Can we Live Without the Bloody Brits?


Can we Live without the Bloody Brits?

The British are coming, the British are coming,

yelled Ed Sullivan.

The British are coming, the British are coming,

whispered Jamie Fraser.

The British invasion

rocks the scene. Locals yell

kick out the jams, motherfucker.

Lucy’s in the sky with diamonds.

Who knew Roger Daltry

would never f-f-f-fade away?

The stranger on the shore

wants to buy me love

but I don’t work

in the house of the rising sun.

He might be Henry the Eighth

but he won’t get no satisfaction.

Yesterday, I could work it out.

Today, I’ve got a ticket to ride.

We cannot live without the brilliant Brits.

C.J. Prince


Mingled Phrases of Friends


Mingled Phrases of Friends

The hodge-podge hurdy-gurdy man

with ropey muscles

raised free roaming chickens

in his pocket garden.

He was a firecracker

but could not live on expectations.

He curled up at the Bodhi Tree,

read a bowl of creation,

eyes glowing like light bulb

filaments .

He blew smoke rings.

Jesus jumpin’ jiminy, bring

me a beer, he yelled.

No one heard him

as he grasped the iron

gate, an ice box of writer’s


Hated, berated, anticipated.

Fire ants.

She sent him air kisses

in a bone china cup,

the expectations torn


Underneath the covers,

he pondered the departure

of his mortal coil.

A daydream, a sanctification

of the fruit of the universe.

On the red eye, he hit his head,

excused himself, no longer

trapped but unwrapped

without insomnia.

He would dance

with a Himalayan gourd

at vespers.

~C.J. Prince