Apparently this is
A collection
Of conceptual
Wordplay
And concrete prose.
Nope, sorry.
Back on the shelf.
I am someone
Who DOES judge
A book by its cover.
And I was only
After some poetry.
Dulwich Poet 29th June 2014
( I borrowed a book [ 'A/Z does it' by John Riddell] from the Poetry Library. The writing on the back of the cover confused me...)
Sunday 29 June 2014
Saturday 28 June 2014
"Soggy Knees-Up"
Don't want to piss on your parade
But it's going to pour with rain
Must be time for carnival
In Southwark Park again.
But dampened spirits won't put off
This white working class rave
For top of the bill in Bermondsey
Are good old Chas & Dave.
When you're stood in the mud
Getting soaking wet
You'll wish you followed their advice
As you listen to their set.
Not feeling quite so keen
And what might have been
You should have 'Gone dahn ter Margate'
Instead of S.E. sixteen.
Dulwich Poet 28th June 2014
(It's the Bermondsey Carnival this afternoon, at Southwark Park. Heavy rain showers are forecast, with headliners Chas & Dave on stage at half past six...)
But it's going to pour with rain
Must be time for carnival
In Southwark Park again.
But dampened spirits won't put off
This white working class rave
For top of the bill in Bermondsey
Are good old Chas & Dave.
When you're stood in the mud
Getting soaking wet
You'll wish you followed their advice
As you listen to their set.
Not feeling quite so keen
And what might have been
You should have 'Gone dahn ter Margate'
Instead of S.E. sixteen.
Dulwich Poet 28th June 2014
(It's the Bermondsey Carnival this afternoon, at Southwark Park. Heavy rain showers are forecast, with headliners Chas & Dave on stage at half past six...)
Friday 27 June 2014
"Six East London Poets"
Eighteen people
Including the host.
You know the thing
That must have hurt most-
Six of them
Were on the bill
Surely that pained them
Even more still.
Silly me expected
Hoxton Hipsters through the door
Thankfully poetry's below them
They know the score.
Shoreditch is not for anything
Where they can't be seen
Unlike a poncy bar
To pout and preen.
Tonight's venue
Was called 'Rich Mix'
Clearly beneath the
Weirdy beardy pricks.
On my way home
Via the Overground line
Poetry for culture
Does this South Londoner fine.
But it still leaves unanswered
Where was the East End poetry fraternity
Empty chairs all round
Waiting for an eternity
For them to fill.
I came from South of the River
To hear spoken word
But they couldn't entice the locals
As you can't polish a turd.
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
( I went to a free poetry event, in Shoreditch tonight, six very good poets sharing the bill. But there were only 18 people there, including the poets who read. I couldn't believe how low the turn out wasm but really enjoyed listening to them all)
Including the host.
You know the thing
That must have hurt most-
Six of them
Were on the bill
Surely that pained them
Even more still.
Silly me expected
Hoxton Hipsters through the door
Thankfully poetry's below them
They know the score.
Shoreditch is not for anything
Where they can't be seen
Unlike a poncy bar
To pout and preen.
Tonight's venue
Was called 'Rich Mix'
Clearly beneath the
Weirdy beardy pricks.
On my way home
Via the Overground line
Poetry for culture
Does this South Londoner fine.
But it still leaves unanswered
Where was the East End poetry fraternity
Empty chairs all round
Waiting for an eternity
For them to fill.
I came from South of the River
To hear spoken word
But they couldn't entice the locals
As you can't polish a turd.
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
( I went to a free poetry event, in Shoreditch tonight, six very good poets sharing the bill. But there were only 18 people there, including the poets who read. I couldn't believe how low the turn out wasm but really enjoyed listening to them all)
"Cloth Ears"
I heard you read
I've bought your book
Now you're giving me
That grateful look.
Followed by the assumption
I want you to sign
Not just your name
But asking for mine.
Letter by letter
I spell it out
Are you fucking mutton
I want to shout.
But what's the point
Your mistake is made
The damage is done
And I've already paid.
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
(I bought a book off off one of the readers at a poetry event this evening. They always ask if I want it signed, it seems rude to say no. But sometimes they then spell my name wrong in it, which is annoying, and it seems lazy on their part; though tonight he did spell it right)
I've bought your book
Now you're giving me
That grateful look.
Followed by the assumption
I want you to sign
Not just your name
But asking for mine.
Letter by letter
I spell it out
Are you fucking mutton
I want to shout.
But what's the point
Your mistake is made
The damage is done
And I've already paid.
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
(I bought a book off off one of the readers at a poetry event this evening. They always ask if I want it signed, it seems rude to say no. But sometimes they then spell my name wrong in it, which is annoying, and it seems lazy on their part; though tonight he did spell it right)
"Opposite Seat"
Headphones plugged in
Your thoughts
A million miles away.
Like mine.
Even though we are
Just a yard apart.
Upside down badge
Telling me
You were a 'visitor'
Dangles down from your neck.
If only I could check
What is dangling
Six inches lower.
If I were telepathic
And you were gay
Perhaps you could
Just tease me
And meet me half way.
Go on...just a little.
Tantalise and flirt
Undo just one more button
Down the front of your shirt.
You know you want to....
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
(Observing a stranger sitting opposite me on the tube)
Your thoughts
A million miles away.
Like mine.
Even though we are
Just a yard apart.
Upside down badge
Telling me
You were a 'visitor'
Dangles down from your neck.
If only I could check
What is dangling
Six inches lower.
If I were telepathic
And you were gay
Perhaps you could
Just tease me
And meet me half way.
Go on...just a little.
Tantalise and flirt
Undo just one more button
Down the front of your shirt.
You know you want to....
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
(Observing a stranger sitting opposite me on the tube)
"Postcard Prompt"
The first time I saw you
I thought...cool!
Well I never really
As at my age
I'd sound like a right tool
If I used words like cool.
But then it's exactly the same
With ones like tool.
So I'll settle for the fact
I thought it was a good idea
And decided to write something myself.
I did...but
Wasn't brave enough
To send it in
To the Poetry Library
Even anonymosuly.
Cowardly custard at heart.
I wonder how many
Actual responses you got?
Not a lot
I would guess
To which I've already confess'd
That it wasn't me.
And right now
At this very second,
Exact moment in time
The only reason I'm jotting
These thoughts down
Is that I'm sat on a seat
Waiting for my Circle Line train
At the Embankment
Bound for Liverpool Street
Which is no mean feat
Onward to Shoreditch.
