Oh for the good old days of Bonfire Night
Now it's all about Halloween
Where your old school sparklers and bangers
Are nowhere to be seen.
It was always such a good earner
Penny for the Guy
That's what we spent on sweets
Not rockets to the sky.
Now the kids go begging
Knocking on your door
Not content with a sweet
They want even more.
Please stop me if I'm wrong
Though I don't care in the least
Wouldn't Halloween have been perfect
For Jimmy Savile the beast?
Now then, now then kiddies
Do you want a sweet
Why don't you come step inside
And see what I've got you for a treat?
It was the demise of Woolworths
I blame for 'trick or treat'
No more nicking stuff at 'Pick & Mix'
For your free sweeties treat.
Along came good old health & safety
It was too dangerous to have some fun
No more bangers in a letterbox
The do-gooders had won.
As for building your own bonfire
Ripping down your neighbours fence at night
Throwing petrol on the blaze having loads of fun
Even though not strictly right.
Putting rockets in milk bottles
Hoping they flew up in the air
Messing about with sparklers
Singeing your mates' hair.
Do-it-yourself baked potatoes
Silver foiled in the fire
Choking on the black smoke
From a burning tyre.
All of that a thing of the past
Thanks to Halloween
Identikit plastic Poundland tat
Is all that can be seen.
It sneaked in across the Atlantic
This foreign Halloween beast
UKIP weren't paying attention
Their eyes all focussed east.
So we're stuck with the tame Council display
Where many are forced to charge
You won't find me parting with a penny
Unless they're burning an effigy of Farage.
Dulwich Poet 31st October 2014
(I wrote this about the rise of Halloween, and the demise of Bonfire Night)
Friday 31 October 2014
Thursday 30 October 2014
"London Bound"
I realise it's not the greatest airport
But there's fuck all else to do
But what is so wrong with people
That they have to form a queue?
First of all it's priority boarding
Who pay just to get on the plane
Maybe they jostled in the idiots queue
And simply thought never again.
I don't know why I'm getting wound up
I'm here because of the cheap price
Maybe I should ignore the lemmings in line
It's just a budget airline vice.
Though there is a perk to this flying
Even if I haven't paid much
The delightful 'eye candy'
Worth a look if I can't touch.
Not too keen on the 'Trolley Dolly'
But then girls are not my type
Just look at that Ryanair cabin boy
What's there not to like?
It almost makes me forgive them
For departing half an hour late
Something to do with ice on the wings
He makes it worth the wait.
He's young enough to be my son
I know I'm far too old
If I were twenty odd years younger
Maybe I'd dare to be bold.
As it is I'll fall asleep
Dreaming of him in a jiffy
The bonus of getting on in years
Is I won't wake up with a stiffy!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2014
(I wrote this on the plane home from Brno, in the Czech Republic...)
But there's fuck all else to do
But what is so wrong with people
That they have to form a queue?
First of all it's priority boarding
Who pay just to get on the plane
Maybe they jostled in the idiots queue
And simply thought never again.
I don't know why I'm getting wound up
I'm here because of the cheap price
Maybe I should ignore the lemmings in line
It's just a budget airline vice.
Though there is a perk to this flying
Even if I haven't paid much
The delightful 'eye candy'
Worth a look if I can't touch.
Not too keen on the 'Trolley Dolly'
But then girls are not my type
Just look at that Ryanair cabin boy
What's there not to like?
It almost makes me forgive them
For departing half an hour late
Something to do with ice on the wings
He makes it worth the wait.
He's young enough to be my son
I know I'm far too old
If I were twenty odd years younger
Maybe I'd dare to be bold.
As it is I'll fall asleep
Dreaming of him in a jiffy
The bonus of getting on in years
Is I won't wake up with a stiffy!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2014
(I wrote this on the plane home from Brno, in the Czech Republic...)
"Yesterdays News"
I had to take a second glance
At the bloke across the way
for he's sitting on my tube train
Reading the 'News of the World' today.
I'm wondering if I'm back on the booze
Surely I must be pissed
For it's been at least three years now
Since that rag did exist.
No, I've not gone crazy
I'm lucid and alive
Unlike the man with his paper
For it's from nineteen ninety five!
Maybe he's been in prison
Just got out of jail
I don't really want to ask him
In case I don't like the tale.
For he's wearing corduroy trousers
Which indicates a nonce
And he's got a Bobby Charlton comb-over
Across his balding bonce.
It was browning at the corners
But he'd kept it well in his cell
The headline said Tarrant was on the telly
Esther Rantzen as well.
Tarrant is still with us
It's the paper that's brown bread
Wish I could say the same of Esther
It's just her career that's dead.
