Trev Teasdel- Poet Reprobate – hub to his poetry,Stories and Flashing fictions and ebooks.

This site is still a work in progress!


Oh, how did it start? Way back in 1966, at the City of Coventry Boarding school, Cleobury Mortimer aged 15. It was not long after Bob Dylan and Donovan arrived on the scene with Times They are a Changing and Catch the Wind and the arrival of the Pirate radio stations, changing the course of popular music from it’s simple love songs to experimenting and mixing different forms of roots music blues, R & B and folk with folk poetry and socially aware lyrics. It was an exciting period that opened up new worlds, New opportunities, new directions, a feeling that young people were going to change the world through the power of their music and creativity.  

On Saturdays, we were allowed out of school and could walk the three miles to the nearest village, Cleobury Mortimer, Shropshire and I used to pick up the latest music papers,Melody Maker, Record Mirror,Disc and Music Echo, the Beatles and the Elvis magazines and a little publication called Record Songbook, which had the full lyrics to all the latest and upcoming hits. It was Record Songbook that got me started on writing song lyrics.

I didn’t know much about poetry or lyric writing but through reading the lyrics each month in Record Song book and hearing the songs on the radio, I internalised the basic structures. Boarding school life was quite regimented and tough and there was quite a bit of emotion floating around, being away from home and dealing with all the flak and bullying. I was good at English and creative with it and I needed some form of self expression in which to channel that emotion and creativity.

One Saturday afternoon,sitting in the study reading various editions of Record Songbook, I noted two song lyrics for contrast.The first was by the Troggs – With a Girl Like You  and the second was The Dangling Conversation by Simon and Garfunkle. The Paul Simon lyric stood out a mile with it’s magnificent imagery. I didn’t pretend to understand it back then but later bought all the Paul Simon songbooks and albums to see what I could learn from them.Meanwhile I just wanted to see if i could write a lyric, something much less ambitious. The Walker Brothers latest single was playing on the radio in the next Baby You Don’t Have to Tell me and so the experimental lyric became Baby I Can Tell. A first effort and i think I nicked the line ‘Superficial sighs’ from Dangling Conversation. It was just an experiment to see if I could write one at all.

I probably wrote and 9 or 10 in the 9 months left at school.

Note – To be completed,work in progress.

Melissa’s Garden

©Trev Teasdel Aug 1998, Great Ayton

Tiger eyes that mesmerise
The Fireflies of her thighs.
Misty sighs – sensitise
Alcamize love’s butterflies.

(Chorus I)
Come on down to Melissa’s Garden
Love and light down in the garden.
In the garden, love is growing,
She leads the way by the seeds she’s sowing.

She’s an archimage from another age
Runic spells fly off her page
Come to free us from our maze,
And open up the celestial age.

You won’t believe what you see
When you see the way Melissa sees.

The world you see is on an odyssey
Through policy and prophecy
In the embassy of fantasy
You can peek her pantisocracy.

Chorus 2
Come on down to Melissa’s Garden
Love is flowing in the garden
In the garden lights are glowing
She shows the way with her deeper knowing.

So leap-frog with the underdog
And liven up those sand-hogs
In a deep clog there’s a hang-dog
In dialogue with a pedagogue.

Moonbeams on the millstream
Reflect upon the big screen.
There’s a sunbeam in the airstream
Shining on our new dreams.

Wrote this new age song for a Song writing class I was taking for the WEA (Workers’ Educational Association) in Middlesbrough. Wrote the music but never got a finished recording of it as was busy with work. The lyrics appeared in my 2007 poetry chap book Nightfall in Sorrento. Two versions here, one with my guitar but no vocals

Melissa’s Garden – Guitar instrumental track no vocals.

A second version of Melissa’s Garden – by Culture Fuzion – a 2007 collaboration with Coventry drummer and Music producer Jim Pryal. Jim Pryal composed the trance track and Trev Teasdel wrote the poem / lyrics and provided the voice.

Melissa’s garden by Culture Fuzion on Soundclick


©Trev Teasdel Coventry January 1980

Divert the traffic, clear the streets.
The slogan’s written, the plan’s complete.
Placards painted, the people out,
With raging passions to chant and shout.
Clear the streets, move that car.
Board the windows of shop and bar.
Heed the word, heed the call
No one’s safe around here at all.

Police on horseback, truncheon toting
Streets are hunched in mute foreboding.
Helicopters circle low, co-ordinate via radio.
Escorts ready, formations planned,
Handcuffs and batons close to hand.
Heed the word, heed the call
No one’s safe around here at all.

A route-march chosen, a street plan open
Spearhead banners, poison poking.
An immigrant area – it goes unspoken.
Corner shop window will soon be broken.
Hymns to Hitler, dreams of greatness
A ghost of the past that will not rest.
Heed the word, heed the call
No one’s safe around here at all.

