Hey Doods

I'm just no good at regular stuff, innit? - 5 months since I posted anything on this site. Thing is, too much happens all the time for me to be able to separate anything out for special attention. The passing away of me dear old mate Jackie Turpin, he of Battling Jack fame, has got to be one exception, of course. The nature of Jack's illness meant that anyone beyond the periphery of his absolutely nearest and dearest faded from his vision, so he was lost to me a while before he died, but all deaths are sudden and each death of a loved person is a shock. I spoke at his funeral and I will post (at a later date) what I said in his honour.

Another couple of exceptions are: The MMU Cheshire has finally binned me on age grounds

TWATS!

I was touched by the reaction of the staff and students towards the refusal of the management to renew my contract and I shall miss the Creative Writing team and the students shed loads. Our Amy and Dave are moving and will soon be a lot nearer to me and Lynda - YAY! As the result of a triffick collection of writing the staff and students did for me as a leaving gift, I am back in email contact with my old friend and teaching colleague, Heather. She is a top person and an awesome writer with great clarity of thought and expression. She is also humourous and kind.
Anyway, I'm off out. Here's a new song:


DOWN ON POISON FARM

On Poison Farm the crops are in
The fields are stripped; the yields are slim
Let the Harvest Home begin
Down on Poison Farm

The cock won’t crow at the break of day
The five-bar gate is crumbling away
The scarecrow has been scared away
Down on Poison Farm

Slates are falling from the roof
The horse has gone and cracked his hoof
The milkmaid’s in love with Beowulf
Down on Poison Farm

The wind blows cold over the hill
On the ploughboy strung from the window sill
Time is all there is they will not kill
Down on Poison Farm

Once there was . . . on a May morning - g . . .
Once there was . . . when small birds sing - g . . .
Once there was . . . in the grrreen rrrushes o . . .
Once there was . . . in the long, long ago - oh . . .

The milk’s going sour in the can
Peter Pan said to The Elephant Man
There’ll be no more bread – the mill’s got jammed
Down on Poison Farm

The cornfield crows are ready to fly
Mr B is keeping his powder dry
With an odd look in his one good eye
Down on Poison Farm

Farmer Brown went to town
Looked the pretty girls up and down
Got caught with his trousers
Down on Poison Farm

Trouble an’ strife, the farmer’s wife
Cut off his tail with her carving knife
You can see such things every day of your life
Down on Poison Farm

Once there was . . . on a May morning - g . . .
Once there was . . . when small birds sing - g . . .
Once there was . . . in the grrreen rrrushes o . . .
Once there was . . . in the long, long ago - oh . . .

The setting sun is sinking fast
Your silhouette’s sharp in the shadows cast
If they had a flag it’d hang half mast
Down on Poison Farm.


© W. Terry Fox

Keep having a larf. See you later.

Terry