Crap
I’m not at all certain how to polish a turd
The advice I received was pretty absurd
You need something solid to work on with care
Grease up your chamois and keep your arms bare
But why would you want to attempt such a task?
If it’s your turd you don’t need to ask
The crap I extruded lacked lustre and shine
A wee bit of sparkle will make that turd mine
So gingerly wiping a solid brown lump
I look forward to taking another big dump
In Tume
My mind and my body are not quite in synch
When lethargy strikes I struggle to think
Beyond what to eat and how much to drink
This could go on if I left it unchecked
My brain become dull and my body half wrecked
Until I wise up and get back in the game
The rules haven’t changed, the object the same
Give it your all, you’ll be glad that you came.
The Bully
There wasn’t much I could have done
To stop the bully, he’d begun
To put in the boot
With regular blows
His victim lay bleeding
From his mouth and his nose
His groans escaped wearily
With each heavy kick
The bully got tired
And found a new trick
He lifted a breeze block
High over his head
And smashed the limp body
Until he was dead…
The Bully (alternative version)
When I saw the bully shouting the odds
And kicking a man as he lay in the dirt
I gathered some courage along with misgivings
And spoke to the man in the button down shirt
“Hey!” made him stop and he focused on me
“Yeah, did you want some?” didn’t need a reply
But I answered him foolishly
“Yes, did you want to die?”
I took off my coat and rolled up one sleeve
As the blue lights appeared
The crowd took their leave
Including the bully who cursed me to hell
His victim got up
And he left as well.
Saint David
I bumped into Saint David
He was a proper gent
Heading off to heathen lands
As was his Christian bent
He tried to learn their languages
He’d greet you Bore da?
As he wandered through the valleys
He travelled near and far
He pitched his tent as darkness fell
And heard the chapel choir
Sending tingles down St David’s back
As he gazed into the fire.
Come morning at the altar
He preached and prayed aloud
His message…love your neighbour
And make your mother proud.
The congregation lapped it up
Their God, their spirit guide
David’ had the common touch
With Jesus on his side.
Green baize
When the balls dropped
I felt like the Rocket
Cue strokes sublime
As I aimed for the pocket
The crowd on my side
Gave me more pluck
I struck the shot heavily
Relying on luck
The cue ball responded
With spin and with side
Chasing the reds
And spreading them wide
Clearing the table
My score 147
The snooker gods smiled
And I was in heaven.
New balls
He struck the ball
It hit the net
The umpire called to play a let
He served again
This time an ace
But no expression on his face
30-40 was the call
Time to choose that special ball
To use its magic and let loose
A rocket serve, the call is Deuce
The double fault was not expected
More balls sorted then rejected
A second serve returned with strength
His next shot the perfect length
To bring back Deuce another chance
To gain advantage, end the dance
Which he does with skilful play
One more winner ends the day
It may have been a shaky patch
But now it’s game and set and match.
Raging
I couldn’t stop the howling
In the middle of the night
A man was in the kitchen
As was his given right
To cast out all his demons
And not give up the fight
Against himself, his troubling thoughts
His rage until first light
When exhaustion welcomed darkness in
And closed his eyelids tight.
Conceit
We sat in rows that afternoon
To study art, but all too soon
Art was over, and class dismissed.
We waved goodbye but had we kissed…
Who knows if life would be the same?
Or would it start another game?
Where hearts are broken, love destroyed
New love born and overjoyed
We find each other and discover
Passion in each other’s touch
Maybe that would be too much…
The light has shifted
The light has shifted and lifted the veil
Bright sunshine on foliage and white gabled walls
Low clouds in soft greys sharpen the view
A rumble of motorway traffic glimpsed through the trees
Electricity pylons march across the lower slopes of the Black Mountain
Magpies keep up their morning chatter
The author of his own misfortune
John was bold and pushed his luck
And that was when the barrier struck
Him on his unprotected head
A wounded cyclist left for dead
Then a vision kindly said
“Are you alright,
You really gave me quite a fright?”
John was dazed and somewhat grazed
He welcomed her intervention
He knew he lied when he replied
“Oh, no real harm to mention.”
With that, he fainted at her feet
A circumstance so bittersweet
At A & E they checked his knee
The nurse applied a plaster
He smiled at her and softly said “This was no disaster.”
Some time had passed but then at last
He saw her in the car park
She waved at him and turned to go
Beside a man so tall and dark
Another blow was struck
And as he watched their their warm embrace
He cursed his rotten luck.
30+
As I ponder fleeting time
I get the urge to pen this rhyme –
If 30 years is not so much,
And 60 has a heavier touch,
90 knocks on Heaven’s door
So no one has the right to more.
Why measure time to test its weight?
Seize the day, ignore the date
You’re alive, let’s celebrate.
Standing tall
I stand tall at five foot three
I’ll crack your head if you look at me
There’s no one I won’t try to batter
Built like fuck? It doesn’t matter
Fists will fly and blood will flow
A hail of blows and down you go.
I get in close and punch with force
Once I felled a drayman’s horse
All it took was one good clout
I heard the drayman start to shout
He looked at me and backed down quick
Instead he gave his horse a kick.
Dante’s Café
Dante was sat at his table in Hell
Witnessing Death and the sinners who fell
Into that pit of torture and pain
Their fate predetermined, which is hard to explain
For if God is all knowing and He gave us free will
Did He want us to suffer as we learnt how to kill?
Mowa
We watched in awe as the six-ton sloop was lowered into the sea.