I only caught a glimpse
I have no idea what was over the page
Maybe it was one of those big titty birds
That were all the rage.
All those years he was probably banged up
It was all he had to look at inside
Not counting when he dropped the soap in the shower
The closest he got to a ride.
Why was he really reading that paper
Truth is I haven't got a clue
Maybe I should have asked him
Which would have been the thing to do.
But I can't break the rules of London
NEVER speak to a stranger on a train
Which is why my mind was in overdrive
And this poem was so insane!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2014
(A few months ago I was sat on a train and the bloke opposite was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual in that...but it was a copy of the 'News of the World', which folded three years ago!)
At the bloke across the way
for he's sitting on my tube train
Reading the 'News of the World' today.
I'm wondering if I'm back on the booze
Surely I must be pissed
For it's been at least three years now
Since that rag did exist.
No, I've not gone crazy
I'm lucid and alive
Unlike the man with his paper
For it's from nineteen ninety five!
Maybe he's been in prison
Just got out of jail
I don't really want to ask him
In case I don't like the tale.
For he's wearing corduroy trousers
Which indicates a nonce
And he's got a Bobby Charlton comb-over
Across his balding bonce.
It was browning at the corners
But he'd kept it well in his cell
The headline said Tarrant was on the telly
Esther Rantzen as well.
Tarrant is still with us
It's the paper that's brown bread
Wish I could say the same of Esther
It's just her career that's dead.
I only caught a glimpse
I have no idea what was over the page
Maybe it was one of those big titty birds
That were all the rage.
All those years he was probably banged up
It was all he had to look at inside
Not counting when he dropped the soap in the shower
The closest he got to a ride.
Why was he really reading that paper
Truth is I haven't got a clue
Maybe I should have asked him
Which would have been the thing to do.
But I can't break the rules of London
NEVER speak to a stranger on a train
Which is why my mind was in overdrive
And this poem was so insane!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2014
(A few months ago I was sat on a train and the bloke opposite was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual in that...but it was a copy of the 'News of the World', which folded three years ago!)
Tuesday 28 October 2014
"Who Are Ya?"
I'm at a Czech non-league game
It cost just over a pound
Despite the fact it's so cheap
There's dozens outside the ground.
Even more than stood on 'Jews Hill'
Back at the old Millwall 'Den'
Apologies for being un-P.C.
It's just a term we used back then.
It's a Tuesday Bank Holiday morning
October sun breaking through the mist
Beers drunk by local in the ground
Another tick to my list.
Truth is the gam'es not a cracker
More keen endeavour than skill
But it's still a delight being a 'hopper' abroad
Able to sit on open benches and chill.
I'm not one for 'rules and regulations'
But I hate it if there's no score
Not for what you're thinking
I don't follow groundhopping 'law'.
It's just I don't speak the lingo
Haven't a scooby what's being said
A goal will tell me if it's the home team
Playing in the green or the red.
Seven minutes before half time
The ref points to the spot
A red man slams it into the net
The cheers tell me a lot.
Home team one up on the scoreboard
I now know which team is which
TJ Tatran Bohunice are beating Bzenec
Foreign groundhopping can be such a bitch!
Dulwich Poet 28th October 2014
(This was the first of two Bank Holiday non-league games in the Brno area, on my Czech trip. It's about wanting someone to score, so I can work out which team which, and the 'half groundhopping urban myth' that you can't count a nil-nil match as a 'tick'!)
It cost just over a pound
Despite the fact it's so cheap
There's dozens outside the ground.
Even more than stood on 'Jews Hill'
Back at the old Millwall 'Den'
Apologies for being un-P.C.
It's just a term we used back then.
It's a Tuesday Bank Holiday morning
October sun breaking through the mist
Beers drunk by local in the ground
Another tick to my list.
Truth is the gam'es not a cracker
More keen endeavour than skill
But it's still a delight being a 'hopper' abroad
Able to sit on open benches and chill.
I'm not one for 'rules and regulations'
But I hate it if there's no score
Not for what you're thinking
I don't follow groundhopping 'law'.
It's just I don't speak the lingo
Haven't a scooby what's being said
A goal will tell me if it's the home team
Playing in the green or the red.
Seven minutes before half time
The ref points to the spot
A red man slams it into the net
The cheers tell me a lot.
Home team one up on the scoreboard
I now know which team is which
TJ Tatran Bohunice are beating Bzenec
Foreign groundhopping can be such a bitch!
Dulwich Poet 28th October 2014
(This was the first of two Bank Holiday non-league games in the Brno area, on my Czech trip. It's about wanting someone to score, so I can work out which team which, and the 'half groundhopping urban myth' that you can't count a nil-nil match as a 'tick'!)
