I stopped and stared
I looked into your eyes
You were so full
Of your own self-importance.
My only thought was
"What are you looking at, bitch?"
You can take the boy
Out of South London
But...
Dulwich Poet 28th February 2014
(This is what you might think of, when looking at a amous painting like the Mona Lisa. I wanted to write a poem about that painting, but was too mentally tired to bother, so just wrote this.)
Friday 28 February 2014
Tuesday 25 February 2014
"Horror Hoarding"
The cupboards may not be
Quite full up...
But the wardrobes are
From floor to ceiling.
Not, as you would expect,
With jackets, trousers
Shirts, shoes and coats
But a million and one
Mothballed books
That will never see
The light of day.
With my Germanic
Central European ancestry
Perhaps my sub-conscious
Is scared to do anything with them
In case comparisions
Are drawn
With book burning.
Now they spread
Over the floor
Block the bedroom door
Surround the telly
Encroaching the front room
And more!
Books spreading
Quicker than triffids
And I don't even
Have that one.
It was time
To feed them
To the hungry green monster
Otherwise known as
The recycling bin.
Thet say you never should
Judge a book
By it's cover
But that was the only way.
Keep.
Bin.
Keep.
Bin.
Keep.
Keep.
Bin.
Bin.
Bin!
They say...
Books are knowledge
And knowledge is power.
I've never understood
How this was...
Until now.
Sifting through-
Decisions, decisions.
To read one day.
To bin.
For the charity shop.
Deep inside
I feel stronger
Doing the right thing
A work in progress
But already
That sense of achievement
That gives me
The strength
To continue
Empowers me and
Makes me feel good.
I would never have thought
Or said that
A week ago.
Fingers crossed
The binmen will have
Done their job today
So I can start all over again tomorrow.
Dulwich Poet 25th February 2014
(My life is a mess, my flat is an even bigger mess. I'm trying to make sense of it, by getting rid of hundreds of books, while keeping many more...but it's a start, at least)
Quite full up...
But the wardrobes are
From floor to ceiling.
Not, as you would expect,
With jackets, trousers
Shirts, shoes and coats
But a million and one
Mothballed books
That will never see
The light of day.
With my Germanic
Central European ancestry
Perhaps my sub-conscious
Is scared to do anything with them
In case comparisions
Are drawn
With book burning.
Now they spread
Over the floor
Block the bedroom door
Surround the telly
Encroaching the front room
And more!
Books spreading
Quicker than triffids
And I don't even
Have that one.
It was time
To feed them
To the hungry green monster
Otherwise known as
The recycling bin.
Thet say you never should
Judge a book
By it's cover
But that was the only way.
Keep.
Bin.
Keep.
Bin.
Keep.
Keep.
Bin.
Bin.
Bin!
They say...
Books are knowledge
And knowledge is power.
I've never understood
How this was...
Until now.
Sifting through-
Decisions, decisions.
To read one day.
To bin.
For the charity shop.
Deep inside
I feel stronger
Doing the right thing
A work in progress
But already
That sense of achievement
That gives me
The strength
To continue
Empowers me and
Makes me feel good.
I would never have thought
Or said that
A week ago.
Fingers crossed
The binmen will have
Done their job today
So I can start all over again tomorrow.
Dulwich Poet 25th February 2014
(My life is a mess, my flat is an even bigger mess. I'm trying to make sense of it, by getting rid of hundreds of books, while keeping many more...but it's a start, at least)
Monday 24 February 2014
"Silly Woman"
Oh you fucking stupid people!
Why have you got
Shit for brains?
Has it never ever
Occured to you
To fold your prams
On trains?
Do you not notice
Every day
The carriage
Getting packed?
Use some
Bloody common sense!
Which you seem to lack.
An empty space
Would be right there
Into which we're
Trying to squeeze
If you were not
Such a selfish fool
Who does as they please.
Not only has your EMPTY pram
Hogged standing spots
By the door
Your lack of
Commuting etiquette
Is really fucking poor!
Even the seat
Next to you
Is empty!
A resting spot for some
But instead
Your little brat is using it
As a fucking drum!
What is it with us English?
We're so fucking polite.
Saying 'excuse me please'
And always apologising
Instead of up for a fight.
Or even worse...
Keeping totally schtum
Say nothing at all
Writing silly poems
About no room
To calm ourselves down.
Scribble...and relax!
Despite your African accent
You might be
As British as me.
So a desperate plea
To the UK citizen test folk
Instead of names of
Centuries old kings
And other pointless things
Teach people
Not what you perceive
And believe
What it means to be British.
But old fashioned manners
And common sense instead!
Dulwich Poet 24th February 2014
(On the train to work a woman took up three seats with her two young children, one was not sitting on the seat, but constantly 'drumming' on it with two pencils. By the door she had left her unfolded pram-empty-taking up spaces for two people, on a packed communter train)
Why have you got
Shit for brains?
Has it never ever
Occured to you
To fold your prams
On trains?
Do you not notice
Every day
The carriage
Getting packed?
Use some
Bloody common sense!
Which you seem to lack.
An empty space
Would be right there
Into which we're
Trying to squeeze
If you were not
Such a selfish fool
Who does as they please.
Not only has your EMPTY pram
Hogged standing spots
By the door
Your lack of
Commuting etiquette
Is really fucking poor!
Even the seat
Next to you
Is empty!
A resting spot for some
But instead
Your little brat is using it
As a fucking drum!
What is it with us English?
We're so fucking polite.
Saying 'excuse me please'
And always apologising
Instead of up for a fight.
Or even worse...
Keeping totally schtum
Say nothing at all
Writing silly poems
About no room
To calm ourselves down.
Scribble...and relax!
Despite your African accent
You might be
As British as me.
So a desperate plea
To the UK citizen test folk
Instead of names of
Centuries old kings
And other pointless things
Teach people
Not what you perceive
And believe
What it means to be British.
But old fashioned manners
And common sense instead!
Dulwich Poet 24th February 2014
(On the train to work a woman took up three seats with her two young children, one was not sitting on the seat, but constantly 'drumming' on it with two pencils. By the door she had left her unfolded pram-empty-taking up spaces for two people, on a packed communter train)
Tuesday 18 February 2014
"Wasted Day"
There's no need
To listen to
Your alarm clock.
For there's no
Work today.
No need to
Jump out of bed
While rushing to...
Check Facebook
If there's time
Slice of toast a bonus.
Just a quick shit
And a wash
Usually.
No work today.
Is that the time already?
One o'clock!
That'll teach me
For searching for
Twinky websites
Until the early hours!
Still.. a few more
Of those 'precious' hours
Left until football tonight.
Breakfast first.
Scrub that.
Cancelled.
More like a
Fray Bentos pie lunch.
Now for the message boards.
Shiiiiit!!!!
Emergency keyboard time.