A Brixham Waterbug made of wood with a tall mast and a short bowsprit
Mum and Dad sailed her along the South coast to the Beaulieu river
Where oaks were crafted into battleships at Buckler’s Hard,
Our mooring for weekend sailing and summer holidays.
Sometimes crossing the Solent became an adventure
With high seas and strong winds, but Mowa could take it, and us
Up and down the swelling waves towards the safety of Yarmouth’s harbour walls
Reviving hot soup in the George Hotel and then sleep on board
To the sound of slap slap slap against the hull.
On other voyages we whistled for wind drifting, becalmed mid Solent
Hampshire behind us and the Needles off the starboard bow
A time to read or laze on deck with mugs brought up from the galley
As the sails flapped listlessly and the sea stayed mill pond flat
Strips of material on the side stays barely fluttering.
I remember returning to our mooring under sail
Silently passing boats moored along the Beaulieu river
I was handed the tiller as we approached Buckler’s Hard
Turning her into the wind and dropping the mainsail
We nestled up to our mooring to the relief of my anxious parents
Will Power
It isn’t that I don’t know how
To curb my base desires
Knowledge doesn’t help me much
To put out raging fires
Like forests scorched by summer heat
My throat when tinder dry
Lights a passion for excess
So I don’t even try
Resilience
I stood up to the bully
I wouldn’t let him win
When he handed me a beating
I took it on the chin
The examined life
“Self-absorption is not very helpful”
I said in a reflective mood,
Considering all of my options
Over wine and luxurious food.
Had I cast myself into an ocean
Without compass or paddle or clue?
Was I rudderless in my confusion
About life and what I should do?
Or maybe this haphazard journey
That took me to where I am now
Was destiny mapping my future
And I didn’t need to know how.
Accepting my lot in life’s raffle
Without desperately craving success
Gave me a better perspective
Amidst all the turmoil and mess
As I lifted my glass of Barolo
With its crystalline sparkle of red
Pausing, delaying the pleasure
As the sun dipped into the Med
My Mask
I used to have feelings I tried to repress
Emotions were frowned on, they couldn’t care less
No matter the heartache, I buried my pain
Got up every day and did it again
Faced all my demons, without buckle or quake
To blub or break down would have been a mistake
My mask was a shield, I wore it with pride
The self underneath was easy to hide
But over the years I had hidden too well
Just who I was, I couldn’t tell.
Freedom
Who doesn’t want to be totally free?
Then I could shoot you, and you could shoot me.
Might would be right and the route to success
No limits on having, no taint to excess.
Oh, what an orgy of bloodshed and greed!
Why care about others? you won’t see the need
A merciless battle of oligarch kings
Striving to grab a stockpile of things
Damage relentless with freedom the fire
Engulfing the world with short-term desire.
Mary Judith
The Glens woman’s voice and her broken-toothed smile
Her eyes so expressive and lacking in guile
Her idioms might leave you a tad mystified
Why are clocks farting at their own fireside?
Now clocks should be silenced and hooves clad in hay
As a mark of respect with tears held at bay
Granny has gone, we must work through our grief
Looking for comfort in Christian belief,
Or find in our memories the joy that she gave
A legacy stronger than death and the grave.
Poets of Moscow
What noise did you make
When your words were constrained by the organs of state
As they stood on your dreams were you conscious, awake?
As darkness descended, was it too late
To write of humanity banished, betrayed
Hidden in gulags, the innocents slayed?
Blood red was the blanket of terror that spread,
Dissent was a whisper “we’re better off dead”.
So taking the only way out of this hell
Were your final words the message to tell
The Soviets to treasure its beauty and art?
Words falling silent, to the beat of your heart.
God
Pray for me now;
I’m inside your head,
Invading your thoughts
As you suck on the bread
And you’re stuck with the host
In a weird state of limbo,
The unswallowed ghost.
Has it transfigured,
Has bread become flesh?
Is this His body?
And if so, how fresh?
Irreverent thoughts
In the house of our Lord
As you grind out the ritual,
And find yourself bored.
Not quite believing
The Liturgical line;
Back at the altar
The priest drinks his wine.
Your wafer’s dislodged,
And Mass is complete
A sacrosanct Sunday,
The faithful replete.
Awesome Beauty
There’s a girl at the bar with a look in her eye
That turns men into milksops all furtive and sly.
A suitor stepped forward, his heart in his hand
“You have me bewitched, I await your command”
A withering sneer crept over her face
“Be gone and desist, get out of this place!”
He left with his spirits crushed and forlorn
Regretting the day such a fool could be born.
The mood had turned gloomy, but luckily brief
When a young man approached, a notable thief.
He thought he could steal a kiss with his guile
She heeded his words and then with a smile
Decked him so sweetly, he was floored with one punch
Just a small interruption before she had lunch.
A huddle of hopefuls propelled a fresh swain
With nothing to lose and much beauty to gain.
He carried himself with swagger and charm
Avoiding the reach of her pugilist arm
“What will it take, to find favour with you?
My motives are noble, my character true.”
She considered the speaker and then gave riposte
“The price is too high, you won’t like the cost.”
“There is no price too high, my bounty is huge
No more delay, no more subterfuge.
Ask, it is yours without terms or condition
Careless of danger or risk of perdition”.
Thus was decided his terrible fate
And all for the chance of a beautiful mate
He didn’t protest or try to retract
The bargain was struck and that was a fact
So he plucked out his eyeballs and cut out his tongue
He would be silent and she would stay young.
odespinner 