Things Early, Things Late

By John Coupland

A collection of poems both profound and silly in equal measure. There is the sadness of loss and the rather odd things a kitten gets up to. Thoughts of God and a bawdy limerick. All tastes are catered for in this strange little book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244382360

Book preview

Things Early, Things Late

Things Early, Things Late.

A collection of poetry by J. D. Coupland

ISBN:

978-0-244-38236-0

©2018 John David Coupland

About the Author

John is retired from teaching music to all and sundry and hails from Glasgow, Scotland. He earned his living from his guitar for the bulk of his working life and has recorded many albums of guitar instrumentals, folk songs and hymns. Although raised as a free thinking, new ager long before the term became trendy, he became a Christian in the early 1980’s. He runs a popular YouTube channel which can be found by Googling, ‘John Coupland guitar,’ or by visiting his music web site, www.couplandmusic.com.

The 13th  Rocker

The first rocker shocked them, the second outraged.

The third, fourth and fifth, looked so good on the stage.

The sixth sold his soul and was tutored in Hell.

The seventh was better but too modest to tell.

The eighth was a star shining bright in the sky,

But he burned so fast, he exploded and died.

The ninth held a grudge, and the tenth had a chip,

The eleventh rebelled, while the twelfth was so hip.

But the thirteenth was old ‘fore his intro was played,

His first chorus flat and his verses decayed,

Till his solo just stuttered like a broken wing flutters,

Now he’s fit for the gutter and his lyrics are muttered,

Of chances slipped by him, of fortune denied him.

So he slips his guitar in its case and shuffles off stage in disgrace.

The Scarecrow

The scarecrow’s coat keeps him warm at night,

When the north wind blows and the cold frost bights.

And it once was mine till I grew too proud,

And I changed my clothes just to fit the crowd.

The scarecrow’s shoes are the shoes I wore,

Till I walked so far that my feet got sore.

And I settled down in an easy place,

When I grew too old to keep up the pace.

The scarecrow’s scarf is the scarf I had,

In the days when I knew good from bad.

And those spectacles are too strong for me,

I might focus on life’s misery.

The scarecrow’s head is a little big,