The Western Gate

Toing and Froing, Up 'n' Down in the Earth

I Want A Gun

I
WANT
A BIG GUN

I want a Big Gun

with a big Red firing button on the top

I want a Big Gun
with a big Red firing button on the top,

and a worn leather beige seat.

I want a Big Gun with a big Red firing button on the top,

and a worn leather beige seat.

The Rifle scope is foggy.

I want a Big Gun with a big Red firing button on the top, and a worn leather beige seat. The Rifle scope is foggy.

There’s always some nerdy guy feeding me ammo.

I want a Big Gun with a big Red firing button on the top, and a worn leather beige seat. The Rifle scope is foggy.
There’s always some nerdy guy feeding me ammo.

He gets shot of course,

his spectacles SHaTTer!!!

I want a Big Gun with a big Red firing button on the top, and a worn leather beige seat. The Rifle scope is foggy. There’s always some nerdy guy feeding me ammo. He gets shot of course, his spectacles shatter. “AAAIIIEEEE!!” The comics said the dying made that sound, but he just squealed and sort of gargled.

Addendum

This rather strange prose was taken from a poem/song composed whilst strung out on double dipped lsd after a night spent looking at nature in Hainault forest on the edge of the Essex/London border. A friend said the first line, he just came out with it, I want a big gun, and someone added, I want a big gun, with a big red button on the top, and so on it went like some Victorian parlour game or a clapping song, the actual full song is obviously lost in the ether of psychedelic world but I remember writing it as best as I could remember (which wasn’t half as much, or a quarter or…. ) in one of my little black books, judging by my handwriting, I was obviously on a comedown. The text below as follows;-

I want a big gun, painted glossy green,
with a big red button on the top.
Oil pissing out of the manifold
vibrating fiercely, me on a worn beige leather seat
And there’ll be some dozy cunt
with glasses feeding the reels of ammo’,
who always gets shot.
He screams and dies and falls like
a freshly laid up corpse, arms across
his chest. His glasses shattered in one lens
like a cobweb that trapped this fly.

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The Random musings of a nobody. “Dagenham Dave”, is slang for someone one stop short of Barking (mad), though more contemporarily refers to any wayfaring and carefree person. Dagenham is a town to the eastern side of London (Luds Dominium) that was first recorded in a Barking charter in 666a.d. as the town of Daeccanham. Daecca is an ancient man’s name meaning ‘bright’ or ‘famous’ . Ham is short for Hamlet.
Dave is short for David, Hebrew for ‘Beloved’, My Surname ‘Wenborn’ derives from old English meaning of the Winding Stream.

Contents:-
1/ Book Reviews.
They’re not reviews as such- to recommend or asway, I neither seek to promote nor condemn, more my personal reflections on the books I read. In that respect it’s a subjective thing.
2/ Short Stories and Tales
Short stories borne from imagination, dreams, thoughts and wanderings. Too large to be written in my journal of shadows.
3/ Full Books
Books that were once published elsewhere, I have full copyright on these, and of course given here freely.
4/ Magazines and Articles
Small snippets and articles that may or may not have appeared elsewhere, and information not included in Journal of shadows.
5/ Poetry
A small selection of poetry. Like song, I create as a means to an artistic diary.
6/ WordPress Challenges
Wordpress (where this website is hosted) offer up a daily prompt for people to answer, sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.

I do not accept donations or offers, bribes etc, and do not advertise or am paid to promote anything either. All donations should be sent to either of the following ;-

Zarach ~ Helping Children living in poverty

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Email at the following ;-