There’s no rhyme or reason
Poetry garbled treason
How many lines how many stanzas
Matching to German tank Panzers
But why does it all have to end the same
The frozen mindset it’s all a game
Maybe should jot down what I think of first
See what happens in fragmented bursts.
Sunday aft’noon at the Festival Hall
Searching for cock fun no luck at all
Go upstairs to floor five
The room’s open with poetry alive
Racks & stacks thousands of tomes
Hidden away in a spectacular home
Stone throw away from the London Eye
New Year fireworks high in the sky
As if it’s Bonfire Night instead
Crash bang fizzing, whizz round my head.
Can’t believe I’m at table and chairs
Nor really both’ring if anyone cares
What will my words mean…no idea
Realisation nothing to fear!
Fertiliser for the mind and well being
This is what I’m already seeing.
Gis a clue how long I should go on…
Poetry’s NOT poncy, the phrase a con!
Who gives a fuck what it means
When life’s never what it seems.
Am I normal, am I crazy?
Dividing line all too hazy.
Here I am with pen and pad
Nudged by a mate I’m so glad
Am content with that ‘Ready Brek’ glow
Rarin’ to give this poetry shit a go!
Dulwich Poet- 6th January 2013
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