Must respond!
And that was it!
Day gone.
Now on the bus
To the ground.
After the game
On a bus home.
Then bed.
Nothing achieved.
And how was your day?
Dulwich Poet 18th February 2014
(I scribbled this on the bus to the game at home to Metropolitan Police, in the London Senior Cup, a not taken to oseriously competition where we only field a 'squad side'. I was more there out of 'habit' than in anticipation, as I expected us to lose which we did. I got up late, as stated, and just sat in front of my laptop in the afternoon. It felt like I'd done nothing all day...)
To listen to
Your alarm clock.
For there's no
Work today.
No need to
Jump out of bed
While rushing to...
Check Facebook
If there's time
Slice of toast a bonus.
Just a quick shit
And a wash
Usually.
No work today.
Is that the time already?
One o'clock!
That'll teach me
For searching for
Twinky websites
Until the early hours!
Still.. a few more
Of those 'precious' hours
Left until football tonight.
Breakfast first.
Scrub that.
Cancelled.
More like a
Fray Bentos pie lunch.
Now for the message boards.
Shiiiiit!!!!
Emergency keyboard time.
Must respond!
And that was it!
Day gone.
Now on the bus
To the ground.
After the game
On a bus home.
Then bed.
Nothing achieved.
And how was your day?
Dulwich Poet 18th February 2014
(I scribbled this on the bus to the game at home to Metropolitan Police, in the London Senior Cup, a not taken to oseriously competition where we only field a 'squad side'. I was more there out of 'habit' than in anticipation, as I expected us to lose which we did. I got up late, as stated, and just sat in front of my laptop in the afternoon. It felt like I'd done nothing all day...)
"Alarming dream"
In reality
Does anyone
Really say:
"Wakey, wakey!
Rise and shine!"
This morning
I didn't rise
I fucking jumped
After a weird dream
Screaming, in my head,
Or out loud.
Not sure which.
What The Fuck
Was that all about?
It's bloody difficult
First thing in the morning
Sorting out fact from fiction
Knowing some stuff
To be so true
It's unreal
The rest being
So unreal it
Can't be true at all.
If only I could
Turn the clock back
And be a teenager
When the only dream
That did my head in
Was a wet one
Because I didn't
Have a wank
The night before.
Dulwich Poet 18th February 2014
(This is about waking up after a vivid dream, that includes real people you know in it, some of the setting in it being real places, others being impossible, but when you wake up, through the interupted dream, you struggle to work our for a few moments, whether it was something real or not.)
Does anyone
Really say:
"Wakey, wakey!
Rise and shine!"
This morning
I didn't rise
I fucking jumped
After a weird dream
Screaming, in my head,
Or out loud.
Not sure which.
What The Fuck
Was that all about?
It's bloody difficult
First thing in the morning
Sorting out fact from fiction
Knowing some stuff
To be so true
It's unreal
The rest being
So unreal it
Can't be true at all.
If only I could
Turn the clock back
And be a teenager
When the only dream
That did my head in
Was a wet one
Because I didn't
Have a wank
The night before.
Dulwich Poet 18th February 2014
(This is about waking up after a vivid dream, that includes real people you know in it, some of the setting in it being real places, others being impossible, but when you wake up, through the interupted dream, you struggle to work our for a few moments, whether it was something real or not.)
Sunday 16 February 2014
"Six of the Best"
I saw a bit of fun
On Facebook, no less!
Writing contest:
Write your memoir
In only six words.
Well if I were to be
Totally honest about it
I'd have to go for
" Waste of time
Where's the rope? "
What began
As a bit of fun
Doesn't seem
So funny
Anymore.
Dulwich Poet 16th February 2014
( As this short poem says, based on a post on Facebook)
On Facebook, no less!
Writing contest:
Write your memoir
In only six words.
Well if I were to be
Totally honest about it
I'd have to go for
" Waste of time
Where's the rope? "
What began
As a bit of fun
Doesn't seem
So funny
Anymore.
Dulwich Poet 16th February 2014
( As this short poem says, based on a post on Facebook)
Saturday 15 February 2014
"Banned Names"
What's not to like?
I was walking
Through Peckham
When I spotted
A poster
For a gig
At the Peckham
Liberal Club.
Featuring
'The Phobophobes'.
Absolutely no idea
About the music
But I love the name
Even though part of me
Is desperate to hate it
Just because I can.
Dulwich Poet 15th February 2014
(I saw a local gig advertised by way of fly-posting along Rye Lane & one of the bands caught my eye)
I was walking
Through Peckham
When I spotted
A poster
For a gig
At the Peckham
Liberal Club.
Featuring
'The Phobophobes'.
Absolutely no idea
About the music
But I love the name
Even though part of me
Is desperate to hate it
Just because I can.
Dulwich Poet 15th February 2014
(I saw a local gig advertised by way of fly-posting along Rye Lane & one of the bands caught my eye)
Friday 14 February 2014
"My Left Hand"
Tonight...
I shall spend...
Yes I do mean 'spend'
As in...'spill my seed'
With my closest companion.
My left hand.
For tonight
Is the night
For which the expression
'Billy-no-Mates'
Was invented
As the rest of the country
Are loved up demented.
How can you buy a card
Costing more than a plate
Of double pie, double mash
With the cost of chocolates and flowers
A darn sight more than a decent
Pisshead night on the lash?
Even if I ever had a man
To hold and cuddle tight
Spendling that much
Simply wouldn't seem right.
It's all one big con
A consumerist game
Loved by florists and Cadburys
Such fondness so lame
Higher prices
for your domestic vices...
What are you hiding
Behind public romantic kiss
Privately taking the piss!
Domestic violence for
The rest of the year
Beating your partner
Tanked up with beer.
But tonight you're sat
In a fancy restaurant
Table with candle
One night of 'true love'
Is all you can handle.
You might mock me
For being a single fool
But my head is held high
Because I couldn't do cruel.
My heart might be heavy
Thoughts in a muddle
But I'd prefer all of that
To your double-standards
Two-faced cuddle.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2014
( This poem is a cross between feeling sorry for myself, for being alone, while wondering how many 'happy couples' have a terrible life at home behind their own front doors, through unseen domestic violence)
I shall spend...
Yes I do mean 'spend'
As in...'spill my seed'
With my closest companion.
My left hand.
For tonight
Is the night
For which the expression
'Billy-no-Mates'
Was invented
As the rest of the country
Are loved up demented.
How can you buy a card
Costing more than a plate
Of double pie, double mash
With the cost of chocolates and flowers
A darn sight more than a decent
Pisshead night on the lash?
Even if I ever had a man
To hold and cuddle tight
Spendling that much
Simply wouldn't seem right.
It's all one big con
A consumerist game
Loved by florists and Cadburys
Such fondness so lame
Higher prices
for your domestic vices...