Six East London Poets
At some weird
Middle class
Arty cinema venue
Down the Bethnal Green Road
Which, believe me,
Sounds far more working class
Than it actualyl is.
But then...
If it wasn't for the Poetry Library
That re-lit my love
For, call it what you like,
I just call it poetry
leading onto 'Open Mic'
I would be sat at home
All alone
Bored out of my mind
Instead of anticipating
A great spoken word show
With the added bonus of
Brick Lane to follow
With bagels to go!
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
(I went to a free poetry event in Shoreditch, before that I swapped my books over at the Poetry Library, and found another of their postcards, celebrating their anniversary inside one of the ones I chose, asking for the finder to write something...so I did..again!)
I thought...cool!
Well I never really
As at my age
I'd sound like a right tool
If I used words like cool.
But then it's exactly the same
With ones like tool.
So I'll settle for the fact
I thought it was a good idea
And decided to write something myself.
I did...but
Wasn't brave enough
To send it in
To the Poetry Library
Even anonymosuly.
Cowardly custard at heart.
I wonder how many
Actual responses you got?
Not a lot
I would guess
To which I've already confess'd
That it wasn't me.
And right now
At this very second,
Exact moment in time
The only reason I'm jotting
These thoughts down
Is that I'm sat on a seat
Waiting for my Circle Line train
At the Embankment
Bound for Liverpool Street
Which is no mean feat
Onward to Shoreditch.
Six East London Poets
At some weird
Middle class
Arty cinema venue
Down the Bethnal Green Road
Which, believe me,
Sounds far more working class
Than it actualyl is.
But then...
If it wasn't for the Poetry Library
That re-lit my love
For, call it what you like,
I just call it poetry
leading onto 'Open Mic'
I would be sat at home
All alone
Bored out of my mind
Instead of anticipating
A great spoken word show
With the added bonus of
Brick Lane to follow
With bagels to go!
Dulwich Poet 27th June 2014
(I went to a free poetry event in Shoreditch, before that I swapped my books over at the Poetry Library, and found another of their postcards, celebrating their anniversary inside one of the ones I chose, asking for the finder to write something...so I did..again!)
Wednesday 25 June 2014
"Emotions Stripped Bare"
I only came
Here for poetry.
Not quite sure
What I've seen
But it's blown
My mind away.
I am so
Performance art green!
In hindsight
I should have given
Tonight a total swerve
For that display
By David
Really hit my raw nerve.
Writing your self loathing
Right across your chest
Laying bare your feelings
Was it some cuntish test?
Fucking cheers for the reminder
Of how shit my life has been
Finishing it with your hanging
I can only dream.
Sometimes I feel like dying
Other days I am alive
Ironically
It's morbid performances
Like yours
That keep me alive.
Dulwich Poet 25th June 2014
(Went to the Spoken Word London poetry night in Dalston, where one man did a piece that he told me after was 'performance art'. He spoke of his hatred of himself as he grew up, took off his t-shirt, and wrote 'cunt' all over his torso. The 'finale' was him pretending to hang himself with his belt)
Here for poetry.
Not quite sure
What I've seen
But it's blown
My mind away.
I am so
Performance art green!
In hindsight
I should have given
Tonight a total swerve
For that display
By David
Really hit my raw nerve.
Writing your self loathing
Right across your chest
Laying bare your feelings
Was it some cuntish test?
Fucking cheers for the reminder
Of how shit my life has been
Finishing it with your hanging
I can only dream.
Sometimes I feel like dying
Other days I am alive
Ironically
It's morbid performances
Like yours
That keep me alive.
Dulwich Poet 25th June 2014
(Went to the Spoken Word London poetry night in Dalston, where one man did a piece that he told me after was 'performance art'. He spoke of his hatred of himself as he grew up, took off his t-shirt, and wrote 'cunt' all over his torso. The 'finale' was him pretending to hang himself with his belt)
Saturday 21 June 2014
"Not Watching The Game"
I'm on my way
Over the water
To the last
Tournament
Of the summer.
But for once if...
We are going to lose
It won't be a bummer
For some of the
New-veau pretty boys
Are coming down to play
Which sets my pulses racing.
Truth be told
I'll look at them more
Than worry about
The opposition we're facing!
Dulwich Poet 21st June 2014
(Jotted this down on the way to the Leyton Orient Supporters' 6-a-side tournament. We had, for once, a reasonably young side out, with some of our newer fans playing, one of whom was making his debut)
Over the water
To the last
Tournament
Of the summer.
But for once if...
We are going to lose
It won't be a bummer
For some of the
New-veau pretty boys
Are coming down to play
Which sets my pulses racing.
Truth be told
I'll look at them more
Than worry about
The opposition we're facing!
Dulwich Poet 21st June 2014
(Jotted this down on the way to the Leyton Orient Supporters' 6-a-side tournament. We had, for once, a reasonably young side out, with some of our newer fans playing, one of whom was making his debut)
Tuesday 17 June 2014
What is Poetry?"
One of the boys
In Alan Bennett's play
'The History Boys'
Was asked to define history.
" It's just one fucking thing after another"
He said.
A bit like poetry really.
Fake or not.
Dulwich Poet 17th June 2014
(The host of the Poetry Unplugged open mic night, where I read earlier, mentioned a 'spoof' website of fake poetry, so I wrote this...)
Fake Poetry
In Alan Bennett's play
'The History Boys'
Was asked to define history.
" It's just one fucking thing after another"
He said.
A bit like poetry really.
Fake or not.
Dulwich Poet 17th June 2014
(The host of the Poetry Unplugged open mic night, where I read earlier, mentioned a 'spoof' website of fake poetry, so I wrote this...)
Fake Poetry
"The N-word"
It really doesn't mean anything
It's just an old fashioned word
Jeremy Clarkson mumbling 'nigger'
Why does it give you the bird?
Well as a 'hold-my-hands-up' ex-racist
A nineteen seventies boy
I wish I was brought up better
Looking back brings no joy.
Using words like 'paki', 'wog' and 'coon'
The N-word and worse
Back then we didn't know about racism
It was just another curse.
As I grew a little older
And my balls began to drop
I woke up to that racist bollocks
And knew it had to stop.
I can't really say sorry
For the stuff we said
It was shamefully the ignorant way
Some of us white working class were bred.
