WHERE BLUEBELLS BLOOM

Looking through old demo tracks I came across this version of one of my songs recorded with Marc Gordon at Studio 49 in Narberth in 2013 for our album of love songs “Ripples In The Water Of Love”. The song title was suggested to me by my old friend Colin Bodiam at Deep River Records in Depford, London. The Lyric is set in County Cork, Eire not far from Skibbereen.

Where Bluebells Bloom

On the road to Barlogie Cove
With an old friend of mine
I drive past that house of yours
That overlooks Lough Hyne
We’re off to empty lobster pots
On his old clinker boat
I hear a single seagull sing
A very plaintive note
You’re sitting in the window
Of that upstairs room
You look with longing at that
Hill where bluebells bloom

That hill
Where bluebells bloom
That hill
Where bluebells bloom

Where you took me in the springtime
Through the woodland glade so blue
To the summit of your universe
And swore that you were true
I see that his flash car is back
Parked up in the drive
The way that I was feeling
He’s lucky to be alive

I guess that I’ll keep driving
Down to Barlogie Quay
And let all of last year’s fantasies
Fade into memory
I hope you’ll not be crying
In your lonely room
As you look out that window
Onto Knockomagh Hill
There where bluebells bloom!

Harry Rogers in the Old Study 2012

TWADDLE TALK

This piece of performance poetry was recorded by The Chilly Dogz in 2010 at Red Kite Studios in Llanwrda. Words by Harri Rogers, Guitar by Marc Gordon. Still valid today as a critique of management speak.

TWADDLE TALK

Your office door is always open, I hear you on the phone 

Run it up the flag pole, Give the dog a bone 

It’s a nice little earner, Kick it in the long grass 

Stick it on the back burner , We’re gonna whup their ass  

I hear what you say 

I don’t like what you do 

I wish you’d go away 

Cos I can’t stand you 

You say you’re building your team 

But things aint quite what they seem 

Sharing Mars Bars in the Mendips, Where the glasses are half full 

It’s all singing and dancing, In the best of both worlds 

So throw me a bone, Give me a break 

The buck stops here, Let’s cut to the chase 

Gotta ramp it up, cos you’re off your face. 

I hear what you say

I don’t like what you do,

I wish you’d go away,

‘Cos I can’t stand you 

You’re a legend in your own lunchtime, 

But I know where your bodies are buried, 

So gather up your parrots and monkeys, 

Take those skeletons out of your closet, and clear your fucking desk 

Stop talking twaddle and GIVE US ALL A REST 

Harry Rogers, in the old study, Aberbanc, 23rd February, 2010

NaPoWriMo April 2013 # 26.5 The A-Z Of War

THE A-Z OF WAR

Coming off the plane

We see they are in pain

Heading back to a hospital bed

This is the lost boys’ A – Z

 

Abandoned Afflicted Anguished Men O War

Beaten Up Bedraggled Broken Men o war

Cracked Crashed Crushed Men O War

Damaged Dejected Distraught Men o War

Empty Enraged Exhausted Men o War

Feeble Forsaken Fucked Men O War

Ghastly Gloomy Glum Men O War

Hapless Horrified Hurt Men O War

Ignored Ill-starred In a right state Men O War

Jacked up Joyless Jumbled Men O War

Kooky Kracked-up Kranky Men O War

Lamentable Lost Lumbering Men O War

Messed up Miserable Mistreated Men O War

Neglected Nervous Not wanted Men O War

Oh so tired Old Before their time Overlooked Men O War

Panicked Pathetic Pitiable Men O War

Quashed Quiet Quirky Men O War

Raddled Rattled Ruined Men O War

Shambling Smashed up Spoiled Men O War

Tattered Tormented Tortured Men O War

Unfortunate Unhappy Useless Men O War

Vanquished Vertiginous Violated Men O War

Woozy Wounded Wretched Men Of War

Xanadud out X-rayed Xyloid Men Of War

Yawed Yearning Young Men O War

Zero-rated Zonked-out Zoonotic Men O War

 

Who Knows the whys and the wherefores

Or what it was they were fighting for

All these broken young boys we call our Men O War

Below Topkapi Palace Walls – the chilly dogz

This is The Chilly Dogz version of my poem Below Topkapi Palace Walls written during my holiday in Istanbul in October 2012.