What are you hiding
Behind public romantic kiss
Privately taking the piss!
Domestic violence for
The rest of the year
Beating your partner
Tanked up with beer.
But tonight you're sat
In a fancy restaurant
Table with candle
One night of 'true love'
Is all you can handle.
You might mock me
For being a single fool
But my head is held high
Because I couldn't do cruel.
My heart might be heavy
Thoughts in a muddle
But I'd prefer all of that
To your double-standards
Two-faced cuddle.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2014
( This poem is a cross between feeling sorry for myself, for being alone, while wondering how many 'happy couples' have a terrible life at home behind their own front doors, through unseen domestic violence)
"St. Self-Pity Day"
Rather than locking them up...
Tonight's the night
We lock up our doors
And you release your daughters.
For tonight's no night
For wannabe suitors and courters.
If it's bad enough
Not having a girl
What I'm about to say
Might make you girl
For my pain is a lot worse
Clumsily hidden in verse
For each and every valentine
I've never had joy
I could cope with no real love
If I could just cuddle a boy.
If like me
You hide at home
Door on double lock
Warm heart inside
Cold hand on your cock
Well this is how alone
Right now I feel.
Jealousy tearing me apart
With no simple Valentines meal.
If you feel alone tonight
Without a hint
Of love in sight
Multiply how you feel
By a thousand and ten
Add a few noughts
And double it again.
That's what Valentine's Day
Means to me..
How would I ever cope
Is it really too much to hope
For another man to hug and to hold
Instead of anonymous toilet wank
Which leaves you cold?
An emotional void
I've had since birth
Which is why I tend to question
Why I'm on this earth.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2014
( I think Valentine's Day is commercialised nonsense, but a huge part of me tonight wishes I had a man to share it with)
Tonight's the night
We lock up our doors
And you release your daughters.
For tonight's no night
For wannabe suitors and courters.
If it's bad enough
Not having a girl
What I'm about to say
Might make you girl
For my pain is a lot worse
Clumsily hidden in verse
For each and every valentine
I've never had joy
I could cope with no real love
If I could just cuddle a boy.
If like me
You hide at home
Door on double lock
Warm heart inside
Cold hand on your cock
Well this is how alone
Right now I feel.
Jealousy tearing me apart
With no simple Valentines meal.
If you feel alone tonight
Without a hint
Of love in sight
Multiply how you feel
By a thousand and ten
Add a few noughts
And double it again.
That's what Valentine's Day
Means to me..
How would I ever cope
Is it really too much to hope
For another man to hug and to hold
Instead of anonymous toilet wank
Which leaves you cold?
An emotional void
I've had since birth
Which is why I tend to question
Why I'm on this earth.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2014
( I think Valentine's Day is commercialised nonsense, but a huge part of me tonight wishes I had a man to share it with)
"Peckham Peas In A Pod"
That was an Open Mic
I've
never experiencedWith such a global flavour
And I want more!
People associate Peckham
With 'Fools and Horses' mirth
But in everyday real life
It's the most magical
Melting pot on earth.
At Southwark's Rhyme and Reason
Number Five
The spirit of modern
Came alive!
Some old biddy hippy
I'll see in a brand new light
Alongside a shaky poetry virgin
Sharing first time
Full of fright.
Students from the Dulwich
Creative Writing Group
Hearing their voices
I'm cock-a-hoop!
Even those read
Not in English
Had to be heard
Obscure Zimbabwean dialect
Though never absurd.
I was privately embarrassed
Didn't know where to look
For I've never picked up
A Maya Angelou book.
The whole shebang
Gave me a wonderful feeling
I may be be in the 'poetry basement'
But I'll be reaching
For that unattainable ceiling...
The night before
I fell flat on my face
But thanks to your Peckham Pod night
My negativity's gone without trace.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2014
(Last night I was at an Open Mic evening, at Peckham Library, as part of the ‘Southwark Libraries Rhyme and Reason 5’ poetry festival events. I read two of mind, was a bit nervous, as I work in libraries, so a few people know me, but I thought I was ok. More than that, some of the stuff shared was brilliant to listen to, I really enjoyed the evening.)
Thursday 13 February 2014
"Therapy"
Last night I felt so small
This evening I’m not so tallBut I’ve grown
And held my own
Just by reading poetry.
Yesterday’s disaster
Could not have been
Erased faster
As I gave it a go
Warming with an
Inner glow.
From my
Mega cock-up
I’ve learnt a lot
To succeed I’ve got to
Give it all I’ve got.
And the way out just now
Someone said
They like the one
About the giraffe
A perfect
Pick-me-up tonic
That made me laugh.
Dulwich Poet 13th February 2014
(I read two poems tonight, at the Open Mic evening, at Peckham Library, as part of the ‘Southwark Libraries Rhyme and Reason 5’ poetry festival events. I read the one about a giraffe that was such a disaster last night, but it seemed to go ok, which made me feel better about myself.)
Wednesday 12 February 2014
"Short Thought"
How cruel is it
To get on the train
When a midget gets on
And the only thought
In my little brain
Is to cup my hands
And give him a
Leg-up to his seat?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
A midget got on my train, when I was on my way home late at night, at Canada Water station)
To get on the train
When a midget gets on
And the only thought
In my little brain
Is to cup my hands
And give him a
Leg-up to his seat?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
A midget got on my train, when I was on my way home late at night, at Canada Water station)
"Trying To Cleanse The Soul"
I wish I'd gone to Biggleswade Town
I wouldn't be sat at the interval
Wearing this frown.
In truth...All I'm guilty of
Is sharing from the heart
I shouldn't blame myself
If I bumbled, falling apart.
Without a doubt
This was my worst performance tonight
I couldn't rescue it
Try as I might.
It's not that I was any good
At the start
Small consolation
For falling apart.
Even my rhyme's
Are the same as before
I'm turning into
A poetry bore!
Time to lick my wounds
And give it a rest
Don't want to end up
A linguistic pest.
The problem is...
While I have thoughts in my head
I can't drop my pen
And say poetry's dead.
It's something I do
That I love and like
So I'll have to persevere
Attempting more Open Mic.
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(I was bloody awful, not prepared, and completely messed up the three poems I tried to read tonight, at an Open Mic spot at 'Before I Die' poetry night at the Torriano, in Kentish Town. This is the second I scribbled, during the interval, as I used on the spot poetry as my 'release valve')
I wouldn't be sat at the interval
Wearing this frown.
In truth...All I'm guilty of
Is sharing from the heart
I shouldn't blame myself
If I bumbled, falling apart.
Without a doubt
This was my worst performance tonight
I couldn't rescue it
Try as I might.
It's not that I was any good
At the start
Small consolation
For falling apart.
Even my rhyme's
Are the same as before
I'm turning into
A poetry bore!
Time to lick my wounds
And give it a rest
Don't want to end up
A linguistic pest.
