Garret Blues

I live in a garret, perched on the top floor,

I live in a garret, perched on the top floor,

Its so peaceful when I’m locked behind my door.

I live in a garret, the windows rattle at night,

I live in a garret, the windows rattle at night,

The curtains are tattered, they don’t keep out the light.

The noise from down below,  I hear from way up high,

The noise from down below, I hear from way up high,

The shouting , drunken ramblings  of the passers through and  by.

The Neighborhood Smoker, he coughs all night long.

The Neighborhood Smoker, he coughs all night long,

He smokes out in the street, and bellows out his song.

I tap out my poetry on an ageing laptop

I tap out my poetry on an ageing laptop,

The soundtrack to my musings, is Charlie Parker’s bebop.

Ain’t that a cliché, in a garret writing poems?

Ain’t that a cliché, in a garret writing poems?

Making the best use of time alone at home.

Every morning, I look around for my walking shoes,

Every morning, I look around for my walking shoes,

So I can get some respite from these Garret Blues.

( I'm a big blues fan, so thought I would give something like this a go, a bit of a light hearted one, methinks)