For you I want to feel pity
If I didn't feel so bad
Instead it's rising anger
And you're making me mad.
Trying to improve our Club
Initiatives that are right
All you want to do is pick holes
Gagging for a fight.
Trying to hound lifetime supporters
Despite the fact he's caused no harm
But the way you're ganging up
Is real cause for alarm.
You think because people are being quiet
It means you've got support
Well I'm here to fucking tell you
It's nothing of the sort.
I'm not agreeing with Joel's views
But they're his right to hold
Time to tell you a home truth
If I can be so bold.
You & your missus don't speak for everyone
In fact she's Radio Rental
Yes you have heard that right
Most ordinary fans think she is mental.
Everyone's 'against' her
Because she's a 'Person Of Colour'
No, it's because she's talking bollocks
One thing after another.
If you to be so right on political
Toddle off to the Spotted dog
Be as radical as you like with your Clapton-ites
Cross the river and take a jog!
Dulwich Poet 22nd February 2015
(Football related...one or two individuals complained about our official Club Photographer because his private religious beliefs were he doesn't believe in promoting homosexuality, & didn't take some photos of rainbow laces for them. He got a lot of abuse from some on Facebook, and after one complaint the Club relieved him of his 'Official Club Photographer', which was a voluntary, unpaid title. It wasn't so much the fact the Club had to act, after the complaint, but the way he was treated on social media, caleld homophobic, racist & worse. )
Sunday 22 February 2015
Monday 16 February 2015
"My Number's Up"
I got a week to fill up
Using annual leave from work
When I got a text from the hospital
Appointment forgotten like a berk.
First day off on Monday
Should be at home in bed
Here I am at Lewisham Hospital
Waiting for a blood test instead.
Nothing at al lto worry about
It's routine...everything's fine
I'm given a ticket for the queue
My numbers' sixty nine!
It starts to make me chuckle
I think: "If only-what the fuck!"
Never getting past a wank or a blow job
Mired in so-called sordid cottaging muck.
Not that I'm ashamed, but waiting's such a chore
Standing in a toilet by the sink
If the 'action' ever gets past
A sad nod or desperate wink.
Don't get me wrong
I'm not the complaining type
This is what I just do instead
Of lies and internet hype.
All they ever ask you is
Do you have your own place
Wanting to know the size of your cock
Then vanish off-screen without trace.
I realise it's just a fantasy
A ticket number scrap of paper
There'll be no soixante-neuf hanky panky
None of that ooh-la-la caper.
But there's no harm in dreaming
Naughty thoughts in my memory bank
That'll do me lying in bed tonight
I've a Lewisham Hospital appointment to thank.
Dulwich Poet 16th February 2015
( As the poem explains...I got a ticket numbered 69, while waiting for a hospital appointment. It got me thinking about my sex life, or lack of one!)
Using annual leave from work
When I got a text from the hospital
Appointment forgotten like a berk.
First day off on Monday
Should be at home in bed
Here I am at Lewisham Hospital
Waiting for a blood test instead.
Nothing at al lto worry about
It's routine...everything's fine
I'm given a ticket for the queue
My numbers' sixty nine!
It starts to make me chuckle
I think: "If only-what the fuck!"
Never getting past a wank or a blow job
Mired in so-called sordid cottaging muck.
Not that I'm ashamed, but waiting's such a chore
Standing in a toilet by the sink
If the 'action' ever gets past
A sad nod or desperate wink.
Don't get me wrong
I'm not the complaining type
This is what I just do instead
Of lies and internet hype.
All they ever ask you is
Do you have your own place
Wanting to know the size of your cock
Then vanish off-screen without trace.
I realise it's just a fantasy
A ticket number scrap of paper
There'll be no soixante-neuf hanky panky
None of that ooh-la-la caper.
But there's no harm in dreaming
Naughty thoughts in my memory bank
That'll do me lying in bed tonight
I've a Lewisham Hospital appointment to thank.
Dulwich Poet 16th February 2015
( As the poem explains...I got a ticket numbered 69, while waiting for a hospital appointment. It got me thinking about my sex life, or lack of one!)
"Mind The Doors"
Excuse me please, don't block my way
Create a space and make my day
I want to get off so step aside
And once I'm gone it's a quicker ride!
Dulwich Poet 16th February 2015
(Transport for London were running a poetry competition, for their travel posters at stations, where they have ditties relating to travelling on buses, trains & tubes. The winning ones will be turned into new posters. I didn't bother entering, but made this one one. I was planning to try more, but couldn't be bothered. I might do when I have some spare time, and am bored... )
Create a space and make my day
I want to get off so step aside
And once I'm gone it's a quicker ride!