So I'm not going to beg forgiveness
And mumble such crap on camera
But if I hear you using those words
I'm gonna lay one on ya.
It's not about what we said
It's about our actions now
And clarkson's half-hearted defence
Was no anti-racist vow.
He's not much older than me
So be such a fool
Just keep your fucking mouth shut
Or you'll always be a tool.
Apologists say you meant no harm
It's how it was back in time
Well if you really believe that
You're nothing more than slime.
For your saying we can't educate old folk
They can't tell right from wrong
If that 's your best defence
Your arguments not strong.
The only thing Clarkson's sorry for
Is the fact he got caught out
For he's an obnoxious racist dinosaur
Which is not that bad a shout.
And if you're one of his entourage
Who think I'm being a bit unfair
Go fuck off and vote for Farage
Because I really don't care!
Dulwich Poet 17th June 2014
(This is my response to Jeremey Clarkson being caught on film, mumbling the 'n-word' on camera, and then first denying it, then making a hlaf-hearted public apology when he realised it had been captured on film. I used such racist words when I was young, but realised they were unacceptable, nasty and wrong...he has no excuse not to do the same...)
Sunday 15 June 2014
"Write On..."
So what is poetry?
Can I write?
Well I do it for me
Even if it's shite.
Occasionally I have a mare
And totally bomb
Generally I blag through
With some aplomb.
One I read last night
I was told 'worked really well'
Which is kinda nice
But how can I tell?
I don't like repetition
Which is a bit of a curse
Having a working-class vocabulary
Sort of stifles my verse.
But at least I do my best
Speak from the heart
Which I'd rather do
Than learn to be an arty fart!
Seems like the others
Don't think this way
Based on the bits of praise
I got yesterday.
Starting to make friends
On the poetry circuit
Well, maybe just an aquaintance
Still nice when I work it.
Part of me is surprised
Because they're all so good
It's down to believing in myself
Which I really should.
Poetry's about...
Working hard and learning
Truth be told....
It's been a hidden yearning.
My biggest problem is
Reading too much in things
Just need to keep on scribbling
For the self-confidence it brings.
And most importantly
I'm a poet to keep sane
If other people like it
That's an unexpected gain.
Dulwich Poet 15th June 2014
(i got some nice 'feedback' from other poets, & even one of the headliners, at an 'open mic' yesterday. A couple a people mentioned in their 'open mic' readings what poetry meant to them. This is, sort of, my response to that)
Can I write?
Well I do it for me
Even if it's shite.
Occasionally I have a mare
And totally bomb
Generally I blag through
With some aplomb.
One I read last night
I was told 'worked really well'
Which is kinda nice
But how can I tell?
I don't like repetition
Which is a bit of a curse
Having a working-class vocabulary
Sort of stifles my verse.
But at least I do my best
Speak from the heart
Which I'd rather do
Than learn to be an arty fart!
Seems like the others
Don't think this way
Based on the bits of praise
I got yesterday.
Starting to make friends
On the poetry circuit
Well, maybe just an aquaintance
Still nice when I work it.
Part of me is surprised
Because they're all so good
It's down to believing in myself
Which I really should.
Poetry's about...
Working hard and learning
Truth be told....
It's been a hidden yearning.
My biggest problem is
Reading too much in things
Just need to keep on scribbling
For the self-confidence it brings.
And most importantly
I'm a poet to keep sane
If other people like it
That's an unexpected gain.
Dulwich Poet 15th June 2014
(i got some nice 'feedback' from other poets, & even one of the headliners, at an 'open mic' yesterday. A couple a people mentioned in their 'open mic' readings what poetry meant to them. This is, sort of, my response to that)
Saturday 14 June 2014
"Not For Me"
I can't understand the excitement
It's not the same
For me the Sky TV generation
Must take the blame.
But Then I'm a bit
Of a sporting Luddite at heart
Original football dinosaur
Boring old school fart.
The modern World Cup's
About corporate greed
And seeing how much out of a fan
They can bleed.
Cost price of a ticket
What you once paid a tout
Now you need to be a City high flyer
To have that sort of clout.
The only time you're allowed
Out of your stadium chair
Is jumping up Mexican Wave
Hands in the air.
But dare show passion
And stand on your seat
The stewards will throw you
Straight out on the street.
Long gone are the days when
World Cup football
Was for the working class man
Now it's your rugger type
City wide boys
Topping up their
Manufactured tan.
Atmosphere made up
Trumpet and drum
Join in with face paint
To look a total plum.
Dare to display passion
Scream and swear
"I say, cut that out, old chap
There's children there"
Well bollocks to that!
NOT in my name
I don't want MY football
Sanitised and tame.
I'm from the generation
Who wore football on our sleeve
This respecatable modern version
You can take it...I'll leave!
The asylum's been taken over
By corporate boys on a jolly
No place for pissed up fans
Only high spirited off their trolley.
Even though still love England
It's not my game anymore
As I pine for the terraces
You know the score.
Dulwich Poet 14th June 2014
( How the modern game has changed...)
It's not the same
For me the Sky TV generation
Must take the blame.
But Then I'm a bit
Of a sporting Luddite at heart
Original football dinosaur
Boring old school fart.
The modern World Cup's
About corporate greed
And seeing how much out of a fan
They can bleed.
Cost price of a ticket
What you once paid a tout
Now you need to be a City high flyer
To have that sort of clout.
The only time you're allowed
Out of your stadium chair
Is jumping up Mexican Wave
Hands in the air.
But dare show passion
And stand on your seat
The stewards will throw you
Straight out on the street.
Long gone are the days when
World Cup football
Was for the working class man
Now it's your rugger type
City wide boys
Topping up their
Manufactured tan.
Atmosphere made up
Trumpet and drum
Join in with face paint
To look a total plum.
Dare to display passion
Scream and swear
"I say, cut that out, old chap
There's children there"
Well bollocks to that!
NOT in my name
I don't want MY football
Sanitised and tame.
I'm from the generation
Who wore football on our sleeve
This respecatable modern version
You can take it...I'll leave!
The asylum's been taken over
By corporate boys on a jolly
No place for pissed up fans
Only high spirited off their trolley.
Even though still love England
It's not my game anymore
As I pine for the terraces
You know the score.
Dulwich Poet 14th June 2014
( How the modern game has changed...)
"The Fort is your Castle"
I've just seen a hippie
Holding 'The Fort'
Wondering if he knows the history
Is he one of the sort?
