The Bohemian Stream

The Stream is a path of unconsciousness that is fed by the spirits of sub-creation and flows into our world through the vessel of the Bohemian: Steven R Cooke.

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Viper

You are a viper. Your forked tongue lashes And my frail heart is stung. Your venom seeps into me And I am sickened by your words. You coil and slither around me And I am squeezed, trapped. Finally you devour me And I am no more. I am consumed.

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Do you know of Sam the Mime?

I knew him for a short time.

Act out songs he can,

a versatile man,

Though he never makes a dime!

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The Married

I married you So long ago, I married you In dreams And since we came To live together, A marriage is What it seems To those around Our joined life; They sing out Praise for Us And though we're Married not yet, We live just as The Married does. So what awaits Our Wedding Day? What more can Ceremony bring? When hearts that are As bound as Ours, In perfect harmony, Sing.

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Kevin Bacon was born in a barn Kevin Bacon likes a good yarn Kevin Bacon is brother to many Kevin Bacon will not spend a penny Kevin Bacon thinks that he's 'it' Kevin Bacon rolls in his shit Kevin Bacon will eat almost "owt" Kevin Bacon has snow on his snout Kevin Bacon is loved by all Kevin Bacon is sure to appal Kevin Bacon goes to some gigs Kevin Bacon smuggles Dutch cigs Kevin Bacon can't read or write Kevin Bacon doesn't give a shite!

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Dreamer

Sometimes I think life is a dream, Not because it's full of wonder, But because I'm thought as obscene; An oaf fuelled by thoughtless blunder.

Dream I do when asleep I am And in dreams I would rather stay, Far from those who don't give a damn If I ever just went away.

They may say that I'm a dreamer, But know I'm not the only one. They act as though I'm a schemer Because I dream endlessly on.

One day I'll fail to awaken, After the last I lay  my head, And then they'll sob their hearts right out; Meaningless to me... now I'm dead.

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They Tell Me That I Talk Too Much

They tell me that I talk too much And that I repeat what I say. They tell me that I talk too much And just spew out bollocks all day. They tell me that I talk too much And that I drone just on and on. They tell me that I talk too much And are releaved when I am gone. They tell me that I talk too much And complain at my wordy spew. They tell me that I talk too much And suggest I haven't a clue. They tell me that I talk too much As if I inflict them some ill. They tell me that I talk too much As if my many words could kill. They tell me that I talk too much As if it is without a care. They tell me that I talk too much As if it's just too much to bear. They tell me that I talk too much As though I as such all day. But the only reason I talk so much Is that I don't know what to say...

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Two men who in the Estuary dwell I have come to know exceedingly well; Their music rings out like an old church-bell, So listen to the stories that they may tell.

I'd like to describe their keyboardist, Gaz: Inside of him dwells the spirit of Jazz. What a deep, profound mind that boy has! You should not compare him to Dave or Chaz.

Now let me tell of the guitarist, Lew: A more chilled out chap you never knew. When things go wrong he knows what to do; Just carry on until the day is through!

Such is the way of an Estuary Dweller. Each I know to be an awesome fella. I'd like to lock them both in my cellar And make them play the hits of Paul Wella.