A shield of police encircle marchers,
A sudden left turn at the railway arches.
Counter demo led long another route
but soon get wise then off they shoot.
A sudden shower, sticks and stones hurled
Cops ‘neath viziers quickly curled.
Burning issues of the age
Nominate the street their stage.

A confrontation, quick the cameras,
Inform headquarters, fetch the ambulance
Effect plan b, put in operation
If this thing spreads, god help the nation
Release the gas, fire the blanks
Action, action, disperse their ranks
Heed the word, heed the call,
No one’s safe around here at all.

Now the cameras pan, the chanters all join hands
The battle in the streets obeyed no-one’s plans.
An ambulance left, a police car burned
All agreed there were lessons’ to be learnt
Blood in puddles, mud in wounds,
A peak-capped man cried ‘Damn them goons
Burning issues of the age
Nominate the street their stage.

Clear the debris in the streets
Assess the damage done to property
Compile statistics on loss of trade
Stop press, fresh outbreak, city arcade
Camera crews, trigger happy
Edit that newsreel, make it snappy.
Divert attention from real issues
Package ‘specially for the news.
Heed the word, heed the call

Jackboot’s marching on us all.

Written in Coventry 1980 after witnessing an anti National Front rally and watching a documentary on it. I was writing it while watching the documentary playing a run down of minor chords. I’ve used this as a performance poem over the years and it appeared in my first poetry chapbook The Escaped Poet in 1984.

Streetbattle by Trev Teasdel – cassette demo 1980.

Same version but on Soundclick

Black Lizard Stream

©Trev Teasdel  Coventry July 1970

Black cats creep out of the shadows

Liquid black and evil faced.
Black clouds crawl over the sky
Like Turtles over the sand.
Pinstripe pain within my frame,
I have lost my way.
We have lost our way.

Black lizard stream
Multicoloured claws and fangs.
I tried to turn the turnstile gate,
But the coin wouldn’t drop.
Now I find it’s much too late
Someone else has claimed the shop.
And I have lost my way
We have lost our way

The mountain peaks, they touched the sun
But promptly burnt their hands.
A herd of hills leave their homes
Searching for a match to strike.
And I’m so low, I’m bound to go
Cos I have lost my way.
We have lost our way.

Black wizard dream
Burning cauldrons and magic potion.
I tried to wave his magic wand
But the spell backfired.
Now I find it’s much too late
The wand has been acquired.
And I have lost my way.
We have lost our way.

Bridge 2
A cloud in jest bathed its legs
In burning molten lava.
The cloud in pain, swore to rain
Forever, hereafter.
And I’m so low, I’m bound to go,
For I have lost my way.
We have lost our way..


Song story: This lyrics was written walking 3 miles home along the London Road at 3am after organising the band night at the Coventry Arts Umbrella Club. Influence from bands of the time like BlackS abbath and Led Zepplin, Thus a heavy, power chord type of song.The music of local band Asgard,was an influence.A three piece band in the style of the Nice and Pink Floyd,who were being promoted at the time by John Peel and rehearsed at the Umbrella. The bridge certainly came from their witticism in between songs. Someone came and said “The sun’s hot’ and one of the band quipped “you shouldn’t have touched it then!“.That gave me the line ‘The Mountain peaks they touch the sun but promptly burnt their hands.” I employed a personal symbolism in the song influenced by read the Forgotten Language by Erich Fromm ( An Introduction to the Understanding of Dreams, Fairy Tales, and Myths).

It’s a Long Hitch Hike Home

©Trev Teasdel Coventry May 1969

Well now, at last, the term has ended,
And we’re ready to return.
I say goodbye to all my friends
For I have many things to learn,
And ambitions to fulfill.
And I whisper to my friend
Whose mind is still, on the window sill.

Chorus –
It’s long hitch hike home
So I give my hair a comb
Put my rucksack on my back
And proceed down the track.

I’m off to seek my fortune
But not in pence and pounds.
I’m off to seek my fortune
But not in jewels and crowns.
I’m off to seek the truth
I’ve been looking for, for years.
I’m off to seek a sun,
In a crowded mass of tears.


I’ve traveled through the glens
And made many friends
But as I try to wend my way
Up the embankment’s slimy clay,
I sometimes slip and fall,
Like a silver waterfall
But eventually I’ll climb
And overcome the slime.


I’ve travelled many miles,
Through many empty valleys.
And I’ve had my fair share
Of the darkness of the alleys.
I’ve come across folk,
Searching for their yoke.
They sound their motto wide
Seek and thou shalt find


Everybody’s searching –
For what? – They do not know.
Gazing from their windows,
They bow their heads low.
People trying to reach
With hands that can not feel.
People trying to speak
To images unreal….

Began this lyric June 1967,on the coach, waiting to leave the City of Coventry Boarding School, at Cleobury Mortimer and finished in 1969. Probably influenced by Simon and Garfunkel at that stage.
The first first reflects leaving school and the imagery, with Glens and embankments, were influenced by the schools Cross Country run. I was in the school team so did a lot of running.