For the doors are long shut
Presmuably he squats inside
As did the old patrons
Chained up for the ride.
Although I never ventured in
I'm told it was hard core
If I ever had
I'd have been too scared for more!
Three skateboarders
Spot him from my bus
Joking about busking
And chucking a quid or two.
Oblivious to what went on inside
If only they knew!
I'm thinking chains, whips
Spanking galore
The one in the middle
Wouldn't mind showing him the score...
That's the beauty of having a dirty mind
You dream of all sorts of things
That you don't want to find...
Dulwich Poet 14th June 2014
(I was on a number one bus, going through Bermondsey, sat upstairs, on my wat to a poetry 'open mic'. We passed the boarded up 'Fort' pub in Bermondsey, and three other passengers spotted a man on the first floor balcony of that building, topless, playing a guitar, like a hippie busker. The Fort was once a bussy, gay pub, behind shutters!)
Holding 'The Fort'
Wondering if he knows the history
Is he one of the sort?
For the doors are long shut
Presmuably he squats inside
As did the old patrons
Chained up for the ride.
Although I never ventured in
I'm told it was hard core
If I ever had
I'd have been too scared for more!
Three skateboarders
Spot him from my bus
Joking about busking
And chucking a quid or two.
Oblivious to what went on inside
If only they knew!
I'm thinking chains, whips
Spanking galore
The one in the middle
Wouldn't mind showing him the score...
That's the beauty of having a dirty mind
You dream of all sorts of things
That you don't want to find...
Dulwich Poet 14th June 2014
(I was on a number one bus, going through Bermondsey, sat upstairs, on my wat to a poetry 'open mic'. We passed the boarded up 'Fort' pub in Bermondsey, and three other passengers spotted a man on the first floor balcony of that building, topless, playing a guitar, like a hippie busker. The Fort was once a bussy, gay pub, behind shutters!)
Wednesday 11 June 2014
"Copycat Sweets"
Chocolate M & Ms
To be pefectly honest
I prefer the peanut ones.
These are just a smaller
And more expensive version
Of Smarties.
You olny ended up in my basket
Because you were half price
Which mafe you ok,
But not particularly nice.
You can stay on the shelf
At two quid a throw.
If you're going to rip me off...
At least be original!
Dulwich Poet 11th June 2014
(I've just finished a large packet of these, I only bought them because they were on special offer)
To be pefectly honest
I prefer the peanut ones.
These are just a smaller
And more expensive version
Of Smarties.
You olny ended up in my basket
Because you were half price
Which mafe you ok,
But not particularly nice.
You can stay on the shelf
At two quid a throw.
If you're going to rip me off...
At least be original!
Dulwich Poet 11th June 2014
(I've just finished a large packet of these, I only bought them because they were on special offer)
"Calling a C.A.B."
Working class.
Gay. Alcoholic.
Probably neurotic.
If I knew what
The word meant.
What I do know
Is that my entire life
Has been a total mess
Not that it's hard to guess
(But only if you read my poetry)
Which is why
I am sat in a chair
Scared of what
Comes next
In the Catford branch
Of the Citizens Advice Bureau.
Pretending at work
Because I don't
Want to look a berk
That it's yet another
Hospital appointment.
Time to face up to reality
After a lifetime of hiding
Frightened of even the
Most gentle chiding.
Need to get my life on track
NOTE no use of
The word 'back'.
For that's the tale
Of total fail.
Time to change
My entire life
From one of
A pitiful existence
Just plodding along
Feeling as if
I'm a total mong
To one of an ordinary bloke
Who can achieve
A modicum of contentedness
Before I leave this planet
For good.
Dulwich Poet 11th June 2014
(Just some thoughts about my shit life, as I sit in the waiting room for an appointment at the Citizens Advice bureau, looking for help in facing up to my various debts)
Gay. Alcoholic.
Probably neurotic.
If I knew what
The word meant.
What I do know
Is that my entire life
Has been a total mess
Not that it's hard to guess
(But only if you read my poetry)
Which is why
I am sat in a chair
Scared of what
Comes next
In the Catford branch
Of the Citizens Advice Bureau.
Pretending at work
Because I don't
Want to look a berk
That it's yet another
Hospital appointment.
Time to face up to reality
After a lifetime of hiding
Frightened of even the
Most gentle chiding.
Need to get my life on track
NOTE no use of
The word 'back'.
For that's the tale
Of total fail.
Time to change
My entire life
From one of
A pitiful existence
Just plodding along
Feeling as if
I'm a total mong
To one of an ordinary bloke
Who can achieve
A modicum of contentedness
Before I leave this planet
For good.
Dulwich Poet 11th June 2014
(Just some thoughts about my shit life, as I sit in the waiting room for an appointment at the Citizens Advice bureau, looking for help in facing up to my various debts)
Tuesday 10 June 2014
"Being Nancy"
Set in the late Seventies
He was a local boy.
Reading his fictional tale
Gave me so much joy.
That feely good factor
And inner glow
That only those who are gay
Will ever know.
I discovered the book
On a charity shop shelf
Which is just as well
As I'm not a man of wealth.
How I wish I'd been that brave
But I was never as confident
As that character Dave.
From distant recall
The few I 'fumbled with'
Grew up 'totally straight'
And we always talked of girls
Frightened of everyone's hate.
Ironically one of those
With who I never did play
Found out decades later
Was totally gay!
Reading the trials and tribulations
I could hardly wait
Itching to turn the next page
To discover his fate.
Set in East Dulwich
I recognised loads of places
Even though they were made up
In lots of cases.
My teens were messed up
Brainwashed guilty of sin
This book cleansed my soul
So happy for the boy within!
Dulwich Poet 10th June 2014
(In Edinburgh last Friday I bought a book called 'Becoming Nancy' by Terry Ronald, published in 2011. It was about a gay teenager, set in '1970s working class East Dulwich', which is where I grew up! I read it cover to cover yesterday, on the coach journey back to London, and loved it!)
He was a local boy.
Reading his fictional tale
Gave me so much joy.
That feely good factor
And inner glow
That only those who are gay
Will ever know.
I discovered the book
On a charity shop shelf
Which is just as well
As I'm not a man of wealth.
How I wish I'd been that brave
But I was never as confident
As that character Dave.
From distant recall
The few I 'fumbled with'
Grew up 'totally straight'
And we always talked of girls
Frightened of everyone's hate.