Monday 27 October 2014
"Far Too Hot"
The heating's on full blast
This train is really hot
Just like the bloke sat opposite me
He's everything those drunks were not.
I wish I could whip out my camera
To capture his image for evermore
He's soon to be a figment of my imagination
When he's hops off the train door.
I'm desperate to lean over
And run my fingers through his hair
Thankfully he's nodding off
And not spooked by my stare!
The great thing about doing a sneaky verse
Is he can't read what's in my head
Nor can he see what I'm scribbling on paper
As he heads off home to bed.
And when I reach mine in my hostel
He'll be the cause of a sneaky shuffle
But I'll have to do it really quietly
In case I cause a kerfuffle!
Dulwich Poet 27th October 2014
( I was on a train from Trebic to Brno, and after three drunks got off a very good looking young man sat opposite me...)
This train is really hot
Just like the bloke sat opposite me
He's everything those drunks were not.
I wish I could whip out my camera
To capture his image for evermore
He's soon to be a figment of my imagination
When he's hops off the train door.
I'm desperate to lean over
And run my fingers through his hair
Thankfully he's nodding off
And not spooked by my stare!
The great thing about doing a sneaky verse
Is he can't read what's in my head
Nor can he see what I'm scribbling on paper
As he heads off home to bed.
And when I reach mine in my hostel
He'll be the cause of a sneaky shuffle
But I'll have to do it really quietly
In case I cause a kerfuffle!
Dulwich Poet 27th October 2014
( I was on a train from Trebic to Brno, and after three drunks got off a very good looking young man sat opposite me...)
"Czech Train Pain"
I've just pretended to be asleep
A real life nightmare of hell
Glimpsing back to my drinking past
A sight I knew too well.
First I nearly missed my train from Trebic
Not expecting it to be one car
Then three drunks sat next to me
Smelling like they'd demolished a bar.
That's a slight exaggeration
For they stink of the street
Luckily they don't speak English
As I look down at my feet.
I go away on holiday
To pat myself on the back
A birthday treat for staying sober
And trying to get my life on track.
Now there's three foreign pissheads
Pricking my conscience with fear
It's like staring at a mirror
If I'd stayed on the beer.
I know my life's not perfect
But it's come on leaps and bounds
Sobriety's opened up a world for me
Of European hockey and football grounds.
Now the drunks have left me
I can breathe and count to ten
Their stench is still around me
I don't want to go through that again.
If I am being honest
My nerves are a little in shreds
I am desperate for the safety
Of my dorm of hostel beds.
Over twelve years without a drink
I'm shocked I'm mentally weak
Such a random incident
Causing my willpower to creak.
But today I won't pick up alcohol
And tomorrow will be the same again
Right now I'm being protected by the sobriety armoury
That's my notebook and poetry pen.
Dulwich Poet 27th October 2014
(I was in a one carriage train, going from Trebic to Brno, which was packed. I moved seats, when someone got off, to get some room, when three very drunk people got on, and tried to offer me drink, and 'engage' in conversation. It made me very uneasy, but they got off after a couple of stops)
A real life nightmare of hell
Glimpsing back to my drinking past
A sight I knew too well.
First I nearly missed my train from Trebic
Not expecting it to be one car
Then three drunks sat next to me
Smelling like they'd demolished a bar.
That's a slight exaggeration
For they stink of the street
Luckily they don't speak English
As I look down at my feet.
I go away on holiday
To pat myself on the back
A birthday treat for staying sober
And trying to get my life on track.
Now there's three foreign pissheads
Pricking my conscience with fear
It's like staring at a mirror
If I'd stayed on the beer.
I know my life's not perfect
But it's come on leaps and bounds
Sobriety's opened up a world for me
Of European hockey and football grounds.
Now the drunks have left me
I can breathe and count to ten
Their stench is still around me
I don't want to go through that again.
If I am being honest
My nerves are a little in shreds
I am desperate for the safety
Of my dorm of hostel beds.
Over twelve years without a drink
I'm shocked I'm mentally weak
Such a random incident
Causing my willpower to creak.
But today I won't pick up alcohol
And tomorrow will be the same again
Right now I'm being protected by the sobriety armoury
That's my notebook and poetry pen.
Dulwich Poet 27th October 2014
(I was in a one carriage train, going from Trebic to Brno, which was packed. I moved seats, when someone got off, to get some room, when three very drunk people got on, and tried to offer me drink, and 'engage' in conversation. It made me very uneasy, but they got off after a couple of stops)
"Virtual Mates"
He was my friend
Long before Facebook was invented:
Harry Roberts was my friend
Was my friend
He killed coppers!