The problem is...
While I have thoughts in my head
I can't drop my pen
And say poetry's dead.
It's something I do
That I love and like
So I'll have to persevere
Attempting more Open Mic.
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(I was bloody awful, not prepared, and completely messed up the three poems I tried to read tonight, at an Open Mic spot at 'Before I Die' poetry night at the Torriano, in Kentish Town. This is the second I scribbled, during the interval, as I used on the spot poetry as my 'release valve')
" Shit Set"
Take a deep breath
And count to ten
What an almighty fuck up
Wish I could read again.
Look on it as learning a trade
Hopefully tonight's memory
Will soon fade!
It's only a start
But inside I'm so angry
Tearing myself apart.
Someone said a kind word
At the break
Were they being kind for pity's sake?
Truth is I can only
Read out as me
For performing Open Mic's
Still strange territory.
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(I was bloody awful, not prepared, and completely messed up the three poems I tried to read tonight, at an Open Mic spot at 'Before I Die' poetry evening at the Torriano, in Kentish Town)
And count to ten
What an almighty fuck up
Wish I could read again.
Look on it as learning a trade
Hopefully tonight's memory
Will soon fade!
It's only a start
But inside I'm so angry
Tearing myself apart.
Someone said a kind word
At the break
Were they being kind for pity's sake?
Truth is I can only
Read out as me
For performing Open Mic's
Still strange territory.
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(I was bloody awful, not prepared, and completely messed up the three poems I tried to read tonight, at an Open Mic spot at 'Before I Die' poetry evening at the Torriano, in Kentish Town)
"Expenses"
Poetry cost nothing.
It clears your thoughts.
But even though it's free
It costs more than it ought.
Ideas are free
Just the mental expense
All the notebooks I use
Costing a few pence.
Open Mic nights
Having to pay on the door
Worth every shekel
For a spot on the floor.
But how can
I put a price
On peace of mind
And discovering
An amazing hobby
Where I've found
My own kind?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(Writing poetry doesn't cost anything, but the payback I get in pleasure, self-esetem -at times!- and just the enjoyment of sharing and listening to other poets is something you simply cannot put a price on)
It clears your thoughts.
But even though it's free
It costs more than it ought.
Ideas are free
Just the mental expense
All the notebooks I use
Costing a few pence.
Open Mic nights
Having to pay on the door
Worth every shekel
For a spot on the floor.
But how can
I put a price
On peace of mind
And discovering
An amazing hobby
Where I've found
My own kind?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(Writing poetry doesn't cost anything, but the payback I get in pleasure, self-esetem -at times!- and just the enjoyment of sharing and listening to other poets is something you simply cannot put a price on)
"Definition"
Poetry.
Such a simple word.
But...
What is it?
How now, brown cow.
The cat sat on the mat.
Unsurprisingly...
It's more than that.
You may take the piss
But you're reading this.
And it doesn't have to rhyme...
See...this line didn't.
Nor the next.
Yet you are still reading.
So tell me...
If poetry's not for you
Why have you
Got as far as here
Right to the end?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(Just a random thought about poetry that popped into my head)
Such a simple word.
But...
What is it?
How now, brown cow.
The cat sat on the mat.
Unsurprisingly...
It's more than that.
You may take the piss
But you're reading this.
And it doesn't have to rhyme...
See...this line didn't.
Nor the next.
Yet you are still reading.
So tell me...
If poetry's not for you
Why have you
Got as far as here
Right to the end?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(Just a random thought about poetry that popped into my head)
"Wets"
All summer you've been complaining
About your hosepipe ban
Trying to get round it
With your watering can.
Now they're all moaning
On the Somerset flood plain
Call me old fashioned
But wasn't the clue in the name?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(It's been rather wet...to say the least, and large swathes of the country are suffering from the biggest floods in over half a century)
About your hosepipe ban
Trying to get round it
With your watering can.
Now they're all moaning
On the Somerset flood plain
Call me old fashioned
But wasn't the clue in the name?
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
(It's been rather wet...to say the least, and large swathes of the country are suffering from the biggest floods in over half a century)
"You're 'Aving A Larf!"
I can't believe the grief
For the death of a giraffe
What with everything else in the world
You're having a laugh.
Chopped up in front of children
And then fed to a lion
Would be better on pizza
New topping for Hawaiian.
Seriously...
What was the fuss?
Was it more gruesome to show
Than splatting all and sundry
On the computers they play?
Not to mention
Routine murders on the box
Then wanking over pornography
Watching out of proportion
Tits and cocks.
Yet you think
A gentle giraffe dissection
Will corrupt their mind
At worst they'll be bored
Or just go 'yuk!'
As they find.
Maybe that healthy giraffe
Didn't deserve it's fate
But if you're going to quote principles
Neither do creatures
On your Sunday plate.
Such concern is not for me
I'm not going to listen
To your plea.
So what if the Danes
Butchered a giraffe
Vikings know what they're doing
And know their stuff
You're not bovvered
By their bacon
So your moanings tough!
It could be you're one
Of that food fascist crowd
Wanting to dictate what we eat
By shouting out loud!
Well I'm more than happy
To munch any meat
Preferably the tasty stuff
That used to bleat.
I'm no culinary prude
I'll try anything first
Horse, kangeroo or dog
Try your worst!
My only gripe is
They never saved me a slab
As I wouldn't have minded necking
A giraffe flavoured kebab.
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
( A giraffe was put down in Copenhagen Zoo, as they were concerned about the genentics of corss-breeding with other giraffes. After being put down it was dissected in front of an audience that included some schoolchildre, and some of the meat was fed to lions at the same zoo. There was uproar from animal lovers around the world.)
For the death of a giraffe
What with everything else in the world
You're having a laugh.
Chopped up in front of children
And then fed to a lion
Would be better on pizza
New topping for Hawaiian.
Seriously...
What was the fuss?
Was it more gruesome to show
Than splatting all and sundry
On the computers they play?
Not to mention
Routine murders on the box
Then wanking over pornography
Watching out of proportion
Tits and cocks.
Yet you think
A gentle giraffe dissection
Will corrupt their mind
At worst they'll be bored
Or just go 'yuk!'
As they find.
Maybe that healthy giraffe
Didn't deserve it's fate
But if you're going to quote principles
Neither do creatures
On your Sunday plate.
Such concern is not for me
I'm not going to listen
To your plea.
So what if the Danes
Butchered a giraffe
Vikings know what they're doing
And know their stuff
You're not bovvered
By their bacon
So your moanings tough!
It could be you're one
Of that food fascist crowd
Wanting to dictate what we eat
By shouting out loud!
Well I'm more than happy
To munch any meat
Preferably the tasty stuff
That used to bleat.
I'm no culinary prude
I'll try anything first
Horse, kangeroo or dog
Try your worst!