Ironically one of those
With who I never did play
Found out decades later
Was totally gay!
Reading the trials and tribulations
I could hardly wait
Itching to turn the next page
To discover his fate.
Set in East Dulwich
I recognised loads of places
Even though they were made up
In lots of cases.
My teens were messed up
Brainwashed guilty of sin
This book cleansed my soul
So happy for the boy within!
Dulwich Poet 10th June 2014
(In Edinburgh last Friday I bought a book called 'Becoming Nancy' by Terry Ronald, published in 2011. It was about a gay teenager, set in '1970s working class East Dulwich', which is where I grew up! I read it cover to cover yesterday, on the coach journey back to London, and loved it!)
"Papers"
As if I haven't got
Enough crap in my life
Without getting a train
Just before rush-hour
With my eyes darting
Senses ducking and diving
Desperate to hunt down
A third or fourth hand copy
Of this morning's 'Metro'.
It's not as if
I've got nothing to read
Or have a particularly
Desperate need
For their dumbed down precis
Of all that occured yesterday.
I've looked at Facebook already
And know that
The Young One
Isn't going to get old
And that he was
A mere
Nine years younger
Than me!
Now I have that feeling
That my own end is near
That hunt for
An old newspaper
Doesn't feel so
Important after all.
Dulwich Poet 10th June 2014
(I always try to find a discarded copy of the free morning paper the 'Metro' if I haven't got a 'clean' one in the morning. Today the main news story was the death of comedian Rik Mayall, who was only 56.)
Enough crap in my life
Without getting a train
Just before rush-hour
With my eyes darting
Senses ducking and diving
Desperate to hunt down
A third or fourth hand copy
Of this morning's 'Metro'.
It's not as if
I've got nothing to read
Or have a particularly
Desperate need
For their dumbed down precis
Of all that occured yesterday.
I've looked at Facebook already
And know that
The Young One
Isn't going to get old
And that he was
A mere
Nine years younger
Than me!
Now I have that feeling
That my own end is near
That hunt for
An old newspaper
Doesn't feel so
Important after all.
Dulwich Poet 10th June 2014
(I always try to find a discarded copy of the free morning paper the 'Metro' if I haven't got a 'clean' one in the morning. Today the main news story was the death of comedian Rik Mayall, who was only 56.)
"Killing Time"
Waiting at a bus stop
Reading poetry
To kill time...
When a thought
Comes into my head.
Dive into my bag
For pen and paper
Before my rhyme
Goes stone dead.
Such concentration
That...
As I look up
Oh fuck!
There goes the bastard bus
I was waiting for.
Back to square one-
Waiting at the bus stop
Reading poetry.
Dulwich Poet 10th June 2014
( I wasn't paying attention as a bus pulled up at the bus stop earlier, the one I was waiting for. I had a line in my head for a poem I haven't even written yet...)
Reading poetry
To kill time...
When a thought
Comes into my head.
Dive into my bag
For pen and paper
Before my rhyme
Goes stone dead.
Such concentration
That...
As I look up
Oh fuck!
There goes the bastard bus
I was waiting for.
Back to square one-
Waiting at the bus stop
Reading poetry.
Dulwich Poet 10th June 2014
( I wasn't paying attention as a bus pulled up at the bus stop earlier, the one I was waiting for. I had a line in my head for a poem I haven't even written yet...)
Monday 9 June 2014
"What Might Have Been"
Sometimes I wish
I'd taken another path
It's not as if the one I've followed
Has been a bundle of laughs.
Always too scared of
What others thought
Frightened of what I wanted to be
Which is how I've ended up
As the nobody you see.
On the plus side
I no longer drink, never done drugs
Though don't get me wrong
I'm not saying that's for mugs.
In Hamburg I caught a glimpse
Of a community living alone
And although I'll never make that jump
Spiritually I've grown.
At first glance...
It's a haven for tramps
But you couldn't be more wrong
About these caravan camps.
I was a stranger from football
Shown around inside
I felt humbled and honoured
With a fair bit of pride.
Wash away the grime
And you find hearts of gold
Caring and compassionate
Not hard and cold.
What future I have is set
The die has been cast
Same old humdrum existence
I'm going nowhere fast.
Staying put til my last breath
Nowhere to roam
But for a few hours in Germany
I was an outsider
Whose spirit was home.
Dulwich Poet 9th June 2014
(On Saturday 31st May I was invited to a football friend's home, which was an old wooden caravan/shack on a punk/drop-out commune, set away from the street, where he has lived for over twenty years. It was an amazing place, and I envied his conviction to live his life that way...)
I'd taken another path
It's not as if the one I've followed
Has been a bundle of laughs.
Always too scared of
What others thought
Frightened of what I wanted to be
Which is how I've ended up
As the nobody you see.
On the plus side
I no longer drink, never done drugs
Though don't get me wrong
I'm not saying that's for mugs.
In Hamburg I caught a glimpse
Of a community living alone
And although I'll never make that jump
Spiritually I've grown.
At first glance...
It's a haven for tramps
But you couldn't be more wrong
About these caravan camps.
I was a stranger from football
Shown around inside
I felt humbled and honoured
With a fair bit of pride.
Wash away the grime
And you find hearts of gold
Caring and compassionate
Not hard and cold.
What future I have is set
The die has been cast
Same old humdrum existence
I'm going nowhere fast.
Staying put til my last breath
Nowhere to roam
But for a few hours in Germany
I was an outsider
Whose spirit was home.
Dulwich Poet 9th June 2014
(On Saturday 31st May I was invited to a football friend's home, which was an old wooden caravan/shack on a punk/drop-out commune, set away from the street, where he has lived for over twenty years. It was an amazing place, and I envied his conviction to live his life that way...)
"Rubbish Karma"
Such a simple request
'Could I get on your bus?
My ticket's for the half ten.."
Wasn't making a fuss.
His bus was almost empty
It wouldn't have hurt a soul
But no, he was a Jock jobsworth
Leaving me at the bus station hole.
Instead I tramped the streets
An hour to kill
The Co-Op ended up the beneficiary
As I spent at their till.
Now although I was polite
And took it on the chin
I've got to confess
I was seething within.
It would have cost nothing
For that driver to be nice
Time for 'corporate revenge'
I didn't think twice.
My bus back to Edinburgh
Was going to be a mess
A ton of rubbish under my seat
A bit childish I confess.
Empty Pepsi cans
Squashed so they don't roll
Add empty packets and papers
And I've achieved my goal.
