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POSTCARDS - Every Night is November - Jacob Davies
A reading of 'Postcards' from Jacob Davies’ new book ‘Every Night is November’, out June 3rd and available exclusively on JDVSWriter.com. Words – Jacob Davies Music – Rand Aldo, Jay Varton, Hampus Naeselius & Jacob Davies Edit – Jacob Davies Image – Nic54 With huge thanks to Hannah Marsden for spoken word lines. Words ‘Eerily, it is night On the tight, twirly Victorian little road Both months before and after the snow Looming, gangly trees extenuate the shady grasp of the night There is a meeting, in a secluded area Between two secluded, separated hearts As she enters the scene, reality departs He’s not hiding away his face He’s so very happy to embrace That old complexion of both hope and home That quickly got away How far is too far? Your answer is written on a postcard Why in the year 8052 in the second December? Are you still dreaming of her? You got your day of fame And then, of course, you lost it again But it’s somewhere hidden here, amongst the rubble Written on a postcard, asking for trouble Spilled out drunk, onto the table with All of your past scars She re-appears, and smiles “Hello” As if nothing at all had changed And tells some nice stories “You wouldn’t believe what happened next” To make it all, somehow, fit together And make sense To listen and believe is to ignore the present tense To ignore the past tense “You mindless, unwise child!” Tripped, fallen so far Head first again. A car windshield, shielding from the battering rain Accelerate to Nottingham Accelerate towards Notre Dame Accelerate with me, anywhere, that isn’t here. Accelerate to Nottingham Accelerate towards Notre Dame Accelerate with me, anywhere. Take me anywhere. Here in this dream Wave eagerly the only true desires of this man The long-lost, desires of this man Hear her say “Now he’s gone, I love you” Hear her silly voice say again “Now he’s gone, I love you I love you I love you I love you.” So, you wrote your pompous little poetry And sold your pompous little book But it didn’t solve anything did it? You took all your thoughts And you threw them to Jupiter, until you felt so alive You wished you were dead You published your tactless little book And no one understood a single word you said So, you smiled and smirked And felt mildly irked That you had less days than nights Time will always grasp and reappear The very saddest days of your life Have surely been and gone The streetlights, leading on, tell you There are still many more left to come On the tight, twirly Victorian little road Merge the terms bleed and bled Fragile, emotionally bendable, to be teased and played The trees change to postcards, until you suffocate Your chest caves in Again, heart open wide for the world to see But this Victorian plain is conceived in the scheming eyes of she The lights of the Victorian set crash your way and illuminate Everyone claps and hollers, and laughs cruelly at you You’re just so desperate to ask If any of the champagne-tasting madness was true Eerily, it is day As the curtains, the projection of the road is snatched away But she is still there, for now. Have you really been Mr Burbank all this time? Open your eyes, remember you are wrong Now, she is gone. It’s far too late to care about what’s real Does anyone really care what is real? Your answer is on a postcard Your thoughts are all half-hoped delusions But your tears, back on planet earth, are real Your tears here and now, are real.'
'I Was Right' - Who is Jacob Davies?
Recorded version of 'I Was Right' as part of EP 'Who is Jacob Davies?'. 'I Was Right' can be found in poetry collection 'Every Night is November' JDVSWriter.com Words - Jacob Davies Read by - Jacob Davies Edit - Jacob Davies Music - Jay Varton Words 'Chevrolet, car cuts through smoke I arrived as the punchline of the joke It was all ok and fixed, but then it broke I was right. Ryan has got a nasty scar, Forced sneers and real tears are so bizarre. He fell and vomited, after he came so far I was right. Steel cup, plentiful table, Is just tomorrow’s miss-sold fable. I promise, I kept going for as long as I was able I was right. Now, it’s over and done, Whether or not I was supposed to stay strong. The last chapter has come, and its gone; I was right. I walked to Wakefield, I tried, I walked to Austria, I cried, And feared you’d say goodbye. And I was right. February, February, February coach Drive me home. February, February, February smoke Lift me home. February coach is a reminder I am nobody’s future. Heart alive and full at Easter Dead before all of Yorkshire. February, February February coach Teaches me More than what is necessary; February, February February coach Drive me home. December coach, I arrive home The profane aisle is not to compare Yet still I look into darkness And hope that somehow, you’re there. I look point blank into the lonely darkness And I pray to God that you are there, But I am never right.'
'Vivian Goes Home' - Who is Jacob Davies?
