Poetry

Poem: Complication

Are you happy?
Does the face looking back in the mirror smile,
Or frown?
Do you ever feel down?
Can you feel yourself drown?
When you are gasping for breath,
Take a look see who has their foot on your head.
And who is on standby with a towel,
Mopping you down,
Take a jump,
Take a chance,
In control,
End the frustration,
ComplicationIMG_0178

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Poem: Coats

Coats don’t see the sunshine,
Not without the rain,
As soon as the sun is fully out,
They are packed away again,
Warmth not required,
The Coat will make you sweat,
The good ol sunny shower,
Is the best the jacket will get,
At least until the autumn,
When it’s blustery and wet.

Julius LeBlanc Stewart - Les Dames Goldsmith au bois de Boulogne en 1897 sur une voiturette

Poem: Save Me From Silence

They’ve gone,
Alone now,
Beautiless, Ugly reality left,
Progress a distance memory,
A cruel reminder of what has past,
Save me from silence,
Save me from still,
Save me from what might return,
But i know never will.
Never too good at standing tall,
But now a part of me is gone,
The silence remains.
Taize-Silence

Poem: Descent

I look in the reflection and try and find me there,
All I see looking back is a strangers vacant stare,
It’s almost like he knew me,
Back when long ago,
My legs were standing straight, well as straight as they could go.
He looks on disapproving at the husk I have become,
How the tyre has grown around my waist were once there was none,
He looks out from inside,
With energy, some ambition,
But I know with any action, now follows a long long intermission.
Frustration. The worst pain to bear.
As my body is ever failing.
That forever there.

SLNSW 13858 Ornamental mirrors for catalogue

Poem: Performance

This poem is designed to be performed,
It’s author is shy,
So imagine the pyrotechnics.. now.. and Now,
As I build to vitriolic climaxes,
Word rhythm all over the place,
Occasional rhyme and over effected accent, saves face,
Watch and marvel how I move around “the space”
Moving with as much air and grace, as an elehippo.
A made up thing, my own invention,
Another effort to hide my pretention,
Here I am now, holding the mic like a rapper,
Tryna look fly, tryna look dapper,
Rhymes and rhythm getting, crapper.
I make pseudo political protests,
With sharp,
Rhythmic,
Changes.

To make my point, seem so profound and sincerer,
Fact is my opinion is just a headline from yesterdays Mirror,
Or Sun, The Times or even the Metro,
A point from the 80’s if I’m feeling retro,
I start a revolution that’s already been resolved,
Solve a puzzle, long since solved,
My revolution will be televised,
It’s already gone viral,
It’s only purpose is make my ego spiral,
Out of control, my rhyme rumbles on,
Then suddenly, without provocation,
I scream out,
This is art on the edge,
Nearly 200 words in and I have said nothing,
Building up to nothing at all,
Dry ice fills the stage like I’m wired for sound,
Desperately still searching for the profound,
Now to make up for the content I lack,
A fake middle finger, and cut to black.

Spotlight

Poem: Yorkshire Boris

People think this is all we do.
Hang around and wait,
But today I’m out on the prowl,
Looking for a mate.

She doesn’t have to perfect,
And I’m not gonna beg,
It’s a bonus if she has a cracking bod,
And a great set of legs,

No I’m not on tinder,
I’m up here on this shelf,
Watch out you slender legged ladies,
Let me introduce myself,

If I get thrown out in the garden,
I’ll be on such a low ebb,
I’ll have to try online dating,
“Single girl wanted, for hanging out on t’web.”

House spider (8)

Poem: Handwritten

IMG_2377

In case you can’t read my scrawl..

Handwritten

This is how I used to write before,
The search engines kept the score,
Spell checks and metatags
Hit Counters Server Lag
Just me, ideas and my scrawl
On paper, fag packet or the wall,
Mistakes there for all to see,
Great plans, the never meant to bes,
Great beginning
Cliched end
Never having to click “Send”
The crossing out
Tippex Pen
Screw it up
Start again!

Poem: Not far Left

There was a time where left was alright,
It steadfastly led the way,
Right dragged along,
Inoffensively useless, but useless all the same,
It was always left to left to rescue the right,
The right that was mangled achey and tight,

Now time has gone and flown,
All limbs of this being all fully grown,
Left is tired of dragging the right,
Left now achey managled and tight,
Where left once led a valiant fight,
To get me out of the mess, planned by right,
Left now complains, grumbles and moans.
And shoots pains through to the core of my bones,
So I am left to hobble around,
Inbetween frequent trips to the ground,
I knew this would happen to me, as others before,
I’ll dust myself off as I take an age to rise, from the floor,
So as you stride out all stable, to make your choice,
Cast your vote, make them hear your voice,
Whatever result come election night,
It’s always a battle between the left and the right.

Pixie Lott (2009) 02

(Not my legs, my arse though)

Lets Twist Again

Hello dear reader it’s been a long time for which I again apologise (to all 5 of you!) Worry not my desire to write has not decreased, hence this piece. Merely my motivation and inner quality control has intervened

My fictional ideas, well my real ideas about fictional things, have been poor or similar to things I have done before, or both. So the little starts on bits I made have remained just starts, under developed characters in unrealistic situations. “That never stopped Russell T Davies” I hear you shout. Whilst I agree with this self heckle Russell TD is an award winning writer (mostly about his love for the “D” but still) and I am blogger, so he wins.

My opinion pieces, so pant wettingly well put together in the past have suffered over the last year. Why? Well 2014 was such an event packed year, generally speaking all of it horrid. Personally I got my shit together, but the world was busy going crazy. Lots to write about you may think. Well no, not really. There are many things I can’t write about because of work, of things I can speak of I don’t really add anything new to the party, in that I agree, because who wouldn’t, with the common consensus. Gunmen in cafes and the offices of paris satirists are bad. People protesting over everything, from “corrupt police” to “Jeremy Clarkson” None of it really interests me. There is no contrast, no grey area. If you think your God is offended by a cartoon, not a very strong willed God by the way.

So that leaves poetry. Seems my type of whimsy is well suited for the web, being that it’s short and easily forgettable, much like me! I like writing it, and some of you enjoy reading it, but I never intended this whole thing to be a tribute to Pam Ayres (much maligned as she is, name 5 poets, she’ll be in most peoples lists)

I always have enjoyed writing, like most things, I’ll never be the best or the most popular but I will always try to write things I like in the hope that anyone who reads it might like them too. Hopefully I’ll hop back on the fiction wagon soon, with a twist so devious even Chubby Checker would be jealous. Who knows when motivation strikes.

Poem: The Stone

Everyday, I place it on,
The stone around my neck,
Although the cord that it hangs from is not tight,
It suffocates my brain.
My freedom lost for eight hours,
Can’t think, cannot express.
I am not me.
The stone it casts a wicked spell,
I am someone elses.
I represent ideals that aren’t mine.
I smile at those I despise.
The stone keeping my hate weighed down inside.
The stone tells them who I’m paid to be.
Not who I am.
Now..

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