A 'statement' made
Against a 'corporate decision'
One you might condemn
With snorts of derision
For the fact of the matter was
Though the driver was right
Doing as he was instructed
By the big company might
It's not as if I could send
A snotty complaining letter
So I used the 'make a mess' alternative
To make me feel better!
Dulwich Poet 9th June 2014
(On Saturday night I had a pre-booked non-transferable cheap ticket for the 10.30pm bus from Glasgow to Edinburgh. I was there just over an hour early, but the driver of the almost empty half nine service wouldn't 'bend the rules' and let me on. I was winding myself a little, so got my 'revenge' by dropping lots of litter on the service I took, to 'get my own back' and calm myself down. It punished nobody, made a bit more work for the cleaners, and didn't affect the drivers, but it calmed me down, so in that sense my 'protest' worked!)
'Could I get on your bus?
My ticket's for the half ten.."
Wasn't making a fuss.
His bus was almost empty
It wouldn't have hurt a soul
But no, he was a Jock jobsworth
Leaving me at the bus station hole.
Instead I tramped the streets
An hour to kill
The Co-Op ended up the beneficiary
As I spent at their till.
Now although I was polite
And took it on the chin
I've got to confess
I was seething within.
It would have cost nothing
For that driver to be nice
Time for 'corporate revenge'
I didn't think twice.
My bus back to Edinburgh
Was going to be a mess
A ton of rubbish under my seat
A bit childish I confess.
Empty Pepsi cans
Squashed so they don't roll
Add empty packets and papers
And I've achieved my goal.
A 'statement' made
Against a 'corporate decision'
One you might condemn
With snorts of derision
For the fact of the matter was
Though the driver was right
Doing as he was instructed
By the big company might
It's not as if I could send
A snotty complaining letter
So I used the 'make a mess' alternative
To make me feel better!
Dulwich Poet 9th June 2014
(On Saturday night I had a pre-booked non-transferable cheap ticket for the 10.30pm bus from Glasgow to Edinburgh. I was there just over an hour early, but the driver of the almost empty half nine service wouldn't 'bend the rules' and let me on. I was winding myself a little, so got my 'revenge' by dropping lots of litter on the service I took, to 'get my own back' and calm myself down. It punished nobody, made a bit more work for the cleaners, and didn't affect the drivers, but it calmed me down, so in that sense my 'protest' worked!)
Tuesday 3 June 2014
"Luton"
It seems such
A long time ago now
Half of Sarf Lunnon
On tour
And more...
To Luton
For the FA Cup
Quarter Final.
A.C.A.B...us ans them
Seats, bricks, planks of wood
Attacking the Old Bill
With anything we could.
Surging over the pitch
Wave after wave
Boys in Blue
Not so brave.
Over thirty years on
I'm not ashamed
Just another day at the office
For which the Lions are famed.
That night for me
Was just having a laugh
But it could have been more serious
Down another path.
Dulwich Hamlet kept me
On the straight and narrow
Going to places like
Hendon and Harrow.
If I'd gone down Millwall
I'd have been in jail
A life of being remanded
Or released on bail.
For I bumped into
An old schoolmate
Back on THAT night
And as we went on the rampage
He thought I did alright.
Not long after
He gave me a bell
If I hadn't been Hamlet
I'd have ended up in a cell.
Many years later
I saw him again
Long time 'retired'
From the hooligans' Den
We sat down for a chat
And he told me his tale
Of how following Millwall
Had indeed ended in jail.
You might be wondering
Why I'm recalling it today...
For no other reason
I flew into Luton Parkway.
Despite what I've just told you
I got such a buzz
With Kenilworth Road
One of the highs of my life
If honest truth be told.
The past is the past
No time to regret
I must look forward
Life's die is set.
Who knows how long's left
One year or twenty?
Whatever my destiny
I hope I achieve plenty.
I must start believing
In myself as a person
Before I reach
My final curtain.
I hope it's not bigheaded
To believe Altona
Think I'm a nice chap
Now I just have to convince myself
And stop looking back.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(I wrote this on the train back from Luton Parkway station, to London; having had a weekend in Hamburg, culminating in watching the Altona 93 fans tournament on the Saturday. I did not know where my thoughts were going, but it's about the 'infamous' Millwall FA Cup rampage at Luton, in 1985, when I was 19...)
A long time ago now
Half of Sarf Lunnon
On tour
And more...
To Luton
For the FA Cup
Quarter Final.
A.C.A.B...us ans them
Seats, bricks, planks of wood
Attacking the Old Bill
With anything we could.
Surging over the pitch
Wave after wave
Boys in Blue
Not so brave.
Over thirty years on
I'm not ashamed
Just another day at the office
For which the Lions are famed.
That night for me
Was just having a laugh
But it could have been more serious
Down another path.
Dulwich Hamlet kept me
On the straight and narrow
Going to places like
Hendon and Harrow.
If I'd gone down Millwall
I'd have been in jail
A life of being remanded
Or released on bail.
For I bumped into
An old schoolmate
Back on THAT night
And as we went on the rampage
He thought I did alright.
Not long after
He gave me a bell
If I hadn't been Hamlet
I'd have ended up in a cell.
Many years later
I saw him again
Long time 'retired'
From the hooligans' Den
We sat down for a chat
And he told me his tale
Of how following Millwall
Had indeed ended in jail.
You might be wondering
Why I'm recalling it today...
For no other reason
I flew into Luton Parkway.
Despite what I've just told you
I got such a buzz
With Kenilworth Road
One of the highs of my life
If honest truth be told.
The past is the past
No time to regret
I must look forward
Life's die is set.
Who knows how long's left
One year or twenty?
Whatever my destiny
I hope I achieve plenty.
I must start believing
In myself as a person
Before I reach
My final curtain.
I hope it's not bigheaded
To believe Altona
Think I'm a nice chap
Now I just have to convince myself
And stop looking back.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(I wrote this on the train back from Luton Parkway station, to London; having had a weekend in Hamburg, culminating in watching the Altona 93 fans tournament on the Saturday. I did not know where my thoughts were going, but it's about the 'infamous' Millwall FA Cup rampage at Luton, in 1985, when I was 19...)
"Crying"
I had spent
Several hours
Wandering
Sombrely and soberly
Round the grounds
Of Neugamme Concentration Camp
On the outskirts
Of Hamburg.