Now they've let him out
To kill some more..
Our friend Harry.
There are some who would say
He should rot in his cell
Others who rant
He should have swung
And gone to hell.
I'm not going to deny
His henious crime
But an old man of seventy eight
Has surely done his time?
He will never be free
Just out of parole
Are you really telling me
There's no compassion in your soul?
Make no mistake what he did
Was evil and wrong
Even though we wind up the Old Bill
With that immortal football song.
He only been banged up so long
Out of revenge and spite
no matter what he's done
That can't be right.
They say his shootings killed off
The image of Dixon of Dock Green
But that was make believe
On your television screen.
Old time coppers
Meant a clump or more
Beaten up at the local nick
And thrown to the floor.
Backhanders and bribes
To go scot free
Greasing their palm
To cop a lesser plea.
Your friendly bobby on the beat
In my parts of London he'd never exist
So one less copper
He wouldn't be missed.
Harry was made an example of
Because he avoided being swung
He was 'saved' by a law change
When he should have hung.
Generations of politicians
Would never let him forget
Locked up because he dodged the rope
and escaped their net.
Incarcerated forever
For not wearing that noose
If they couldn't get an eye for an eye
Then he'd never be loose.
Whatever happens now Harry
I wish you well in your last few beers
Sitting in the corner of a pub
Nursing a few beers.
If you begrudge him that
You're a vindictive fool
And every bit as nasty
As that cop killing old fool.
Dulwich Poet 27th October 2014
(I wrote this after it was announced that the notorious police killer Harry Roberts was finally going to be let out of prison, after almost half a century inside)
Long before Facebook was invented:
Harry Roberts was my friend
Was my friend
He killed coppers!
Now they've let him out
To kill some more..
Our friend Harry.
There are some who would say
He should rot in his cell
Others who rant
He should have swung
And gone to hell.
I'm not going to deny
His henious crime
But an old man of seventy eight
Has surely done his time?
He will never be free
Just out of parole
Are you really telling me
There's no compassion in your soul?
Make no mistake what he did
Was evil and wrong
Even though we wind up the Old Bill
With that immortal football song.
He only been banged up so long
Out of revenge and spite
no matter what he's done
That can't be right.
They say his shootings killed off
The image of Dixon of Dock Green
But that was make believe
On your television screen.
Old time coppers
Meant a clump or more
Beaten up at the local nick
And thrown to the floor.
Backhanders and bribes
To go scot free
Greasing their palm
To cop a lesser plea.
Your friendly bobby on the beat
In my parts of London he'd never exist
So one less copper
He wouldn't be missed.
Harry was made an example of
Because he avoided being swung
He was 'saved' by a law change
When he should have hung.
Generations of politicians
Would never let him forget
Locked up because he dodged the rope
and escaped their net.
Incarcerated forever
For not wearing that noose
If they couldn't get an eye for an eye
Then he'd never be loose.
Whatever happens now Harry
I wish you well in your last few beers
Sitting in the corner of a pub
Nursing a few beers.
If you begrudge him that
You're a vindictive fool
And every bit as nasty
As that cop killing old fool.
Dulwich Poet 27th October 2014
(I wrote this after it was announced that the notorious police killer Harry Roberts was finally going to be let out of prison, after almost half a century inside)
Friday 24 October 2014
"Birthday Hop"
I've arrived at the football
For my birthday treat
It might only be Czech Third Division
But a Friday night game you can't beat.
Running far too early
So nip into the bar
Talk about a timewarp
A nicotine fug of tar.
Everyone poisoning me
With their smelly smoke
To think I only dived in
For a small bottle of coke.
I'm sat here in the clubhouse
Drinking the symbol of the free West
Inhaling a cloud of Marlboro
Puting my health to the test.
Can't really complain
As I'm not on the booze
Compared to my alkie days
I've nothing to lose.
It's my forty eighth birthday
And I'm still alive
With Slavia Kromeriz being
Ground six hundred and thirty five.
Dulwich Poet 24th October 2014
(Today is my birthday, & I'm on holiday for a week in the Czech Republic. I always like to go away when it's my birthday, a personal 'pat on the back' for being sober for another one. I love the Czech Republic, as I get to see lots of football & ice hockey when I go there. This was the first of eight football matches on my trip)
For my birthday treat
It might only be Czech Third Division
But a Friday night game you can't beat.
Running far too early
So nip into the bar
Talk about a timewarp
A nicotine fug of tar.
Everyone poisoning me
With their smelly smoke
To think I only dived in
For a small bottle of coke.