Recorded version of 'Vivian Goes Home' as part of EP 'Who is Jacob Davies?'. 'Vivian Goes Home' can be found in poetry collection 'The Things They've Never Seen' JDVSWriter.com Words - Jacob Davies Read by - Jacob Davies Edit - Jacob Davies Music - Amber Spill & Megan Wofford Woman's Voice - Hannah Murray as Cassie Ainsworth Words 'Standing solemnly by the kitchen sink Oh god, what must his parents think? Second place stands tall, and riddled with delusional shame, With only a hat to hide away from, the agony outside the window frame. Martha petulantly cries for second place In a wretched call of desperation, a plea for some taste Of course, he runs obligingly so, Stricken by internal woe. She sits and cries with him at the bar Ripped jeans know, the game has gone too far A life unfolds, the day draws to a close, taking time to grieve, Over what could’ve been. Torn sleeves and empty dreams Line up with sly smiles, in Vivian’s head The freedom of movement in her light stepping feet, Is clouded by sheer, northern dread. As Martha comes alive, with him at the bar A sickening memory of life, can be seen enter from afar A face of vexation rears its dominant head, As the first place that haunts him, steps in instead. For you are all the landscape now, As Vivian sits alone in the rain. Her head rolls in agonising seduction As second place is made to watch, from aside… from above The cruel and sickening game Some people call love. Vivian’s head rolls freely as fragility is cast A stomach in knots, lined by vodka shots The sun rests upon sunny, apple blonde hair The living symbol, the living sign… of an afterthought. Martha waves goodbye to second place His emotions now cast away, to outer space Run-away far he does, from the fickle dancer He calls loud for Vivian, but silence is the answer. The only hand now to lay on her shoulder A gentle touch of rain The only day she was truly in control arrives Sirens patrol the plain Suicidal heartbeats, they flatline all the same As Vivian, goes home again.'
'Smiling Lovers' - Who is Jacob Davies?
Recorded version of 'Smiling Lovers' as part of EP 'Who is Jacob Davies?'. 'Smiling Lovers' is yet unpublished. JDVSWriter.com Words - Jacob Davies Read by - Jacob Davies Edit - Jacob Davies Music - Joe Wandrini Words 'Smiling lovers, are all around Sitting on park benches With cigarettes. Or with hands-clasped, half-cut Knowing what they have, is enough. Smiling lovers, are all around Watching Christmas lights Inventing quirks; shooting fireworks. Or feigning into lies, paying the bill Impending emergency pill. And who am I? But a child, still with a watchful eye On what isn’t… the many lives fate wouldn’t try And what might’ve been. Joyful lovers, on the ground Taking to sacred grass, belonging To roll and to wander, to wonder. Trying to talk, going for a pleasant walk A blessing from the stalk. Joyful lovers, lost and found (one another) Reminiscing how it was they met Indulging in perpetual, sweet dreams. Where smiling sunsets are forever drawn And death comes like a dawn. And what am I? But a man, on his way to die Unwilling to try, so sick of the lie And completely, entirely, alone. Tell me what has become of this life? You’d think I would know better Than to ask such a question But please… just pop the answer in a letter To the padded cell, that is my home address The one with the great lakes and greater shakes The padded cell, with the pretty flowers and The occasional earthquake Surely it will reach me… Tell me what has become of tonight? You’d think I would, by now, know far better Than to tempt fate But please… make the trip a little later To the padded cell, where I reside The one with the old wooden sign… ‘Here lies, happier times’ The padded cell, with the pretty flowers, leisure half-an-hours and Where the patients whisper lonely goodbyes, to the saline tune of hourly funeral chimes Surely you will reach me… Surely?'
HUGS AT THE STATION
Words - Hugs at the station From star crossed lover, belt blazing mother Partner through sedation, or a spellbound relation And I watch. Smiles near the trains Between husband and wife, fork and knife Couples in love strange and with shame, yet to be estranged And I ponder. Chuckles from nearby seats, through the telephone Not of chord of pretend, the voice at the other end You think, you’re sure you know, is the personification of a safe, happy home And I ask. What is this like? Shoes scuttle side by side on the station floor Stations across nations, Cork, Paris, New York I find it hard to ignore, I shall never have closure for All the lives we dreamt of having. Far off accents by the railway Make me smile blue, they remind me of you Soon I remember I stayed, and off you went away And I carry that with me. “Goodbye!”, they tearfully beam. “See you soon!” They say grinning, swimming through The dissipation of an afternoon The depletion of Their whole lives! And my heart bleeds for noon. And my heart bleeds for them. And my heart bleeds for you. My heart. Bleeds. ' Words - Jacob Davies Music - Martin Hall
GONE HALF PAST TWO
Words - 'Some nights, the streetlights Are more blatant than others They illuminate what, you’d much rather not Have seen, have shown. An open broadcast of the forlorn What shape is the hole inside you? How soon, how soon, how soon Will your voice, be eaten whole by time? Forgotten. Drained. Withdrawn by the very actuality of the existential Shimmering glistening rambunctious riot of night Because without what makes Your hallowed eyes blue You feel completely at one with each one Of your worst days All I’m saying is I might not necessarily get up In the morning. Streetlight glares in at 2am And carves your secluded soul open as She is lifted to ecstasy As if you never existed Carried to the trance of happy inebriation By the lady, who’ll always be a stranger To you And who are you? Just another human being Slowly dying Still looking at the streetlights At gone half past two.' Words - Jacob Davies Music - Enigmanic
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