BELOW TOPKAPI PALACE WALLS

The horse chestnuts are dropping conkers

Outside Topkapl Palace walls

Beautiful wooden houses

Frequented by queens

In the evening gently smoking

To Blue Mosque prayer calls

Across the way yet another ruined shack

With an Istanbul stray cat

Sit sipping from a small glass

One more Hot Apple Tea

Staring out from beneath the rim

Of that old battered tennis hat

It’s hard to believe that we’re all

So close to war in the 21st century

They say this is the place

Where East and West collide

But wherever you come from

This just might be the perfect place to hide

Whilst waiting for the start of

A nuclear Winter bomb as it falls

Find me smoking apple aniseed hubble bubble

Outside Topkapi Palace walls

Yeah

Find me smoking apple aniseed hubble bubble

Outside Topkapi Palace walls

Copyright Harry Rogers – 18th October 2012

THE GIRL IN THE GARNET COLOURED DRESS

I wrote this after thinking about children dying by accident in Palestine.  Marc Gordon and I recorded the video very quickly in his monthly guitar shop in Cardigan in our usual let’s bang it down straight away manner.  We are having fun doing these Tuesday session videos and it looks like we will get out and about for more in the coming months as I am retiring from wage slavery next weekend.

THE GIRL IN THE GARNET COLOURED DRESS

SUCH A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GIRL

IN HER GARNET COLOURED DRESS

THE PERFECT IMAGE OF SERENITY

CARRYING A PILE OF TABOON BREAD

 

FROM HER GRANDMOTHERS OVEN

GOLD COINS GLINTING ON HER CAP

SMILING AT LEMONS IN THE SUNSHINE

WITH ASSURED STILNESS OF HER HEAD

 

STOPPING BEFORE CROSSING THE ROAD

SHE CRUMPLES TO THE DUSTY GROUND

ANOTHER COLLATERAL OBSCENITY

AN ISRAELI RICOCHET LEAVES HER DEAD

 

ARE WE CRYING YET?

 

ARE WE CRYING YET?

 

ARE WE CRYING YET?

 

ARE WE?

 

Harry Rogers: Sunday 16th September 2012

The Chilly Dogz – “Ray Bradbury Said”

This is the latest Chilly Dogz Tuesday session.  Every week we meet at my house and write a new song together.  I wrote this after seeing a documentary about deceased Sci Fi author Ray Bradbury in which he said that he never bothered to carry out research for his stories as all the information he needed was in his head.  His fiction is fabulous and has been a favourite of mine for more than 50 years.

LYRIC:-

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN HIS HEAD

 

HE TALKED IN TECHNICOLOR

NIGHT AFTER NIGHT AFTER NIGHT

HE TRANSFORMED LANGUAGE

INTO SOMETHING MEGA BRIGHT

HE COULD SEE THE AIR WE BREATHE

AND HE TOLD US ALL ABOUT IT

SHIMMERING WORLDS INSIDE HIS HEAD

HE MADE SURE WE KNEW ABOUT IT

 

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN HIS HEAD

 

FROM THE PEDESTRIAN

TO THE ILLUSTRATED MAN

DRINKING DANDELION WINE

CHRONICLING THE MARTIANS

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

RETURNING FROM THE DUST

FAHRENHEIT 451

SINGING THE BODY ELECTRIC

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN HIS HEAD

RAY TOLD US ALL – IT’S IN OUR HEADS

Copyright: Harry Rogers: 17-08-2012

The Chilly Dogz – “White Poppies”

WHITE POPPIES

I WAS WALKING DOWN WHITEHALL

A THOUGHT CAME INTO MY BRAIN

SUPPOSING THE POPPIES WERE WHITE

NOT THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

COULD PEOPLE EVER CHANGE THEIR MIND

ABOUT THE REASONS THEY FILL THEIR

BUTTONHOLES WITH WIRE AND PAPER

DYED THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

THE LEGION COLLECTORS TINS

SHAKE IN EVERY CITY, EVERY TOWN

BLACK CENTRES TO THE FLOWERS

STILL THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

I WANT POPPIES FOR DEAD SOLDIERS

POPPIES FOR THEIR MUMS AND DADS

THEIR PARTNERS AND THEIR CHILDREN

NOT THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

POPPIES FOR THOSE DEAD CIVILIANS

YOUNG MEN THEIR WIVES AND CHILDREN

GRAND PARENTS BLEEDING IN THE STREETS

IT’S THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

I JUST CANNOT GET THAT THOUGHT

TO DISAPPEAR FROM INSIDE MY HEAD

IF ONLY THE POPPIES WERE WHITE

NOT THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

COPYRIGHT: HARRY ROGERS – 10-08-2012

There Is Something About Endings – Chilly Dogz

The latest Chilly Dogz video is a republican poem written by Harry Rers just in time for the Jubilee celebrations.

THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT ENDINGS

I’M SLIGHTLY STONED

LISTENING TO THE ALABAMA THREE

I GET TO THINKING

DO WE REALLY NEED THE QUEEN?

DO WE REALLY NEED

THAT WHOLE ROYALTY SCENE?

CAN ANYBODY TELL ME

WHAT THEY’VE EVER DONE FOR ME?

THEY USE MY TAXES

TO MAINTAIN THEIR LUXURY

I WILL NEITHER BOW DOWN

NOR WILL I TIP MY OLD WOOLY HAT

I DON’T LEAD AND I DON’T FOLLOW

HEIRARCHY MEANS NOTHING TO ME

LET’S GO WALKING SIDE BY SIDE

TURN THEIR PALACES TO MUSEUMS

TAKE BACK ALL OUR COMMON LAND

MAKE DUCHYS INTO PEOPLES FARMS

NEVER PLACE DYNASTIC FAMILIES

AT THE HEAD OF ANYTHING AGAIN

NO MORE GHASTLY ACCIDENTS OF BIRTH

LEERING AS THEY POCKET OUR CASH

GRINNING AS THEY SLIP ON THE CROWN

THERE IS MORE THAN A WHIFF OF SCANDAL

ABOUT INHERITED POSITIONS OF POWER

BRING ON THE END OF ALL MONARCHY

THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT ENDINGS

THE DELICIOUS FINALITY THAT COMES

WITH DRAWING LINES IN SAND

FORWARD TO THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC

Copyright: Harry Rogers, February 2012

Life On The Mezzanine – new Chilly Dogz Song

LIFE ON THE MEZZANINE

ON THE ROAD FROM HOPEFUL

TO COULD HAVE BEEN

HE PLAYED LOTS OF STAGES

FEW HAD EVER SEEN

TRIED HARD TO WORK OUT WHAT

DOES IT ALL MEAN

NOW THAT HE IS STUCK HERE

ON THE MEZZANINE

 

WAITING, WAITING, WAITING

FOR THE LIFT THAT NEVER COMES

WAITING, WAITING, WAITING

FOR THAT LIFT THAT NEVER COMES

 

IT’S A HARD LIFE

ON THE MEZZANINE

HARD LIFE

ON THE MEZZANINE

 

HE’S JUST A MILLWALL BOY

THAT COMES OUT OF ELTHAM

WHEN HE SANG THE BLUES

YOU KNEW THAT HE FELT ‘EM

ALWAYS PLAYED WHENEVER ASKED

NEVER PASSED UP A GIG

EVERYBODY WONDERED WHY

HE’D NEVER MADE IT BIG


WAITING, WAITING, WAITING

FOR THE LIFT THAT NEVER COMES

WAITING, WAITING, WAITING

FOR THAT LIFT THAT NEVER COMES

 

IT’S A HARD LIFE

ON THE MEZZANINE

HARD LIFE

ON THE MEZZANINE

 

IN HIS CAR WITH HIS GUITARS

HE PLAYED A LOT OF TOWNS

ACROSS GEORGIA THROUGH DEPTFORD

LIVED A LOT LIKE TOWNES

DRINKING HARD ON THE ROAD

WRITING SONGS ON THE FLY

ABOUT WOMEN AND BOOZE

THAT MOSTLY MAKE YOU CRY

 

WAITING, WAITING, WAITING

FOR THE LIFT THAT NEVER COMES

WAITING, WAITING, WAITING

FOR THAT LIFT THAT NEVER COMES

 

IT’S A HARD LIFE

ON THE MEZZANINE

HARD LIFE

ON THE MEZZANINE

Copyright: Harry Rogers – 11/11/11