I'm sat here in the clubhouse
Drinking the symbol of the free West
Inhaling a cloud of Marlboro
Puting my health to the test.
Can't really complain
As I'm not on the booze
Compared to my alkie days
I've nothing to lose.
It's my forty eighth birthday
And I'm still alive
With Slavia Kromeriz being
Ground six hundred and thirty five.
Dulwich Poet 24th October 2014
(Today is my birthday, & I'm on holiday for a week in the Czech Republic. I always like to go away when it's my birthday, a personal 'pat on the back' for being sober for another one. I love the Czech Republic, as I get to see lots of football & ice hockey when I go there. This was the first of eight football matches on my trip)
"The Bus Train"
A seat by the window
I can't really complain
Even though there's a bus replacement
Instead of the expected train.
Farewell for the day to Brno
I'm still going to Kromeriz
Even though just like at home
The timetable won't do what it says.
Truth is I'm not complaining
It's more relaxing than railway tracks
Spotting things out of the window
That a speeding train lacks.
Truth is it's not really inconvenient
So I'm not kicking up a fuss
I'm quite looking forward to this adeventure
On my rail replacement bus!
Dulwich Poet 24th October 2014
(On holiday in the Czech Republic, I wasn't expecting a rail replacement bus on a weekday)
I can't really complain
Even though there's a bus replacement
Instead of the expected train.
Farewell for the day to Brno
I'm still going to Kromeriz
Even though just like at home
The timetable won't do what it says.
Truth is I'm not complaining
It's more relaxing than railway tracks
Spotting things out of the window
That a speeding train lacks.
Truth is it's not really inconvenient
So I'm not kicking up a fuss
I'm quite looking forward to this adeventure
On my rail replacement bus!
Dulwich Poet 24th October 2014
(On holiday in the Czech Republic, I wasn't expecting a rail replacement bus on a weekday)
Wednesday 15 October 2014
"Judge Judy"
It’s not something I’d wish on anyone
But I’ve really got to say
You stupid woman Judy Finnigan
I hope you get raped today.
Nothing that’s too nasty
Non-violent so you don’t get hurt
As long as you’re not ‘looking for it’
By being drunk and a flirt.
How can rape be non-violent
When it’s clearly against your will
Do you think it that little bit more pleasant
If you lie there ever so still?
Surely you know how vile the crime
From victims you’ve interviewed in the past
Your knowledge of this matter
Don’t tell me it’s not vast.
You say it’s all about a footballer
Who can’t go back to his job
Take a moment to think next time
Before you open your gob.
He’s welcome to do some hard graft
Just not work on a football pitch
How can you have a rapist role model
Showing no remorse as he gets rich?
There’s nothing at all to stop him
Sweeping rubbish out on the street
Or stacking shelves at Sainsburys
Just trying to make ends meet.
If your daughter was the victim
Would it be so easy to let it pass
Or if your son was violated
Forced to take it up the arse?
Bet you wouldn’t be so happy
To let this scum go back to work
Maybe then you’d understand rape
And why your critics are going berserk.
There’s no place for convicted rapists
At the heart of our national game
And if you can’t see that Judy
Bow your head in shame!
Dulwich Poet 15th October 2014
(On Monday television presenter Judy Finnigan, on her first appearance on the programme 'Loose Women' said that a former Sheffield United footballer should be allowed to resume his trade at the end this week, when he is released halfway through his sentence for rape, and that his crime was a 'non'violent rape')
But I’ve really got to say
You stupid woman Judy Finnigan
I hope you get raped today.
Nothing that’s too nasty
Non-violent so you don’t get hurt
As long as you’re not ‘looking for it’
By being drunk and a flirt.
How can rape be non-violent
When it’s clearly against your will
Do you think it that little bit more pleasant
If you lie there ever so still?
Surely you know how vile the crime
From victims you’ve interviewed in the past
Your knowledge of this matter
Don’t tell me it’s not vast.
You say it’s all about a footballer
Who can’t go back to his job
Take a moment to think next time
Before you open your gob.
He’s welcome to do some hard graft
Just not work on a football pitch
How can you have a rapist role model
Showing no remorse as he gets rich?
There’s nothing at all to stop him
Sweeping rubbish out on the street
Or stacking shelves at Sainsburys
Just trying to make ends meet.
If your daughter was the victim
Would it be so easy to let it pass
Or if your son was violated
Forced to take it up the arse?
Bet you wouldn’t be so happy
To let this scum go back to work
Maybe then you’d understand rape
And why your critics are going berserk.
There’s no place for convicted rapists
At the heart of our national game
And if you can’t see that Judy
Bow your head in shame!