Sat all alone
In a small room
Which they called a kino
But it was just a room
Where I sat watching
A nineteen minute clip.
Nothing horrific
But...when they showed
Footage of survivors
Decades later
At a Memorial Service
Out of nowhere
I burst into tears!
Why?
And I don't just mean
My waterworks...
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(On Monday 2nd June I spent over four hours looking around the memorial. I have been to similar places, and have never been affected like this...I have no idea why it got 'too much' for me, or whatever you might use to decribe it...)
Several hours
Wandering
Sombrely and soberly
Round the grounds
Of Neugamme Concentration Camp
On the outskirts
Of Hamburg.
Sat all alone
In a small room
Which they called a kino
But it was just a room
Where I sat watching
A nineteen minute clip.
Nothing horrific
But...when they showed
Footage of survivors
Decades later
At a Memorial Service
Out of nowhere
I burst into tears!
Why?
And I don't just mean
My waterworks...
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(On Monday 2nd June I spent over four hours looking around the memorial. I have been to similar places, and have never been affected like this...I have no idea why it got 'too much' for me, or whatever you might use to decribe it...)
"Aeroplanes"
They lull you
Into a false sense
Of security.
On the way out
No worse than
A train ride
A little bumpy
Over the points
Without the clunk.
Homeward bound
Not a sound
Until...
Prepare for landing!
Almost at Luton
Which is when
The flight
Becomes as shit
As our destination.
This is the reason
I don't go
On fairground rides.
I'm a coward at heart
The slightest turbulence
Makes me grip
The side of my seat
So it's somewhat
Embarrassing
That as the other
Passengers
Let out a collective
"Ooh!"
I'm just glad
That back at the terminal
I'd had a poo,
Only proverbially screaming
"FUCK!"
And involuntarily
Grabbing the arm
Of the understanding
And laughing
Young German man
Sat next to me.
As he gently
Rubbed my arm
Telling me everything
Was going to be ok.
I don't think
His girlfriend
By the window
Was quite as
Sympathetic.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(I don't really like flying, but hide it quite well. Then we hit some rough turbulence coming in to land, at Luton Airport...)
Into a false sense
Of security.
On the way out
No worse than
A train ride
A little bumpy
Over the points
Without the clunk.
Homeward bound
Not a sound
Until...
Prepare for landing!
Almost at Luton
Which is when
The flight
Becomes as shit
As our destination.
This is the reason
I don't go
On fairground rides.
I'm a coward at heart
The slightest turbulence
Makes me grip
The side of my seat
So it's somewhat
Embarrassing
That as the other
Passengers
Let out a collective
"Ooh!"
I'm just glad
That back at the terminal
I'd had a poo,
Only proverbially screaming
"FUCK!"
And involuntarily
Grabbing the arm
Of the understanding
And laughing
Young German man
Sat next to me.
As he gently
Rubbed my arm
Telling me everything
Was going to be ok.
I don't think
His girlfriend
By the window
Was quite as
Sympathetic.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(I don't really like flying, but hide it quite well. Then we hit some rough turbulence coming in to land, at Luton Airport...)
"MoJo"
I've no idea what it means
But I've got it back
My poetry output
For the last two months
Was cack.
Maybe it's like
A marathon runner
When you hit
The wall
You know what you
Want to do
But there's nothing
At all.
Now I'm thousands of feet
Up in the sky
And the words are
Tumbling out
Without having to try.
When I've previously
Failed to write
Pressure built up
In my head
Panic attacks
Not this time
My worries
Put to bed.
Which means...
I've probably accepted
I'm a poet at heart
Even if what I jot down's
Neither frequent
Clever or smart.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(In April and May I've hardly written anthing at all. But sitting on a plane home from Hamburg words are tumbling out of the tip of my pen)
But I've got it back
My poetry output
For the last two months
Was cack.
Maybe it's like
A marathon runner
When you hit
The wall
You know what you
Want to do
But there's nothing
At all.
Now I'm thousands of feet
Up in the sky
And the words are
Tumbling out
Without having to try.
When I've previously
Failed to write
Pressure built up
In my head
Panic attacks
Not this time
My worries
Put to bed.
Which means...
I've probably accepted
I'm a poet at heart
Even if what I jot down's
Neither frequent
Clever or smart.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(In April and May I've hardly written anthing at all. But sitting on a plane home from Hamburg words are tumbling out of the tip of my pen)
"Rich Expectations"
When money's short
And money's tight
Air travel's not a privilege
It should be a right.
So I salute Stelios Easyjet
And even Ryanair
For allowing me to fly
At a reasonable fare.
I wish the moaning middle classes
Would shut their gob
If you get from A to B
They've done their job.
It's not as if you can't afford
To 'upgrade' to B.A.
You're only on my flight
Cos you're too tight to pay.
It's just like a rush hour service
When you take the train
Except you're guaranteed a seat
So don't be a pain.
The flight's knockdown cheap
So your sandwich comes at a price
Don't blame the trolly dolly
How about try to be nice?
We're only in the air
For an hour & a half
Are you really that hungry
You're having a laugh!
Maybe the airport price
Was too much for you
If McDonalds was too downmarket
Sit there and stew.
I really should speak my mind
And give them a volley
But I don't want to create a scene
For the girl with the trolley.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(Once again, while on Easyjet, passengers, who can clearly afford to pay, moaning about the cost of an in-flight sandwich!)
And money's tight
Air travel's not a privilege
It should be a right.
So I salute Stelios Easyjet
And even Ryanair
For allowing me to fly
At a reasonable fare.
I wish the moaning middle classes
Would shut their gob
If you get from A to B
They've done their job.
It's not as if you can't afford
To 'upgrade' to B.A.
You're only on my flight
Cos you're too tight to pay.
It's just like a rush hour service
When you take the train
Except you're guaranteed a seat
So don't be a pain.
The flight's knockdown cheap
So your sandwich comes at a price
Don't blame the trolly dolly
How about try to be nice?
We're only in the air
For an hour & a half
Are you really that hungry
You're having a laugh!
Maybe the airport price
Was too much for you
If McDonalds was too downmarket
Sit there and stew.
I really should speak my mind
And give them a volley
But I don't want to create a scene
For the girl with the trolley.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(Once again, while on Easyjet, passengers, who can clearly afford to pay, moaning about the cost of an in-flight sandwich!)
"Hidden World"
Behind these gates
There's a hidden life
Escaping the worries
And a world of strife.
