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One More Battered Woman

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ONE MORE BATTERED WOMEN
©Trev Teasdel January 1981 – Middlesbrough / Coventry

“It’s late at night, I should be sleeping it off.
Couple next door, they’re having it off.
I can hear all their caper, walls as thin as paper.
I can’t believe that you walked out on me

I didn’t mean to bruise your face so badly.”



Chorus
One more Battered woman
Too late for recompense
One more battered women
Too late to have more sense
One more battered women.

“God hear me, it must have been the drink
God help me I, I Just didn’t think!
My fists were in a fever,
I didn’t mean to beat her.
My own women, just walked out on me.
Sweet delicate flower, sure is punishment to me.”

Chorus ….

“Where are you woman? You belong here with me.
I’ve got a legal contract – they call it matrimony.
Where they hiding you – I get my hands on you –
You godamn bitch – my hands they itch.
Gonna harass all your friends til I find your hidden niche.”

Chorus ….

Oh my darling – I love you very much
I can be gentle and soft of touch
Treat you tenderly
Handle you mannerly
Won’t you come back – I’m in such a stew
You know I’m helpless – on my own without you.!

Chorus ….

“That time I raped you in front of the child
That time I broke your arm, I went really really wild.
That time I kicked you,
When I was sick on you..
I just did what a man has to do.”
Oh my god – I should be locked up in a zoo.

Chorus


…
On a visit back to Coventry, a female friend told me of her time in a Battered women’s hostel and gave me an insight into the psychology of the situation. I sent her the lyric and she thought I had captured it.  John Lennon’s I’m Losing you was in my head while I wrote it – that kind of feel. This appeared as a poem in my first poetry chapbook The Escaped Poet 1984.

I Need Some Comfort Now

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I NEED
SOME COMFORT NOW
©Trev Teasdel, Coventry August 1970 

The rain falls upon the
corrugated rooftops,
Rebounds in a new lease
of life
Dies in the gutter,
flows down the drain.
I’m sittin’ alone
Hands to my chin
Thinking of how
I need some comfort
now.

Is that the sun I see
Peeping from behind a
cloud?
Come into my room,
Lie on my bed, swim in
my mind.
I’m sitting alone
Hands to my chin
Thinking of how
I need some comfort
now.

Watching from the
window
I see the buildings
shiver,
Stamping their feet,
Shake and look to the
sky.
I’m sitting alone
Hands to my chin
Thinking of how
I need some comfort
now.

The tears fall on the
paper on my lap
Reflecting my
inner-strife,
The sighs and the
mutter,
Grow with the pain.
I’m sitting alone
Hands to my chin
Thinking of how
I need some comfort
now.

Is that her face I see,
Peeping from behind the
gate?
Come into my room, lie
on my bed,
Let’s both unwind.
I’m sitting at home
Arms round her tight
Smiling at how,

She needs my comfort
now.



Sir Humphrey Fiddlestix

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SIR HUMPHREY FIDDLESTIX
©Trev Teasdel Coventry 1974


Chorus
Here comes Sir Humphrey Fiddlestix
Riding on his bike
All his life he’s sat on riches
The peasant’s in the dyke.


Come on Humphrey share out your wealth
It never did anything for your health.
Many starving in your land
Why don’t you give them a hand.
Or have you grown too fat, hat, silly old pratt!


Chorus


You’ve got more than you could ever need.
You’ve been over generous with your greed.
Snoozing in your counting hut.
Poor boy in the gutter with an empty gut.
Must you always sit on such a hoard, Lord, I’m so bored!


Chorus


All the kings sit in their castle,
As all the dirty old rascals,
Work hard to bring them riches,
Then go home to holes in ditches.
Oh Humphry, time you gave as well as took, hook, crook crook crook!


Chorus 2
Here comes Sir Humphrey Fiddlestix
Falling off his bike
Peasants drag him to their ditches
Like a big fat bulbous pike.


Then the peasants burnt his castle.
Sir Humphrey was the real rascal.
They worked hard for all they needed.
Sir Humphrey’s garden was promptly weeded.
Sir Humphrey you’ve had your day
Now it’s time we had our say…


Chorus 3
There goes Sir Humphrey Fiddlestix
He’s been overthrown.
This land is now the people’s land.
New seeds they have been sown.


…


The idea for this first came in 1972 after a visit to Weston Super Mare to visit my friend Sue. Her boyfriend’s parents ran the Model Village in Weston and visited it. I noted Fiddlestix Castle and began to write some lyrics on the brochure, finishing it later in 1974.



Jon Jon, the Sniper’s Son

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JON JON THE SNIPERS SON
©Trev Teasdel 1992 Gt. Ayton

Jon Jon the snipers son
Learned to shoot when he was young
No one told him that to kill was wrong.