Dulwich Poet 15th October 2014
(On Monday television presenter Judy Finnigan, on her first appearance on the programme 'Loose Women' said that a former Sheffield United footballer should be allowed to resume his trade at the end this week, when he is released halfway through his sentence for rape, and that his crime was a 'non'violent rape')
"On My Way"
Come this time next week
All my work will be done
Time to fly Ryanair
To the Czech Republic for some fun.
I'm staying in a hostel
Basic accomodation for the poor
Even if I had more money
A posh hotel I'm not so sure.
My usual excuse to fly off
A little birthday jaunt
Truth is I've nothing to celebrate
Far too many dark memories
That might come back to haunt.
Going away clears my head
Leaving hum drum existence behind
Wandering streets, football, ice hockey
Writing as I find.
That might sound somewhat similar
To the usual shit I do
But this is giving my thoughts some freedom
Rather than caged in my skull
Like in a zoo.
Sure I'll still be lonely
Life is only as good as you make
But no matter how insignificant I feel
I really need this break.
Dulwich Poet 15th October 2014
(I wrote this about a week before I was off on my annual break, which I always take when it's my birthday. this one was back to the Czech Republic, but a new destination, staying in Brno)
All my work will be done
Time to fly Ryanair
To the Czech Republic for some fun.
I'm staying in a hostel
Basic accomodation for the poor
Even if I had more money
A posh hotel I'm not so sure.
My usual excuse to fly off
A little birthday jaunt
Truth is I've nothing to celebrate
Far too many dark memories
That might come back to haunt.
Going away clears my head
Leaving hum drum existence behind
Wandering streets, football, ice hockey
Writing as I find.
That might sound somewhat similar
To the usual shit I do
But this is giving my thoughts some freedom
Rather than caged in my skull
Like in a zoo.
Sure I'll still be lonely
Life is only as good as you make
But no matter how insignificant I feel
I really need this break.
Dulwich Poet 15th October 2014
(I wrote this about a week before I was off on my annual break, which I always take when it's my birthday. this one was back to the Czech Republic, but a new destination, staying in Brno)
Monday 13 October 2014
"Crap Poet(ry)-you decide"
Long gone are the days
When Saturday nights for fighting.
I'm an old man now
And Saturday night's for writing.
Being depressed is meant to be
The cliched staple mood for a poet
If you believe in all that guff.
Imagine how I feel
As a Dulwich Hamlet fan
Who have just lost to
Bugger Bognor Regis!
The only way to lift that cloud
Is to jump on a train
Destination 'Platform One'
And share without a care
In the 'hidden world' of poetry.
From low to high
Elation you can't buy
My words went down a treat
Then I was on the edge of my seat
Basking in the glow
For the rest of the show
As 'Old Skool' poets
With working class roots
Took centre stage.
Believe me..
If Carlsberg did poetry nights.
Come Sunday..
And I'm on another planet
Literally, at the Amersham Arms
For the Lunar launch.
Normal service is resumed
The smattering of applause
Only proffered after a pause.
Ok. Average. Middle of the road.
And that is ok with me.
For that is where I want to be.
I am 'brave' enough to admit it now.
I AM A POET.
But I am also an average one.
A poet learning his 'trade'.
Dulwich Poet 13th October 2014
(I wrote this after I got a really good reception doing an Open Mic slot at Platform One, on Saturday night....in truth one that probably won't be repeated, my 'best moment' so far, in all of my public readings. I got 'lucky' with my readings and audience. On Sunday I read at the 'Lunar Poetry night Open Mic slots. Thoroughly enjoyable, but 'back down to earth'; so to speak)
When Saturday nights for fighting.
I'm an old man now
And Saturday night's for writing.
Being depressed is meant to be
The cliched staple mood for a poet
If you believe in all that guff.
Imagine how I feel
As a Dulwich Hamlet fan
Who have just lost to
Bugger Bognor Regis!
The only way to lift that cloud
Is to jump on a train
Destination 'Platform One'
And share without a care
In the 'hidden world' of poetry.
From low to high
Elation you can't buy
My words went down a treat
Then I was on the edge of my seat
Basking in the glow
For the rest of the show
As 'Old Skool' poets
With working class roots
Took centre stage.
Believe me..
If Carlsberg did poetry nights.
Come Sunday..
And I'm on another planet
Literally, at the Amersham Arms
For the Lunar launch.
Normal service is resumed
The smattering of applause
Only proffered after a pause.
Ok. Average. Middle of the road.
And that is ok with me.
For that is where I want to be.
I am 'brave' enough to admit it now.
I AM A POET.
But I am also an average one.
A poet learning his 'trade'.