My only gripe is
They never saved me a slab
As I wouldn't have minded necking
A giraffe flavoured kebab.
Dulwich Poet 12th February 2014
( A giraffe was put down in Copenhagen Zoo, as they were concerned about the genentics of corss-breeding with other giraffes. After being put down it was dissected in front of an audience that included some schoolchildre, and some of the meat was fed to lions at the same zoo. There was uproar from animal lovers around the world.)
Tuesday 11 February 2014
" Method of Madness"
Imagine if you know
How you're going to die
By that...I don't mean
A murderer on Death Row
Who knows he's about to fry.
Nor that moment
When your life flashes past
In that traffic accident moment
When that breath is the last
Of your car crash of a life.
Not even talking terminal
In your cancer ward bed
Crying family around you
Waiting for the will to be read.
I'm on about
My mind swings
That flit to and fro
Just like a rope might
When it's time to go.
Put a noose round my neck
But too scared in case it breaks
A heap on the floor hitting the deck.
Maybe a cocktail of pills
Swallowing drug after drug
But what's toom much or too little
Don't want to survive like a mug.
Possible the tower block option
Leaping from the fifteenth floor
But I can't face that halfway down uncertainty
If I suddenly don't want to be no more.
For that same reason
Have to rule out Beachy Head
In case with rocks approaching
I don't want to be dead.
Jumping off Tower Bridge holds no appeal
Despite all my thoughts and wishes
I'm no Mafiosi villain
So don't want to sleep with the fishes.
And the shame on my family
If it was died in east London
On my papers
They'd prefer in prison
With the nonces and rapers.
All I want is
No pain with the gain
So when I've had enough of my life
I'll let the train take the strain.
One small step off the platform
Shall set up my wake
This suicide lark
Will be a piece of cake.
Rest assured...
There's no need to worry
Right at this moment
I won't face death in a hurry.
Tonight or tomorrow
I don't feel like being dead
So after I've read this
I'm off home to bed.
Dulwich Poet 11th February 2014
(I also wrote this, not knowing what I would write, but I'm trying to jot something down on 'death', as-if football is rained off tomorrow- I shall go to a poetry night called 'Before I Die')
How you're going to die
By that...I don't mean
A murderer on Death Row
Who knows he's about to fry.
Nor that moment
When your life flashes past
In that traffic accident moment
When that breath is the last
Of your car crash of a life.
Not even talking terminal
In your cancer ward bed
Crying family around you
Waiting for the will to be read.
I'm on about
My mind swings
That flit to and fro
Just like a rope might
When it's time to go.
Put a noose round my neck
But too scared in case it breaks
A heap on the floor hitting the deck.
Maybe a cocktail of pills
Swallowing drug after drug
But what's toom much or too little
Don't want to survive like a mug.
Possible the tower block option
Leaping from the fifteenth floor
But I can't face that halfway down uncertainty
If I suddenly don't want to be no more.
For that same reason
Have to rule out Beachy Head
In case with rocks approaching
I don't want to be dead.
Jumping off Tower Bridge holds no appeal
Despite all my thoughts and wishes
I'm no Mafiosi villain
So don't want to sleep with the fishes.
And the shame on my family
If it was died in east London
On my papers
They'd prefer in prison
With the nonces and rapers.
All I want is
No pain with the gain
So when I've had enough of my life
I'll let the train take the strain.
One small step off the platform
Shall set up my wake
This suicide lark
Will be a piece of cake.
Rest assured...
There's no need to worry
Right at this moment
I won't face death in a hurry.
Tonight or tomorrow
I don't feel like being dead
So after I've read this
I'm off home to bed.
Dulwich Poet 11th February 2014
(I also wrote this, not knowing what I would write, but I'm trying to jot something down on 'death', as-if football is rained off tomorrow- I shall go to a poetry night called 'Before I Die')
"Time of Death"
It's something that will
Happen to us all
And as a non-believer
It's not god's call.
Inside my head
I hear this voice
When it's the time to go
It will be my own choice.
Please don't fret
That time's not here
But choosing your dying
Is nothing to fear.
I'm too 'normal' to be 'crazy'
So will never be 'mad'
Not having weird weird dreams
To be diagnosed
About my mum or my dad.
A shrink's not for me
Have you seen the price?
How much an hour..!!!
To make you think twice.
Besides, at the moment
I've got poetry keeping me 'sane'
Scribbling crap down
Crazy thoughts not in vain.
You might find the thought of suicide
Something not clever
But the thought of choosing my death appeals
So never say never.
Dulwich Poet 11th February 2014
(I wrote this, not knowing what I would write, but I'm trying to jot something down on 'death', as-if football is rained off tomorrow- I shall go to a poetry night called 'Before I Die')
Happen to us all
And as a non-believer
It's not god's call.
Inside my head
I hear this voice
When it's the time to go
It will be my own choice.
Please don't fret
That time's not here
But choosing your dying
Is nothing to fear.
I'm too 'normal' to be 'crazy'
So will never be 'mad'
Not having weird weird dreams
To be diagnosed
About my mum or my dad.
A shrink's not for me
Have you seen the price?
How much an hour..!!!
To make you think twice.
Besides, at the moment
I've got poetry keeping me 'sane'
Scribbling crap down
Crazy thoughts not in vain.
You might find the thought of suicide
Something not clever
But the thought of choosing my death appeals
So never say never.
Dulwich Poet 11th February 2014
(I wrote this, not knowing what I would write, but I'm trying to jot something down on 'death', as-if football is rained off tomorrow- I shall go to a poetry night called 'Before I Die')
Monday 10 February 2014
"Routes"
Leaving the 'Flying Dutchman'
It's got on my goat
I'd have got home quicker
If I'd gone by boat.
Which is no minor feat
As I'm six miles from the River
But what else can I do
If the tubes don't deliver.
Stroll up the road
One bus goes past
I'm not in a rush
And it's not the last
So I jump on one
Going the other direction.
Head to London Bridge
For a train connection.
No service from there
Engineering works
Such are those Sunday
Service quirks.
Go down below
For the Jubilee Line
Canada Water Overground
All will be fine.
No idea what's going on
A twenty minute wait
By the time I get there
For my last service too late.
What a shambles
Pointless to fuss
Last Northern Line
To the Elephant
To get on the bus.
If I'd kept on the road to Peckham
Would've been home by now
Comfortable on the 197
As it is I'm not a Dulwich Plough.
Trying to quell my anger
What's the point in that?
It's all my own fault
For being a lazy prat.
As my bus stops outside King's
Something lightens my mood
Desperate not to laugh
For that would be rude.
If I thought my trip home
Was taking some time
There's a couple at this stop
That are anything but fine
For there's no direct route
To Balham from Camberwell
Suddenly my journey's fairly simple
As they face the cab fare from hell.