Good Day to you Mrs Jones

©Trev Teasdel  Coventry April 1970

Alarm clock rings and with it brings
A sleepy head that feels like lead on rising.
Throw back the sheets, draw back the curtains
Look at the frosty streets.
Put on your clothes, everyone loathes
To get up in the morning.
Your mind seems to settle as you put on the kettle
Although still sleepy.
Frying the bacon, fried bread and eggs,
It seems there’s a mountain upon your legs.

Brush down your hair, taking great care,
Paint on the make up, still trying to wake up
but you know that you can’t.
Slip on your coat, pick up your bag
and off to the daily drag.
Open the door and a cold wind bites,
Go back on your woollen tights.
Rush for the bus in the usual crush,
Collapsing on the seat.

Run to the gate, in case you’re late,
You know you’re not really worried.
Look at the clock, must have got stuck,
Doesn’t the time drag by.
Roll on today, Roll on tomorrow
Wishing your life away.
Nothing gets done, you’re not having fun,
You’re needing a holiday.

Working for the rich man as hard as you can
And you don’t get nothing for it.
He’s getting rich while you’re living in a ditch
But he don’t do nothing for it.
Home-time comes, your head still drums,
At train beat tempo.
Lay on the sofa, thinking it over,
but you’re much too weary to know.
Maybe there’s an artist somewhere in you
With plenty of things to do
But he never gets a chance.
Good day to you Mrs Jones
Good day to you Mrs Jones.

Wrote this while working at the GEC in Coventry. I was feeling alienated and writing lyrics in the break time helped make the job more meaningful.

Version one cassette demo with Steve Gillgallon on lead.

A more traditional folkie version of Good Day To You Mrs Jones.

Man Supreme the Perfect Being

©Trev Teasdel Coventry March 1969

Man supreme, the perfect being,
Through perfect eyes, the world he’s seeing.
He thrives on mockery, and lives in a human rockery
He’s the all-electric, egocentric, busy-bodied businessman.
Victim of anxiety, member of a stale society.
He’s the all-instinctive, aggressive beast.
Repressed by day, by night released.
He communicates with a silent tongue,
The perfect man can do no wrong.

Man supreme, the perfect being
Through perfect eyes the world he’s seeing
He preaches love but really hates.
He pulls the ground from below his mates.
He’s a playful thing with his tanks and guns.
Sometimes from his conscience runs.
Red disturbing jealousy, trembles throughout his tranquillity.
He’s the narrow-minded navigator,
The inadvertent instigator.
He sings a silent song,
The perfect man can do no wrong.

Man supreme the perfect being
Through perfect eyes the world he’s seeing
He’s toiling all the boiling day
Then plodding home for rest and play.
Making love and tenderness,
Sinking in a warm caress.
Mass producing countless kids,
Hope they’re thin like paint can lids
Ambition haunts his tiny mind,
If greed is free then greed you’ll find
Angry words that penetrate
Whilst you’re down he’ll dominate.
Why do they build their castles strong
If the perfect man can do no wrong?

Lost in the City

©Trev Teasdel Coventry 1970

Lost in the city,
Homeless, hungry and tired.
Nowhere to go,
Lonely, jobless and broke.
What can I do?
Where can I go?
Everywhere I turn, my hand melts the snow.

Lost in the city
No purpose that I can find.
Nowhere to go,
No goal I can battle towards.
What do I do?
Where do I go?
Every flower I water refuses to grow.

Every man needs a purpose for which he can live.
He needs a direction to which his all he can give.
Toss your heart to a distant plain
And battle all out towards it.
Start seeking the shoe which best fits your foot.

Don’t be lost in the city,
No purpose that you can find.
Nowhere to go,
No goal you can battle towards.
What can you do?
Where can you go?
When every flower you water refuses to grow.

Don’t envy another man’s position,
Start establishing yourself,
Cos how can you know what wealth you possess
When you’re defeated by another’s success.

Written after reading an article on homelessness in Reader’s Digerst at my Gran’s.

Cassette demo of Lost in the City recorded 1973 on an mono cassette.

Lost in the City version 2
This version of Lost in City on Soundclick

Mr Stainless Steel

©Trev Teasdel Coventry 1968 / April 1974

Mr Stainless Steel,
He can wheel and deal.
He’s as cold as a knife and fork,
And as tight as a Champaign cork – 
Mr Stainless Steel. Mr Stainless Steel.

He has no feelings, as he goes about his dealings.
He hasn’t any soul and his wife brings in the coal.
Never seen him melancholy,
Always evergreen as holly.
Drop upon his toe a brick,
He won’t feel it cos his skin’s too thick.


You can’t insult him
His feeling like gold vaulted.
Life can beat most people down
He always seems to stand his ground.

Always appears shiny and strong,
Always ready to bang his gong.
His nerves are made of finest steel,
His life would make lesser men congeal.