Dulwich Poet 13th October 2014
(I wrote this after I got a really good reception doing an Open Mic slot at Platform One, on Saturday night....in truth one that probably won't be repeated, my 'best moment' so far, in all of my public readings. I got 'lucky' with my readings and audience. On Sunday I read at the 'Lunar Poetry night Open Mic slots. Thoroughly enjoyable, but 'back down to earth'; so to speak)
"Books For All"
"Gravesend" you said.
So stick to what you know.
Not...Rochester.
Get your facts right
The 'largest second hand bookshop in England' you say
'Is aways shut'.
That's what you said.
Don't lie to me!
It's always been
OPEN to me
As open as my bag
Where one or two
Of their football books
Accidentally fall off the shelf
Directly into my bag
Whenever I visit.
Perhaps that's why
It's called 'Baggins'?
The lastion bastion
Of a CCTV-free
Non-paying consumers paradise.
An Orwellian nightmare
Elswhere. But here:
By George...
I think he would have approved.
Dulwich Poet 13th October 2014
(I borrowed a book called 'Gravesend', by Simon Smith, from the Poetry Library. They were all written by him while travelling on trains from London to Chatham. In Rochester there is a bookshop, where you can see the words at the beginning, at the back of the premises, from the railway line. When visiting a mate, in nearby Chatham, we always pop into this shop.)
So stick to what you know.
Not...Rochester.
Get your facts right
The 'largest second hand bookshop in England' you say
'Is aways shut'.
That's what you said.
Don't lie to me!
It's always been
OPEN to me
As open as my bag
Where one or two
Of their football books
Accidentally fall off the shelf
Directly into my bag
Whenever I visit.
Perhaps that's why
It's called 'Baggins'?
The lastion bastion
Of a CCTV-free
Non-paying consumers paradise.
An Orwellian nightmare
Elswhere. But here:
By George...
I think he would have approved.
Dulwich Poet 13th October 2014
(I borrowed a book called 'Gravesend', by Simon Smith, from the Poetry Library. They were all written by him while travelling on trains from London to Chatham. In Rochester there is a bookshop, where you can see the words at the beginning, at the back of the premises, from the railway line. When visiting a mate, in nearby Chatham, we always pop into this shop.)
Friday 10 October 2014
"Actions Speak Louder Than Words"
Poetry's expressive
It's about speaking from the soul
And if it keeps your sanity
The rhyme has served it's goal.
Our nights are all encompassing
Open to one and all
When I've done a good one
It makes me feel tenn feet tall.
Other poets I enjoy
There's many that are first rate
It's very rare almost impossible
To say there's one I hate.
But I'm glad I missed out on Jawdance
When there was an arsehole on the stage
A piece of crap spouting shit
It would have filled me with rage.
How would I have reacted?
Sat there with a quiet mutter?
Fuming away in silence
Too scared to angrily stutter?
For poetry etiquette's far too polite
Not the done thing to express displeasure
Giving nasty bastards the chance to spout
All sorts of discrimination at your leisure.
Did you sit there and think 'outrageous'
While letting them read more
Jason Pilley I salute you
For heading for the door.
You are now my poetry hero
For doing what you did that night
Standing up and making protest
Between basic wrong and right.
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2014
('Jawdance' is the biggest monthly Open Mic poetry night that I know of in London. I've only read there once, so far. In September one Open Mic-er spouted a load of sexist anti-equality shit, and one of the London poetry scene, Jason Pilley, loudly walked out in disgust. I salute him)
It's about speaking from the soul
And if it keeps your sanity
The rhyme has served it's goal.
Our nights are all encompassing
Open to one and all
When I've done a good one
It makes me feel tenn feet tall.
Other poets I enjoy
There's many that are first rate
It's very rare almost impossible
To say there's one I hate.
But I'm glad I missed out on Jawdance
When there was an arsehole on the stage
A piece of crap spouting shit
It would have filled me with rage.
How would I have reacted?
Sat there with a quiet mutter?
Fuming away in silence
Too scared to angrily stutter?
For poetry etiquette's far too polite
Not the done thing to express displeasure
Giving nasty bastards the chance to spout
All sorts of discrimination at your leisure.
Did you sit there and think 'outrageous'
While letting them read more
Jason Pilley I salute you
For heading for the door.
You are now my poetry hero
For doing what you did that night
Standing up and making protest
Between basic wrong and right.
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2014
('Jawdance' is the biggest monthly Open Mic poetry night that I know of in London. I've only read there once, so far. In September one Open Mic-er spouted a load of sexist anti-equality shit, and one of the London poetry scene, Jason Pilley, loudly walked out in disgust. I salute him)
"Mind The Doors"
Excuse me please
EXCUSE ME PLEASE
GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!