Dulwich Poet 10th February 2014
( After leaving a back street pub in Camberwell, on the 343 bus route, one passed me, heading for Peckham just up the road, where i was going to get a bus home from. One came the other way, & I jumped on, as I was in no rush really, expecting to get a late train home from London Bridge. Proved to be a much longer journey than expected. On the 'last leg' on a 176 bus, a couple in Camberwell were miles from home, with no way to get to Balham by public transport. As a result of hearing them I scribbled this down for the rest of my bus ride home.)
It's got on my goat
I'd have got home quicker
If I'd gone by boat.
Which is no minor feat
As I'm six miles from the River
But what else can I do
If the tubes don't deliver.
Stroll up the road
One bus goes past
I'm not in a rush
And it's not the last
So I jump on one
Going the other direction.
Head to London Bridge
For a train connection.
No service from there
Engineering works
Such are those Sunday
Service quirks.
Go down below
For the Jubilee Line
Canada Water Overground
All will be fine.
No idea what's going on
A twenty minute wait
By the time I get there
For my last service too late.
What a shambles
Pointless to fuss
Last Northern Line
To the Elephant
To get on the bus.
If I'd kept on the road to Peckham
Would've been home by now
Comfortable on the 197
As it is I'm not a Dulwich Plough.
Trying to quell my anger
What's the point in that?
It's all my own fault
For being a lazy prat.
As my bus stops outside King's
Something lightens my mood
Desperate not to laugh
For that would be rude.
If I thought my trip home
Was taking some time
There's a couple at this stop
That are anything but fine
For there's no direct route
To Balham from Camberwell
Suddenly my journey's fairly simple
As they face the cab fare from hell.
Dulwich Poet 10th February 2014
( After leaving a back street pub in Camberwell, on the 343 bus route, one passed me, heading for Peckham just up the road, where i was going to get a bus home from. One came the other way, & I jumped on, as I was in no rush really, expecting to get a late train home from London Bridge. Proved to be a much longer journey than expected. On the 'last leg' on a 176 bus, a couple in Camberwell were miles from home, with no way to get to Balham by public transport. As a result of hearing them I scribbled this down for the rest of my bus ride home.)
Sunday 9 February 2014
" What's In A Name? "
Gou-ve; Guv, Gove
As in Hove,
Actually.
Well if we're
Talking actually
Why not just call him
A CUNT?
Because that's
What everyone else does.
Dulwich Poet 9th February 2014
( This is about the name of the Con-Dem government Secretary of State for Education, Michael Gove)
As in Hove,
Actually.
Well if we're
Talking actually
Why not just call him
A CUNT?
Because that's
What everyone else does.
Dulwich Poet 9th February 2014
( This is about the name of the Con-Dem government Secretary of State for Education, Michael Gove)
"Camberwell Beauty"
A night of poetry
Not a nerve-wracking
As I feared
But boy oh boy
Did it finish weird!
One of the comperes
Spanking his girls arse
I'm very broadminded
So I let it pass.
Though part of me
Wanted that whip in hand
I would have preferred
To thrash something
A little more 'Bland'!
Dulwich Poet 9th February 2014
(I was at the 'Unamade Bed' poetry evening tonight, and the venue was a pub in Camberwell that turns out to also be an "S & M type" venue too, among other things, on other nights. One of the comperes was slapping his girlfriends bum, as she leant over the stage afterwards. His surname is 'Bland' , hend the last line)
Not a nerve-wracking
As I feared
But boy oh boy
Did it finish weird!
One of the comperes
Spanking his girls arse
I'm very broadminded
So I let it pass.
Though part of me
Wanted that whip in hand
I would have preferred
To thrash something
A little more 'Bland'!
Dulwich Poet 9th February 2014
(I was at the 'Unamade Bed' poetry evening tonight, and the venue was a pub in Camberwell that turns out to also be an "S & M type" venue too, among other things, on other nights. One of the comperes was slapping his girlfriends bum, as she leant over the stage afterwards. His surname is 'Bland' , hend the last line)
"Love Lost Soul"
Forgive me for not getting
Into the spirit of things tonight
As I've never known
Love at first sight.
In fact I've never known
Love at all
But please don't worry
This is no sympathy call.
When I was a teenage boy
I never had a girl to kiss
I hid it all
By going on the piss.
Life moves on and
I've been sober
Since two thousand and two
But when it comes to romance
I've no idea what to do.
The only thing I cuddle at night
Is myself when I turn off the light.
Of course I'd like
Someone to kiss
And a bit of intimacy
Wouldn't go amiss.
At least I'm not
Picking up a drink today
And my football friends
Don't mind me being gay.
Although I've never been loved
It means I've never been hurt
Just as well
I never learnt to flirt.
So if you're lucky
In love out there
Enjoy it while you can
Or you'll end up like me
A lonely old man!
Never say never
There might be hope...
But if there's a bloke for me
How would I cope?
Who knows?
That might change for me today
I might find a 'Flying Dutchman'
Along Wells Way.
Dulwich Poet 9th February 2014
(I went to a poetry & performance night, called 'Unmade Bed', at the 'Flying Dutchman' pub tonight. It was a pub in Wells Way, which is about ten minutes walk from the Aylesbury Estate, a rough council estate where I lived in my teenage years. I wrote this on the bus there, as the headlining poets were reading on a theme of love, and all that, with Valentines coming up. This is one of four I shared in my five minute Open Mic slot.)
Into the spirit of things tonight
As I've never known
Love at first sight.
In fact I've never known
Love at all
But please don't worry
This is no sympathy call.
When I was a teenage boy
I never had a girl to kiss
I hid it all
By going on the piss.
Life moves on and
I've been sober
Since two thousand and two
But when it comes to romance
I've no idea what to do.
The only thing I cuddle at night
Is myself when I turn off the light.
Of course I'd like
Someone to kiss
And a bit of intimacy
Wouldn't go amiss.
At least I'm not
Picking up a drink today
And my football friends
Don't mind me being gay.
Although I've never been loved
It means I've never been hurt
Just as well
I never learnt to flirt.
So if you're lucky
In love out there
Enjoy it while you can
Or you'll end up like me
A lonely old man!
Never say never
There might be hope...
But if there's a bloke for me
How would I cope?
Who knows?
That might change for me today
I might find a 'Flying Dutchman'
Along Wells Way.
Dulwich Poet 9th February 2014
(I went to a poetry & performance night, called 'Unmade Bed', at the 'Flying Dutchman' pub tonight. It was a pub in Wells Way, which is about ten minutes walk from the Aylesbury Estate, a rough council estate where I lived in my teenage years. I wrote this on the bus there, as the headlining poets were reading on a theme of love, and all that, with Valentines coming up. This is one of four I shared in my five minute Open Mic slot.)
Saturday 8 February 2014
"Not For Me"
When I saw you had a degree
In scientific computing
I should have realised
You needed shooting.
