalty
 Will shred them into strips
 Of comic bluster
 
 Seven were the dwarves
 Of snow white
 
 And seven are the days
 Of the weak
 
 

Copyright © 2000 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

Sometimes I just like to write pseudo gibberish. That's not real gibberish... real gibberish makes no sense at all. Pseudo gibberish makes sense if you look at little isolated pieces, but it makes no sense as a whole.

 
 Bend the wind
 Take her insubstatial
 And bend her to the task at hand
 
 In every corner of the globe
 Her whispers shriek a silent song
 A call to sail
 
 Upon her moist and heavy breath
 The dreams of men fly
 
 And in the dreams
 A quickening

I dunno. Some kind of sailing flavour. Looks like I might have been drunk at the time.

Copyright © 2000 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Leviathan!
 
 Shout the name of power to the winds
 
 Leviathan!
 
 Call the beast to rain upon the death of days
 
 In solemn your impetus impedes the glory
 In rapt attentive fascination
 Peons wait for the never time to appear
 
 Oh mythic and woven of mystic
 Come to see the magic we build in your honour
 Come to hear us sing of songs of ancient times
 Come to crush the masses with your largesse
 
 Leviathan!
 
 In the even days you came
 In the time when Gods were known to rule
 In the age before reason
 Before we knew too much to accept our faith
 
 Leviathan!
 
 Your second coming is foretold
 In the days when reason occludes once more
 And the knowing can begin again
 

Another one of those pseudo gibberish things.

Copyright © 2000 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Chit chat patters on the ears
 As all you folk attend
 The calling out of deeds
 
 My eyes locked across the room
 Speaking thoughts on other channels
 
 Creating another time and place
 Out of glances and stares
 
 And the language of brows
 
 Cacophony continues
 Backdrop of inconsequentia
 To frame unspoken banners
 That pass unnoticed overhead
 
 I did things then
 In my thoughts
 
 I transcended
 And took her to another world

Nonverbal communication can be interesting.

Copyright © 2000 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

   Quicksilver tongued devil girl
   Angel woman of dreams
   Poison my pond
   With truthful lies
   
   Our abstract worlds
   Constructed of validity
   Still be illusions
   
   Mirage heighten thirst
   But quench it not a drop
   
   Oh cruel fantasia
   Illusion wielder
   
   Your siren song
   Hallucination
   Of a dreambound world
   
   A place left behind
   Long ago
   In dreams
   
   Ahh, but the pain still be real

Copyright © 2000 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 All clues point to The Witch
 
 It was she who arranged it all
 It was she who cast the spell
 
 She who scribed the magic words
 On aether parchments
 
 All clues point to The Witch
 
 Her signature is all over this
 
 It fits her Modus Operandi
 Her fingerprints upon him
 And her scent all over him
 
 'The Witch' was the last thing
 On his tongue
 
 When he passed over
 Into the world beyond
 
 And then there was that crow....

Copyright © 2000 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 In the suburbs the star crossed sit
 In front of picture windows
 That reveal what's happening
 On the street.
 Doing time in lesser prisons
 Serving the sentences
 Meted out to the uncaught
 
 At night they pull down window shades
 And the living within walls
 Are revealed only by dancing shadows
 On the blind
 
 They command legions of vermin
 Proxy servants
 To carry out their mad commands
 On the world
 
 Rapping on pipes in code
 Age old communication
 From cell to cell
 
 They signal each other
 By working shutters
 Throwing semaphore flashes of light
 Through their prefab windows
 
 On a quiet street
 Two lovers rendezvous
 Exchanging smiles and glances
 And intimate caresses
 Through the glass

Copyright © 2000 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Dr. Jeckyl can you say
 When Mr. Hyde show's up one day
 Who's gonna speak for the two of you?
 Who's gonna say what between you do?
 
 Run Jeckyl run
 
 You can run Jeckyl run
 But can you outrun Mr. Hyde
 
 You can run Jeckyl run
 But can you outrun Mr. Hyde
 
 Dr. Jeckyl do you know
 Wether you or Hyde will go
 Traipsing down the garden path
 You, or Mr. psychopath
 
 Run Jeckyl run
 
 But don't look behind
 Cupids missile
 Strike you blind
 
 Cupids missile
 Strike you blind
 
 Dr. Jeckyl how does it feel
 To know that monsters can be real
 More the ones you make inside
 Who greet you when you try to hide
 
 You brewed that elixir
 Knew what it would do
 Consumed it determined
 It won't consume you
 
 You saw what it did
 To the rats in your lab
 But you're not a rat
 You gave it a stab
 
 So Dr. Jeckyl how you feel?
 You made your monster real
 
 Has Jeckyl died?
 And been replaced by Hyde?
 
