Life is Furniture
Life is furniture; three-legged stool and I, I could be your fool,
Because out there in the world, it’s just one big fucking flat-pack fuck up!
Where the 4th leg of the table is too short, and the wardrobe doors never close; the knobs on the wrong side!
Fight for your own furniture, go and waste some breath and hammer that nail in,
Dance when you can, feel the joy of being alive, and still able to see, what’s wrong in this country, in this world, and be the splinter, be the splinter in your own eye.
Look inside yourself; Because we must never cease to sit down with the strange, and dance with the devil.
Even when we don’t like his taste in furniture.
You and me and all the rest of the people, are being flattened, squashed, squeezed and pressed, repressed and minimized,
Neglected, pushed to the limit.
Are you tightening your belt enough? Or have you eaten your belt? Oh, mein Gott!
The last time all this happened was in Weimar Germany.
Austerity, austerity for you and me
Austerity, austerity for you and me, and me…..
The grey world goes on, and the bad instructions continue on, with a half-built home.
So, no matter, so no matter, so no matter where you are today,
In myriad ways I stutter to be myself, to get rid of the clutter, to do myself down,
And the rooks speak to me and show their black rainbow wings, they sing with saw-like clarity,
My door to the other world of changes, where dark wings flutter, and deep forests draw me in to their damp abundance….
Plentifulness and plentiful.
I walk on soft moss and lichen, I strike out fast for the biggest tree, the one that is always calling me.
Every branch a welcoming arm, each leaf a life to do some harm.
I’m only the creature that yearns to be known,
Like the leaf, like the blossom, like the bud, like the sea, like the mud, like the bees, like the stranger, like the beast, like the beauty at the feast.
So, we all sit and tell tall tales of the times we remember, of our shadow hells,
We live and love, we die as a wandering fool, alone and together, we follow the call,
Like the leaf, like the blossom, like the bird on the tree
Tweet! Tweet! Like the rook with his broken voice of deep mystery……

Karen Langley