Anyone who describes
Our city as 'London Town'
Should have been reason enough
For me to frown.
So different from me
No Cockney working class
I've got you down as the pub bore
Talking out of his arse.
True enough...
I shouldn't judge
I'm so sorry
But I cannot fudge.
Only thirty pages in
Losing the will to live
Want to attack you
With an ultra-sharp chiv!
It's clear why you self-publish
Might be poetry to you
But it's still all rubbish
In my humble view.
Can't pretend my own stuff
Isn't mostly average crap
But generalising
I'm not a critical chap.
I have you down as the king
Of the quiz in your local boozer
Thinking you're ever so popular
While everyone else
Has you down as a loser!
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
(I was in the Poetry Library, picking four more books to read. One caught my eye, as it had London in the title. Oh dear...i am really struggling with it, and the author has done several, all self-published, and having tried to get through this book...I can see why! each to there own...but I am really struggling to even 'skim read' this one!)
[In case anyone want to know...its '"Tales of London town and other Poems" by Sidney Moreleigh]
In scientific computing
I should have realised
You needed shooting.
Anyone who describes
Our city as 'London Town'
Should have been reason enough
For me to frown.
So different from me
No Cockney working class
I've got you down as the pub bore
Talking out of his arse.
True enough...
I shouldn't judge
I'm so sorry
But I cannot fudge.
Only thirty pages in
Losing the will to live
Want to attack you
With an ultra-sharp chiv!
It's clear why you self-publish
Might be poetry to you
But it's still all rubbish
In my humble view.
Can't pretend my own stuff
Isn't mostly average crap
But generalising
I'm not a critical chap.
I have you down as the king
Of the quiz in your local boozer
Thinking you're ever so popular
While everyone else
Has you down as a loser!
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
(I was in the Poetry Library, picking four more books to read. One caught my eye, as it had London in the title. Oh dear...i am really struggling with it, and the author has done several, all self-published, and having tried to get through this book...I can see why! each to there own...but I am really struggling to even 'skim read' this one!)
[In case anyone want to know...its '"Tales of London town and other Poems" by Sidney Moreleigh]
"Freebies"
Beware of those
Bearing a gift
There could be trouble ahead
If you get my drift.
Been to an Open Mic
With headline acts
Could cause embarrassment
If I don't use some tact.
Was happy to purchase
At your discount price
The fact you both said 'no charge'
Was heartwarmingly nice.
Welcoming additions
To my small poetry shelf
Look forward to reading them
And toasting your health.
But now what happens...
If I fail to enjoy
Do I lie through my teeth
And go all coy?
I might like Kevin's
But think Lucy's is shit
Or struggle through both
Only liking a bit.
Now we're sort of mates
Thanks to this gift
'Friendship' could be over
Causing a rift.
Who would have thought
Poetry could cause such strife
By just accepting a book
From a husband & wife?
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
( A chap came up to me at the interval of 'Platform One Poetry' this evening, where I had a short Open Mic slot. He said he knew a mate of mine from football! After the night was over, both him and his partner gave me a copy of their published poetry books, and wouldn't take a penny for them, which was very kind, and pleased me no end. Haven't read them, but am sure I will like them...but already I'm in a 'panic' about any possible 'feedback'. if I bump into them again!)
[ And in case you're wondering, both published by Vintage Poison Press, it's 'Birdworld' by Kevin Reinhardt; & 'Tasteless Truths' by Lucy Leagrave. ]
Bearing a gift
There could be trouble ahead
If you get my drift.
Been to an Open Mic
With headline acts
Could cause embarrassment
If I don't use some tact.
Was happy to purchase
At your discount price
The fact you both said 'no charge'
Was heartwarmingly nice.
Welcoming additions
To my small poetry shelf
Look forward to reading them
And toasting your health.
But now what happens...
If I fail to enjoy
Do I lie through my teeth
And go all coy?
I might like Kevin's
But think Lucy's is shit
Or struggle through both
Only liking a bit.
Now we're sort of mates
Thanks to this gift
'Friendship' could be over
Causing a rift.
Who would have thought
Poetry could cause such strife
By just accepting a book
From a husband & wife?
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
( A chap came up to me at the interval of 'Platform One Poetry' this evening, where I had a short Open Mic slot. He said he knew a mate of mine from football! After the night was over, both him and his partner gave me a copy of their published poetry books, and wouldn't take a penny for them, which was very kind, and pleased me no end. Haven't read them, but am sure I will like them...but already I'm in a 'panic' about any possible 'feedback'. if I bump into them again!)
[ And in case you're wondering, both published by Vintage Poison Press, it's 'Birdworld' by Kevin Reinhardt; & 'Tasteless Truths' by Lucy Leagrave. ]
"Unlucky Son!"
It's bad enough
When there's
A baby and pram
Taking up your space
Causing a jam.
You've got your own seat
But not on the bus
Your wheelchair's ignored
You gonna make a fuss?
I can see your pissed-off face
Through the glass
Moving to the front door
Thinking the driver's an arse.
Ignoring you...
Wait for the ramp in vain
And then you see
What's a fucking pain
In your spot
Is another wheelchair
What a selfish bastard
Doesn't he care?
What are the odds
Of two wheelchairs at night
On the same 176
I would have loved a fight!
Instead the chap outside
Waits for the next one along
The other gets off two stops on
Which... thinking of the other bloke
Just seemed so wrong.
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
(I was on a late night 176 bus home, going through central London, past Charing Cross, at around eleven o'clock. It was busy, with the post pub/theatre Saturday night crowd. I was sat downstairs, by the window, pavement side, when I saw a man in a wheelchair on the pavement trying to gey on, but the driver couldn't let him on because there was already another wheelchair bound passenger in that designated spot on the bus)
When there's
A baby and pram
Taking up your space
Causing a jam.
You've got your own seat
But not on the bus
Your wheelchair's ignored
You gonna make a fuss?
I can see your pissed-off face
Through the glass
Moving to the front door
Thinking the driver's an arse.
Ignoring you...
Wait for the ramp in vain
And then you see
What's a fucking pain
In your spot
Is another wheelchair
What a selfish bastard
Doesn't he care?
What are the odds
Of two wheelchairs at night
On the same 176
I would have loved a fight!
Instead the chap outside
Waits for the next one along
The other gets off two stops on
Which... thinking of the other bloke
Just seemed so wrong.
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
(I was on a late night 176 bus home, going through central London, past Charing Cross, at around eleven o'clock. It was busy, with the post pub/theatre Saturday night crowd. I was sat downstairs, by the window, pavement side, when I saw a man in a wheelchair on the pavement trying to gey on, but the driver couldn't let him on because there was already another wheelchair bound passenger in that designated spot on the bus)
"Embarrassed Buzz"
What is it about writing
That I deny
And keep on fighting?