There's no need to be like that
Have you heard the saying...
Ignorance is bliss
But you're just fucking stupid
A statue taking the piss!
All I'm trying to do
Is get off my Overground train
Are you such a moron
I've got to repeat myself again?
Not moving like a lemon
Asked you once, told you twice
Then your mock indignance
When I stop being nice.
How hard can it be
One step off, hop back on
Simply let me off the train
And I'll be gone.
It's bad enough
Suffering fools at work
So I don't need a thick as shit
Commuting berk.
All I really want
Is the best of a bad ride
So if you don't want a volley of abuse
Don't act mutton and step aside!
As I said, excuse me please...
Now FUCK OFF!
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2014
(About people who won't step off of the train for a moment, blocking the way for you to get off yourself)
EXCUSE ME PLEASE
GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!
There's no need to be like that
Have you heard the saying...
Ignorance is bliss
But you're just fucking stupid
A statue taking the piss!
All I'm trying to do
Is get off my Overground train
Are you such a moron
I've got to repeat myself again?
Not moving like a lemon
Asked you once, told you twice
Then your mock indignance
When I stop being nice.
How hard can it be
One step off, hop back on
Simply let me off the train
And I'll be gone.
It's bad enough
Suffering fools at work
So I don't need a thick as shit
Commuting berk.
All I really want
Is the best of a bad ride
So if you don't want a volley of abuse
Don't act mutton and step aside!
As I said, excuse me please...
Now FUCK OFF!
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2014
(About people who won't step off of the train for a moment, blocking the way for you to get off yourself)
Monday 6 October 2014
"Pits and Perverts"
It's a bit ironic that if
Maggie had let the miners win
Today gays and lesbians
Might still be living in sin.
For back in the Eighties
They were all 'dirty AIDS carriers'
And it took the Great Miners Strike
To break down the barriers.
Lesbians and gays supporting the pitmen
Took their community to heart
Not just tacklnig ignorance
But blowing it apart.
Genuine working class solidarity
Across sexuality and gender
In the end it didn't matter
If you were flamboyant or a bender.
Not long after the strike was lost
There were still the old fights
As the Labour Party adopted
Lesbian and gay rights.
This was only pushed through
Because of Scargill's boys block vote
Gays and straights all equal
Instead of at each others throat.
If it wasn't for those with buckets
Collecting loose change and notes
We'd never have had equality
As pandering to poofs doesn't win votes.
Now three decades later
Their story is being told
One that was almost forgotten
But truly one to behold.
The miners may have been beaten
But you held your principles up high
You sowed the seeds for equality
For which we should be grateful til we die.
You achieved the impossible
With your 'Pits & Perverts Ball'
Whoever you were, wherever you are
Hold your head high and walk tall.
Dulwich Poet 6th October 2014
(During the Great Miners Strike of 1984/85 a group was set up from London called Lesbians & Gays Support the Miners. It raised over £22,000 for the strikers in a South Wales mining community. The year after the Miners Strike ended the Labour Party adopted an equality motion supporting lesbians and gays. It was carried only because of the backing of the National Union of Mineworkers)
Maggie had let the miners win
Today gays and lesbians
Might still be living in sin.
For back in the Eighties
They were all 'dirty AIDS carriers'
And it took the Great Miners Strike
To break down the barriers.
Lesbians and gays supporting the pitmen
Took their community to heart
Not just tacklnig ignorance
But blowing it apart.
Genuine working class solidarity
Across sexuality and gender
In the end it didn't matter
If you were flamboyant or a bender.
Not long after the strike was lost
There were still the old fights
As the Labour Party adopted
Lesbian and gay rights.
This was only pushed through
Because of Scargill's boys block vote
Gays and straights all equal
Instead of at each others throat.
If it wasn't for those with buckets
Collecting loose change and notes
We'd never have had equality
As pandering to poofs doesn't win votes.
Now three decades later
Their story is being told
One that was almost forgotten
But truly one to behold.
The miners may have been beaten
But you held your principles up high
You sowed the seeds for equality
For which we should be grateful til we die.
You achieved the impossible
With your 'Pits & Perverts Ball'
Whoever you were, wherever you are
Hold your head high and walk tall.
Dulwich Poet 6th October 2014
(During the Great Miners Strike of 1984/85 a group was set up from London called Lesbians & Gays Support the Miners. It raised over £22,000 for the strikers in a South Wales mining community. The year after the Miners Strike ended the Labour Party adopted an equality motion supporting lesbians and gays. It was carried only because of the backing of the National Union of Mineworkers)
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