There are mad people
Running up this very street
Me included too.
It is sleek and black.
Like the Death Star it transmits.
I wrote this on a long journey the other day…
I remember a boy who always loved rivers
As he screamed and he skipped and he ran
So when the last light is naught but a sliver
I’ll take pride in his complete lack of plan
An infectious laugh brimming in joy
Just another face in the Oi polloi
And we danced
I remember a boy with no thoughts of the mortal
How he drank and he swore and he sang
And when I see that I let out a chortle
Yet some are long gone from the gang
And we danced
Twirling your stuff
Strutting a bluff
Where is she going
Enough is enough
What have you done with your hair
You burn and you dim like a flare
I can’t remember
It’s fading like embers
Play turns to working
Your bones are for hurting
Warm summer sun
Is this the last one
Sea was for swimming
Nettles for stinging
Is there money for one more ride
I don’t need anything with you by my side
Life is a bitch
Forgive us our sins
Life is a beach
An the tide’s coming in.
Recently I had a poem published. That was nice. I’m going to enter the same competition next year but for a full body of work I need around 60. So far I’ve got about…err…ten. (And describing some of them as poems is taking that term loosely) So am committing to this in earnest. The piece below came from a writing exercise around mind mapping…but I thought they made a nice collection of words.
As I map I think first of the senses of the head.
I am reminded of a joke, “Why do we have nightmares? Isn’t our brain supposed to be on our side?”
I think of youth and a heavy Sunday paper round while listening to The Smiths.
I love to dance, but not as much as I used to.
The countryside is where I grew up.
My mother is old and suffers arthritis.
I like applause.
Making people laugh is as much a duty as it is a joy.
I fight the bully. This was among my dads best advice.
I had a motorbike accident. Lucky.
After 20 years I finally quit smoking. Why did I do that to myself?
I went to see Rogue One and thought it excellent. For me the first in the franchise to really address that it’s all about war…which then inspired this poem.
FOR THE LOVE OF STAR WARS.
Not so long a time ago,
In a galaxy where we stay.
An empire rose and then it fell.…
Some rebels had their day.
One world war.
Two world wars.
Have three and then it’s see ya.
War’s an endless franchise.
Like Luke and Han and Leia.
The need to end such turmoil,
Cannot enough be stressed.
If only Presidents and Prime Ministers
with Jedi rational were blessed.
They lied about a phantom menace
in the rubble of Iraq.
We got the oil, a million dead.
An empire striking back.
Despite it all the people fight.
Here’s bloodshed and defiance.
Like Obi Wan in desert sands,
a Persian rebel alliance.
Are we as a moment now at our end of rope.
Or can a fairy tale inspire,
and bring us a new hope.
So when you hear of refugees
From Syria to Mogadishu.
Spare their blasted lives a thought,
and may the force be with you.
This just popped up as a Facebook memory. I wrote it on the day of her death. Trust me the sentiment still stands.
BYE BYE THATCHER
(Sung to the tune of Bye Bye Blackbird)
Cut back all our care and dole
So much woe
No tears to show
Bye Bye Thatcher
When nobody weeps for thee
On the street protesters meet
Bye bye Thatcher
You showed us no love or understanding
So Satan’s mark upon your arse is branded
Get out of bed, fight and strike
Go rioting ‘till late at night
Thatcher Bye bye
The following is a poem by an imagined character called Rubber Burns who is a sado-masochist and Scottish Nationalist. He has no resemblance to the author AT ALL!
MY SAFETY WORD IS FREEDOM.
My name is Rubber Burns, Poet, Sadomasochist and Scottish Nationalist.
Although freedom is confusing when I’m bound both legs and wrist. …
I discovered these quirks as a teenager, robust and in fine fettle.
When I felt a stirring doon below after falling in some nettles.
It is the Scottish bondage dilemma, for self-government we do hanker
So let’s give a right good thrashing to these effete and Tory wankers.
Because I prefer a battered sausage shared with the clan McLeod.
So bust my Willie with a bicycle pump. It’s what gets me aroused.
Years of bourgeois rip off rules has left the north with no pot to piss in
Even though being beat for mercies sake is the Scots default position.
When I shout Freedom it means stop this, for that’s my safety word.
Having leaders we never voted for to me seems quite absurd.
And I hold nothing personally against the good folks that live down south.
But how can I tell you I love you when you’re pissing in my mouth