COMPETITION

Millennium Blues

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2118 you were invited to supply the lyric for a blues song with this title.

I learnt today from a blues scholar that the famous opening line of 'St Louis Blues' — 'I hate to see that evenin' sun go down' — were words spoken aloud, and overheard by the lyric writer, by an old black woman as she settled into her cardboard box for the night. Many of you disqualified yourselves by offering a poem that by no stretch of the vocal imagination could be sung as a blues; but the four prizewinners (Q0 each), print- ed below, were satisfactorily on song. The bottle of the Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky goes to R.J. Pickles for a glo- riously gloomy number.

Woke up this morning, got the Millennium Blues, Yeh, woke up this morning, can't pay my dues, My partner done left me, ain't nothing to lose.

Woke up this morning, my dog upped and died,

Yeh, woke up this morning, the vet be done lied,

Creditors searching, no place to hide.

Woke up this morning feeling dead beat, Yeh, woke up this morning, got no one to greet, It might be New Year, but ain't no clean sheet.

Woke up this morning, it's the millennium year, Yeh, woke up this morning, ain't got no fear, Got a packet of fags and a barrel of beer.

Woke up this morning in bed, don't know whose, Yeh, woke up this morning, ain't got no views, Ain't nothing changed, got the Millennium Blues. (RI Pickles) Lyin' here lamentin', got the Millennium Blues.

It ain't from all-night dancin', it ain't from too much booze.

All that mad rnalarky I didn' wanna know. The people ram' the houses, they called me Boycott Joe,

Sure I'd licked the bug, still, thought I'd watch my back, Copied my accountin', converted to Apple Mac, Did some hefty shoppin', all so nice an' planned, Lentils, rice an' loo rolls, everythin' to hand.

Come the glory evenin', sat and dozed at home, Didn' want no yellie, couldn' stand no Dome, Sipped a mug o' cocoa, jammed my ear-plugs tight, Slept like twen'y babies, peaceful through the night.

First o' Jan came sweet, everythin' kinda pat, Strutted roun' so happy, stumbled on the cat. Lyin' here lamentin', plaster to the knee, Hearin' folks rejoicin', an' thinkin', Lord, why me? (Chris Tingley) Well, it's fifteen after midnight On January One.

I got no smokes an' I got no booze An' my baby she done gone.

The CD player's busted, The TV blew a fuse, The hound chewed up my magazine. What else have gotta lose?

Ain't no grub in the ice-box, The cat he up an' died, I think why don't lend it all, But I'm feared of suicide.

Nobody wants to call me, Don't even know my name.

I remember back in '99 Things was jus' the doggone same.

(Mike Morrison) Woke up this mornin', felt so awful sad, Yeah, woke up this momin', felt so awful sad; That old Doctor Millennium, he done me bad.

Ain't got the squits, ain't got no throbbie head,

No, sir, ain't got no squits, no throbbin' head, But jus' the same, I feel like I wanna be dead.

World was gonna perish in one great mighty flame, Figured it to perish in one great mighty flame; Woke up this momin', ever' thing jus' the same.

Took me to the hills an' got my bunker stowed, Yeah, up in the hills with my bunker nicely stowed, But that old millennium bug, he never showed.

If I go on back to town, gonna look so dumb, They all gonna laugh down there, gonna look so dumb,

Reckon I'm stuck up here till kingdom come.

(Noel Petty)

No. 2121: Now we aren't six

In 1927, the year of my birth and the publi- cation of A.A. Milne's Now We Are Six, the sort of poems given to children tended to start with a line like, 'I wish I were a bum- ble-bee. . . 'You are invited to supply an 'I wish I were. . 'poem more in tune with the taste of the modern child. Maximum 16 lines. Entries to 'Competition No. 2121' by 27 January.