He saw a film when he was eight
With a plot that filled his mind with hate
For anyone, with whom, he could not relate.

He viewed the world through rifle sights
And fired at rats on lonely nights
Snared by the traps inside his mind.

Sometimes this world’s a dreadful place
Full of hate with a sallow face
A hangman with a swinging mace.

We could build a better world
A crystal ship with its flag unfurled
Sailing in the name of all mankind

Jon Jon the snipers son
Learned to shoot when he was young
No one told him that to kill was wrong.

BRIDGE – Instrumental

Jon, it’s been said before
Dreamboats founder in the ocean’s roar
Then lie forgotten on silent shores.

But let us give it all we’ve got
Our children deserve another shot
A New age is crying in its cot.

Jon Jon the snipers son
Was like the trigger of his gun
Waiting for his barrel to explode.

Jon was a snipers son
He shot himself when he was young
No one told him that the world had changed.


…….


My musician friend Steve Ingledew composed a multi-layered track on keyboards and asked me to do some lyrics. I was reading nursery rhymes to my kids at the time and began singing Tom Tom the Piper’s Son to the track, changing the words with what was coming through the news.

I Dig Rock n Roll and Shakespeare

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I  DIG ROCK N ROLL AND SHAKESPEARE
©Trev Teasdel Coventry June 1971

I dig Rock n Roll and Shakespeare.
I’m a heavy cat Mama!
I’m a Jew’s Harp blower,
Dole receiver; not a work believer.
My poems are my medals
And I’m shooting for peace with the pellets of love.
I’m a piano person; guitar strummer
People call me a bummer but I don’t care,
I know my road and my road knows me!

I dig doin’ what I dare not.
I’m a hustler by nature, Kazoo Kruncher,
Stray cat seeker, Hi Heeled Sneaker.
My blisters are my passport,
and I’m running for election,
Wanna catch it for a souvenir!
I’m a cream cracker character,
A bread and Jam junkie.
You only dig this cos it’s funky,
But I don’t care, I washed my socks this morning Pa!

I dig, digging what I dig to dig
Even if no one else digs to dig it too!
I’m an indivdualistical baby.
You can’t classify me cousin,
I’m too big for categories, too small to see.
Better watch what you are saying brother.
These words have ears
And anything you may say, will be taken down
And used to toss bombs at Terrapins.
I dig Chinky water music, Indian Ragas
Forsyth Sagas.
I dig to read the bible when I feel like!
I don’t care if you may say,
I must act in your hip, turned-on freaked out way.
I don’t care if you may say,
I must act in your straight and narrow way conventional way.
I really dig to act in my intergalactic way.

I’m a waterbearer wanderer
Poppin’ in and outta lifetimes.
I dig medieval minstrels,
You know the joculators and the jesters.
I’m a ruthless recorder shrieker,
A chuddy gum chewer, give donations to the local brewer.
I’m pleasant poster pincher,
Don’t bust me cos I’m contagious.
Call me the corduroy kid
Cos it’s a groovy kinda name.
I’m a flame throwing fire eater,
Go round burning castles in the air.
But it’s alright if I promise to wash my Hair Ma!


…
Partly influenced by Peter Paul and Mary’s I Dig Rock n Roll Music, Captain Beefheart lyrics.I began to write it walking down priory Street in Coventry alongside Coventry cathedral,jotting down the lines as the came.

Beneath the Phaeic Sky

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BENEATH THE PHAEIC SKY
©Trev Teasdel Coventry March 1971

The Black Knight’s spectre
Prowls the battlements.
Beneath the phaeic sky,
Sounds his sad lament.
The phantom pillion rider groans,
as he leaps a lazing stile.
The faceless henchman totes his gun,
and points it with beguile.
And the shivers of my uncertainty
Cloud my mind so I can’t see.

The moon has closed her eyes,
to the surreptitious hand of fate.
The groined passageway becomes alive,
Ornamental armoury vibrates.
The trees they are approaching now
Like Birnam Wood on old McBeth.
The assassin’s blade drips with blood,
There’s a stench of cobwebbed death.
And the shivers of my uncertainty
Cloud my mind so I can’t see.

Beelzebub whets his fangs,
and summons the firedrake.
As a prudent Aquila swoops in,
along the monsters wake.
The unsuspecting demon squirms,
with the stab of a venom tongue.
And the shivers of my uncertainty
Cloud my mind so I can’t see.


…..