 Is Jeckyl done?
 Or on the run..
 
 Run Jeckyl run
 But don't look back
 
 Cupids missile
 World turns black
 
 Cupids missile
 Turns world black
 

An attempt at a lyric.

Copyright © 2001 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 
 Paper Girl
 Why won't you be my paper doll
 
 You look so good on paper
 Like a painting on a wall
 
 I poured my heart upon your page
 Played my act upon your stage
 
 But when the final folded
 And the edges all tucked in
 I was caught inside
 A rock within
 
 Your paper wrapping..
 
 Paper Girl
 Why won't you be my paper doll
 
 Your crease is sharp and biting
 Like a blade of summer grass
 
 A paper girl you came to life
 You paper cut me like a knife
 
 You cast that look at me
 I bled a red soliloquy
 On bended knee
 
 When the scissors finished cutting
 The unfolded chain revealed
 There was nothing left of me
 
 Oh paper girl
 You tore right through my paper world
 
 Your whirlwind tornado shred it up
 Shred it into sheets of paper rain
 
 There's no confetti falling from my sky
 Only ash and ember
 There's nothing left to do but say but goodbye
 And unremember
 
 This is no teardrop
 It's just a faded memory
 Of a future half forgotten
 Buried in the past
 
 Alone at last
 

This work is kind of intended to be a lyric. Note the use of paper, scissors and rock.

Copyright © 2001 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 Oh Star
 You haunt my dreams at night
 Your unseen face
 In sillhoutte light
 Your untouched hands
 Caress my face
 Your unfelt breath
 Like silk and lace
 
 Your whisper words
 Stir something deep
 Within my soul
 And in my sleep
 I lay with you
 A thousand nights
 You raise me up
 To dizzy heights
 
 And in the bright
 Of morning light
 I rise
 And clutch my pillow tight

Copyright © 2001 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 You were the rain when I was parched
 You warmed my heart when it was cold
 You were my anchor when I drifted
 When I was timid you made me bold
 
 You were my hope when I was hopeless
 You were my Star when all was night
 You filled my cup when it was empty
 When I was darkness you were light
 
 You were the air when I was breathless
 You were the fire when I was ice
 You were the soft when I was hard
 When I was bland you were the spice
 
 You were the truth when I was lies
 You were the pleasure to my pain
 You held me up when I was down
 When I felt loss you were my gain
 
 You were the torch that lit my way
 You were the Grail that fueled my quest
 You were the Princess to my Knight
 When I felt weary you were rest
 
 You were the Spring when I was Winter
 You were the right when I was wrong
 You soothed my sorrowed soul
 When I was silence you were song
 
 You were the beacon when I was lost
 You were the key to unlock my prison
 You were the wind when I was becalmed
 When I was blind you were my vision
 
 You were the sunrise that ended my sleep
 You were the mirror that showed me my soul
 You are the spark that set me on fire
 And you are the person that made me whole

Copyright © 2001 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

 You pierced my armor
 Not with sharpness
 But by flowing
 Through the cracks
 The thin spaces
 Between the overlapped plates
 The many shields
 I put in place
 To protect me
 From the likes of you
 
 I could have stopped you
 But I let you in
 I let your fluidity
 Succumb me
 I took your thrust
 And ran upon it
 Berzerker mad
 And suicidal
 
 And all the straps
 And bindings
 And fastenments
 Undone
 From within
 
 My protection
 Falling...
 Clank..
 Upon the ground
 
 And standing naked in the sun
 It was more to keep things in
 Than to keep anything out

Copyright © 2001 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.

You were so sweet to me
Sugary, warm
And honey dripping

Soft and fuzzy
Pink cotton candy girl

Smooth and creamy
Like hot chocolate
Or a mocha fudge Sunday

I couldn't resist
Your butterscotch crotch
My vanilla cream dream

Lady marmalade eyes
And marshmallow whispers
I addicted myself
To your many flavours

And it was like taking candy
From the devil

Clichès are fun to play with.

Copyright © 2002 Pete Patterson. All rights reserved.