There's no shame
In being patted on the back
Just because...
Poetry rules I lack.
It's about using my voice
Having my own 'style'
Knowing I can be entertaining
Once in a while.
Sharing with 'real' poets
Who've published books and stuff.
One or two say
They like my work..
Totally off the cuff.
(At least I think they are genuine!)
When they do
My jaw drops wide
Underneath it's scary
Though I'm filled with pride.
I still say I share
Rather than perform
But at 'open mic'
That's the norm.
No idea at all if
My poetry's right or wrong
Should that even matter
I'm not after a gong.
The fact I enjoy writing
Is the thing that's so nice
But when other people like it
Well on that there's no price.
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
(I had a slot on the 'open mic' at the monthly 'Poetry Unplugged' tonight. I think the standard is extremely good, and have to pinch myself that I've got the confidence to share in such company, and that, although a poetry novice, can possibly hold my own in such company)
That I deny
And keep on fighting?
There's no shame
In being patted on the back
Just because...
Poetry rules I lack.
It's about using my voice
Having my own 'style'
Knowing I can be entertaining
Once in a while.
Sharing with 'real' poets
Who've published books and stuff.
One or two say
They like my work..
Totally off the cuff.
(At least I think they are genuine!)
When they do
My jaw drops wide
Underneath it's scary
Though I'm filled with pride.
I still say I share
Rather than perform
But at 'open mic'
That's the norm.
No idea at all if
My poetry's right or wrong
Should that even matter
I'm not after a gong.
The fact I enjoy writing
Is the thing that's so nice
But when other people like it
Well on that there's no price.
Dulwich Poet 8th February 2014
(I had a slot on the 'open mic' at the monthly 'Poetry Unplugged' tonight. I think the standard is extremely good, and have to pinch myself that I've got the confidence to share in such company, and that, although a poetry novice, can possibly hold my own in such company)
Wednesday 5 February 2014
" Fools Gold"
How stupid
So called ‘intelligent’
People can be.
Can you not see
Without the lot
Who develop property
There will be
No Football Club
For you and me
Just history.
Your naivety
Knows no bounds
Have you listened to
Your own sounds?
Without that nasty
Development company
With who we’re
Jumping into bed
Our Dulwich Hamlet
Will already be dead.
There you go…
On the attack
To save Champion Hill
Do you really think
This current ground
Not just fits the bill
But pays them too?
It’s been a bloody terrible ground
Right from the start
Which I hoped you would realise
If you had the Club at heart.
We’ve been run into the ground
By that McCormack cheat
But did you stand up to him
Not a fucking bleat!
None of us have money
To put things right
But now they’re cleared our debts
There’s a future in sight.
It won’t happen overnight
Even though we’re on a roll
By taking their loot
We haven’t sold our soul.
You all use the word ‘we’
As if it’s our Club
And there really is the rub
It’s never been ours
No matter how far back you go
But now we have a chance
To make FAN POWER show.
I don’t just want
The Hamlet to survive
Push for one fan, one vote
And the Club to thrive.
If it all goes tits up
You’ve had a few good years
Back to whatever you did
Necking your hipster beers.
Can you grasp
What we’re trying to save?
It’s so much more to be lost
Than a radical flag
Or a place for you to hoist
Your ‘Against Modern Football’ tag.
Time for you to
Stand up and be counted
Ready to oppose any challenge
To save shitty Greendales
That’s mounted.
This is so much more
Than posh homes and a new ground
It’s about making sure
Our Club is still around.
Don’t make
Lead to a dead end
For if you don’t get on board
That’s the message it will send.
This IS our ONLY chance
To take control
With accountable fans
Playing an important role.
Time to stand up
Time to be counted.
Come make a fuss
As this new development
Is the ONLY way forward for us!
Be careful what you wish for
In case it comes true
Once the damage is done
You won’t be able to undo
For if you make
The wrong judgement call
And Dulwich Hamlet die
I’m not one to make idle threats
Or tell a lie
You’ll be looking over your shoulder
For the rest of your life
There’s so much damage I can do
With a sharp knife…
Dulwich Poet 5th February 2014
( The Football Club I support, and care so much about, has a very uncertain future, albeit potentially extremely positive. The current owner has run it into the ground, we have a new ground owner, which is a property development company. They want to built us a new ground on
"Anonymous Stranger"
You got on
At my stop
Sydenham
And sat
To my left.
Three women
Sat opposite
To me and you
I hardly noticed them.
It was you
I surreptitiously
Looked at.
Though I doubt
We had anything in common
You held my interest
More than they ever could.
For although I know
You would never want
To jump into bed with me
I know I would
If I could with you.
Dulwich Poet 5th February 2014
( A random poem, to pass the time, on a random short train journey)
At my stop
Sydenham
And sat
To my left.
Three women
Sat opposite
To me and you
I hardly noticed them.
It was you
I surreptitiously
Looked at.
Though I doubt
We had anything in common
You held my interest
More than they ever could.
For although I know
You would never want
To jump into bed with me
I know I would
If I could with you.
Dulwich Poet 5th February 2014
( A random poem, to pass the time, on a random short train journey)
"The Numbers Game"
I’ve started
So I’ll finish…
Is what he said
That bloke on the telly.
But this isn’t Mastermind
It can’t be as I’m sure
Magnus Magnusson
Is probably dead.
No, what I’m talking about
Is my ability to write
Even if most of it
Is total shite.
Don’t know if it’s
Writers block
Or if I’m just
Being a cock.
Irrational fear
There’s nothing to be said
Scared there’s no more poetry
In my head.
For every dozen I do
There’s maybe one that I like
The other ‘ordinary’ stuff
Are only fit to spike.
But if I keep on
Churning out
Run of the mill
Crap like this
I’ll be turning out the
Occasional one
To bring me bliss.
Dulwich Poet 5th February 2014
(This one’s about my struggle sometimes, to write some poetry. The message to myself being “Don’t panic!” as for every ten I jot down, one might be good enough for me to share at ‘Open Mic’ nights)
"Way Of Life"
To you
It's a great way to spend a Saturday.
To me
It's a way of life.
To you
Life will go on
To me
Life will be over....
Which is a shame
For you
As if my life is over
Then yours
Won't actually go on either.
Read into that
What you will.
Dulwich Poet 5th February 2014
( There is much speculation about the future of the ground where Dulwich Hamlet Football Club play, and it's possible relocation. As the last lines say...read into this what you will...)
It's a great way to spend a Saturday.
To me
It's a way of life.
To you
Life will go on
To me
Life will be over....
Which is a shame
For you
As if my life is over
Then yours
Won't actually go on either.
Read into that
What you will.
Dulwich Poet 5th February 2014
( There is much speculation about the future of the ground where Dulwich Hamlet Football Club play, and it's possible relocation. As the last lines say...read into this what you will...)
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