An entire community
Of dropouts and punks
With their drug addictions
And a number of drunks.
Despite the squalour
I was enchanted by this
Which I genuinely mean
Not taking the piss.
Never mind what you see
Look under the skin
It's not the grime on the outside
But warmth of heart within.
Away from prying eyes
Who are we to judge?
Their choice of lifestyle
I cannot begrudge.
For part of me says
If I had my life again
I'd learn from my mistakes
And be one of them.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(After the Altona fans tournament on Saturday 31st May, one of their punk fans invited me to visit his caravan, which was part of a 'punk/dropout commune. It seemed to a place that 'ordinary outsiders' like me don't usually get to see, and it felt like a privilege to be asked. Despite it being different to anything I've ever seen before in my life, I felt an attraction to the place.)
There's a hidden life
Escaping the worries
And a world of strife.
An entire community
Of dropouts and punks
With their drug addictions
And a number of drunks.
Despite the squalour
I was enchanted by this
Which I genuinely mean
Not taking the piss.
Never mind what you see
Look under the skin
It's not the grime on the outside
But warmth of heart within.
Away from prying eyes
Who are we to judge?
Their choice of lifestyle
I cannot begrudge.
For part of me says
If I had my life again
I'd learn from my mistakes
And be one of them.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(After the Altona fans tournament on Saturday 31st May, one of their punk fans invited me to visit his caravan, which was part of a 'punk/dropout commune. It seemed to a place that 'ordinary outsiders' like me don't usually get to see, and it felt like a privilege to be asked. Despite it being different to anything I've ever seen before in my life, I felt an attraction to the place.)
"Glory Boys"
"Fussball Gegen Homophobie"
What does it mean?
I think it allows me...
To watch Malti preen!
He's drunk on the dancefloor
Off comes his top
Keep on moving, son
Don't you dare stop!
Yes, I know you're straight
And I'm far too old
But in my fantasy
You're the one I want to hold.
Instead I go downmarket
For my Hamburg fun
Just the seedy Reeperbahn
All said and done.
Anonymous cock
Through a glory hole
At least in my head
Malti's playing that role.
Seedy fantasy sex
Better than a solitary wank
For my dirty thoughts
I've got an Altona boy to thank!
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
( I have a bit of a crush on an Altona fan, and when I was both giving head, and getting a blow job, in a gay 'cinema' on the Reeperbahn...I was thinking of him! )
What does it mean?
I think it allows me...
To watch Malti preen!
He's drunk on the dancefloor
Off comes his top
Keep on moving, son
Don't you dare stop!
Yes, I know you're straight
And I'm far too old
But in my fantasy
You're the one I want to hold.
Instead I go downmarket
For my Hamburg fun
Just the seedy Reeperbahn
All said and done.
Anonymous cock
Through a glory hole
At least in my head
Malti's playing that role.
Seedy fantasy sex
Better than a solitary wank
For my dirty thoughts
I've got an Altona boy to thank!
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
( I have a bit of a crush on an Altona fan, and when I was both giving head, and getting a blow job, in a gay 'cinema' on the Reeperbahn...I was thinking of him! )
"Boarding Pass Farce"
Easyjet boarding
You get your own seat
How fucking difficult is it
To achieve that feat?
There's only thirty rows
On the entire plane
Seats from A to F
Driving me insane!
Haven't seen musical chairs
Since I was at school
Perhaps I should make allowances for idiots
Rather than thoughts that are cruel.
Ready to leave
All sat down
Time to dispense of
My judgemental crown.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(On an Easyjet flight about to leave for Luton, from Hamburg. You can pay extra to choose your seat, the rest are allocated one. In the past all seats were unallocated & it was a 'free-for-all'. Problem is people aren't looking properly at their tickets, and are sitting in the wrong seat in the right row, or the right seat in the wrong row!)
You get your own seat
How fucking difficult is it
To achieve that feat?
There's only thirty rows
On the entire plane
Seats from A to F
Driving me insane!
Haven't seen musical chairs
Since I was at school
Perhaps I should make allowances for idiots
Rather than thoughts that are cruel.
Ready to leave
All sat down
Time to dispense of
My judgemental crown.
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
(On an Easyjet flight about to leave for Luton, from Hamburg. You can pay extra to choose your seat, the rest are allocated one. In the past all seats were unallocated & it was a 'free-for-all'. Problem is people aren't looking properly at their tickets, and are sitting in the wrong seat in the right row, or the right seat in the wrong row!)
"Great Day"
Not sure how it translates
The 'Cup der Angst'
But to my Altona friends
I owe my thanks.
To use an old cliché
The welcome was 'Wunderbar'
I really am glad
I travelled so far.
My 'main course' cancelled
No Hamburg Cup glory
Typical football
A heartbreak story.
Saturday came round
Baking in the sun
A unique competition
Superbly run.
Rules out of the window
Girls against boys
Even some pyro
With plenty of noise.
And for the first time in my life
I saw two keepers in one shirt
It was all about fun
Nobody getting hurt.
All over the Adolf Jager Kampfbahn
Left wing flags galore
Made me feel so emotional
Desperate to come back for more.
Language was no barrier
I could feel the love
Truth is we're all the same
When push comes to a shove.
The welcome was warm
The sausages were great
What's there not to like
For next year I can't wait!
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
( I was in Hamburg, and on Saturday 31st May was made extremely welcome by all of my friends from Altona 93, when I watched their supporters tournament at their main stadium)
The 'Cup der Angst'
But to my Altona friends
I owe my thanks.
To use an old cliché
The welcome was 'Wunderbar'
I really am glad
I travelled so far.
My 'main course' cancelled
No Hamburg Cup glory
Typical football
A heartbreak story.
Saturday came round
Baking in the sun
A unique competition
Superbly run.
Rules out of the window
Girls against boys
Even some pyro
With plenty of noise.
And for the first time in my life
I saw two keepers in one shirt
It was all about fun
Nobody getting hurt.
All over the Adolf Jager Kampfbahn
Left wing flags galore
Made me feel so emotional
Desperate to come back for more.
Language was no barrier
I could feel the love
Truth is we're all the same
When push comes to a shove.
The welcome was warm
The sausages were great
What's there not to like
For next year I can't wait!
Dulwich Poet 3rd June 2014
( I was in Hamburg, and on Saturday 31st May was made extremely welcome by all of my friends from Altona 93, when I watched their supporters tournament at their main stadium)
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