In 1970 Coventry drummer Steve Harrison as me to write some lyrics for his band The Mick Green Blues Band, which I did and then a new band Nack ed en with Loz Netto -later of Sniff and the Tears and John Bradbury – later of the Specials. In 1971,the Mick Green Blues Band had reformed as Railroad with slightly altered line up. The practiced in the theatre of the Coventry Arts Umbrella club and asked me to write some lyrics and maybe try out vocals. I borrowed a PA system and tried it out. I didn’t get in the band and they split up again before any gigs but this is one of the lyrics i wrote for them at that stage.

Glaik

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GLAIK 
(The Illusion of the Lake)
©Trev Teasdel Coventry Feb 1971

I tried to catch the sun
but it was only a reflection in the water.
I was only seeking treasure
But I ended up ‘kissing the gunner’s daughter’

The velvet coated bard I followed,
was just a caird who was in a play.
I looked up to the sky to see
they had blackened ‘the eye of the day‘.

chorus
Glaik – (sang as in Gkl ai..ai..K (3 times) 
           The Illusion of the lake.

I went to see the archimage 
but he turned out to be just a javel.
I pulled the bedclothes back
to see a snake unravel.
I almost made the rainbow’s end
when it suddenly turned wan.
I gledged upon a peacock,
who suddenly lost his fan.


………


Same story as for Beneath the Phaeic Sky. Written for Railroad. Glaik is an archaic word for illusion.

Sepulcher City

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SEPULCHER CITY
©Trev Teasdel December 1970 Coventry.

Sepulchre City
Tombstone gloom
Wilting broom.
Witches utopia
Expanding subtopia.            
Oxygen cycle, 
punctured tyres, 
broken chain.

Beelzebub
Hands he rubs
Beauty vomits
Darkness profound.
Love stream congeals
Solace squeals
Humanities carpet
squelches under
destruction’s foot.
Sepulchre City, 
Sepulchre City, 
Sepulchre City.

Decibel meters
Exploding with sound
Ah but don’t ya worry
’bout one crack more
In this broken world.
No one thinks
I said no one thinks.
They train your mind
to their substandard.
You’re manufactured
You’re manufactured
Sepulchre city
Sepulchre City
Tombstone gloom
Wilting broom.
In conflagrations
Devil’s fry
Black street oblivion
Back street oblivion
A human God’s zoo
That’s all you are
Yes yes you
Witches brew.


………


Written on the way home from a Wandering John gig in Coventry. They had done a cover of a Beefheart number Drop Out Boogie.

Goodbye Jan

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GOODBYE JAN / SO SAD YOU’RE LEAVING
©Trev Teasdel Coventry May 1971

With her family she is leaving,
With another lover in her heart
How sad this is for me
How sad this is for me

Goodbye Jan
Goodbye Jan
I hope happiness will always surround you

You are leaving so there’s room
For another lover in my life.
Take my love among your souvenirs,
You may look back and remember me.
Remember me

Goodbye Jan
Goodbye Jan
Won’t you please remember me and mine
Will I ever find someone I like half as much.

A cavalcade of memories takes the stage.
A row of badly acted scenes in which the hero loses out.
Wishing is a game I’m sick of playing.
Hope is a word without a meaning.
Love is a butterfly that’s hard to catch.
Moths are the phonies we all go through.

The sun streaked sky spews upon the sidewalk,
But I wander ‘neath my brolly just the same.
The gun’s of wisdom’s words bark in ceaseless talk,
Say ‘cept within my mind there is no fallin’ rain’
Time is the bringer of change,
The living stage to rearrange.
We all linger in the land of ‘wait and see’
‘Goodbyes, hellos and remember me’s’.

If only I was author of my life
But then again it’s only a wish and a wish is place
We hide when things get bad

Goodbye Jan
Goodbye Jan
I’m the better for having known you
You were inspiration to my soul
How’s it feel to be the star of my song?

We have passed the level crossing of our path,
It’s time to travel on.
And though for me the black clouds
Roar their thunder and my guiding light has gone,
I must pack up my canvass and move along.
And feel I’ve been somewhere to have come from.


Goodbye Jan
Goodbye jan
So sad you’re leaving

So sad you’re leaving.

Warmheart Lake

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WARMHEART LAKE
©Trev Teasdel Middlesbrough March 1981


I will spend a fortune
in wit and ingenuity
to keep our love
from flowing out and away
from Warmheart Lake.


I will invest all my capital
of mind and spirit
in the interest of love’s
booming industry.


If you should ever leave me
with only memories
If you should ever go
my heart would break.
If you should ever flow
out and away from Warmheart Lake


I’d sharpen every pencil
to give our love a clear definition
Each day the kiss of life
to keep our love alive.
I’d never let it flow out
and away from Warmheart Lake.


I’d learn to ride the ripples of each day
Teach my heart in line to stay
with raw emotions not stray
I’d make you want to stay in
the waters of Warmheart Lake.