Dulwich Poet 16th February 2015
(Transport for London were running a poetry competition, for their travel posters at stations, where they have ditties relating to travelling on buses, trains & tubes. The winning ones will be turned into new posters. I didn't bother entering, but made this one one. I was planning to try more, but couldn't be bothered. I might do when I have some spare time, and am bored... )
Saturday 14 February 2015
"Thanks A Bunch"
Is that two dozen roses
You have in the seat next to me
You and your boyfriend worse for wear
But happy as far as I can see.
For how many couples out there
Are those flowers a mask?
A cloak of normality
Soon to set about your task.
This one night of the year
When you show your love through a card
Spending all the other days behind closed doors
Abusing and beating your partner hard.
Those roses might look beautiful
A lovely shade of red
Then you beat her black and blue
If only romance were dead.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2015
(I wrote this on a train home on Valentines Night, with lots of drunk couples on the train home clutching their flowers, champagne & cards...& it made me think of domestic violence, behind closed doors.)
You have in the seat next to me
You and your boyfriend worse for wear
But happy as far as I can see.
For how many couples out there
Are those flowers a mask?
A cloak of normality
Soon to set about your task.
This one night of the year
When you show your love through a card
Spending all the other days behind closed doors
Abusing and beating your partner hard.
Those roses might look beautiful
A lovely shade of red
Then you beat her black and blue
If only romance were dead.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2015
(I wrote this on a train home on Valentines Night, with lots of drunk couples on the train home clutching their flowers, champagne & cards...& it made me think of domestic violence, behind closed doors.)
"Re-wind"
Two young teenage boys
Sat opposite me
Brothers or friends.
Maybe even more...
Who knows?
All I can see
Is the forehead
Of spots
Thinking...
They are old enough...
To wank.
How wrong is that?
Don't get me wrong...
I am no nonce.
I just wish...
I could start my life again
And be normal...
Like them.
(A simple observation, thinking that I wish I could be young, have more self-confidence, and have a better life. You know...learning from your mistakes. No a good way to think when middle-aged...)
Sat opposite me
Brothers or friends.
Maybe even more...
Who knows?
All I can see
Is the forehead
Of spots
Thinking...
They are old enough...
To wank.
How wrong is that?
Don't get me wrong...
I am no nonce.
I just wish...
I could start my life again
And be normal...
Like them.
(A simple observation, thinking that I wish I could be young, have more self-confidence, and have a better life. You know...learning from your mistakes. No a good way to think when middle-aged...)
"Only Down In Brighton"
I know Brighton's supposed to be alternative
But even this caught me on the hop
'VEGETARIAN SHOES' was the name
Above a local shop!
Did this mean they weren't made of leather
Or any other four-legged beasts' hide?
Surely if that were the case
It sohuld have been 'Vegan Shoes' outside?
Or maybe they were edible
Just not as tough as old boots
Instead of being made from cow hide
Somehow moulded from rotten fruit.
And if they were sandals
Would it be veggie to nibble someone's toe
As long as you don't digest flaky skin
Maybe that's an ok way to go.
I think I know the bottom line
Don't expect me to sit on the fence
Keep it quiet between you and me
Those right-on types have more money than sense.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2015
(I saw a shopn in the trendy part of Brighton called 'The Lanes', that was actually a shoe shop with the name 'Vegetarian Shoes')
But even this caught me on the hop
'VEGETARIAN SHOES' was the name
Above a local shop!
Did this mean they weren't made of leather
Or any other four-legged beasts' hide?
Surely if that were the case
It sohuld have been 'Vegan Shoes' outside?
Or maybe they were edible
Just not as tough as old boots
Instead of being made from cow hide
Somehow moulded from rotten fruit.
And if they were sandals
Would it be veggie to nibble someone's toe
As long as you don't digest flaky skin
Maybe that's an ok way to go.
I think I know the bottom line
Don't expect me to sit on the fence
Keep it quiet between you and me
Those right-on types have more money than sense.
Dulwich Poet 14th February 2015
(I saw a shopn in the trendy part of Brighton called 'The Lanes', that was actually a shoe shop with the name 'Vegetarian Shoes')
Tuesday 10 February 2015
“In The Dark”
Can you remember
When the lights went out?
Not Vera Lynn & the Blitz
Even though that memory fits.
Sitting at home as a child
In the dark
Bar the flicker of
One of those precious candles
From Woolworths in Peckham.
Or was it Camberwell Green?
Whatever..we needed them
To be se seen.
What the Dickens?
No, that was
Another era too.
What I’m on about
Is a small part of me
Growing up
In the power-cut Seventies.
Let me tell you a little
secret
It wasn’t the lack of
electricity
That made my childhood dark
Even though it wasn’t a lark.
For I thought we were
ordinary.
The innocence of
Not being aware
Without a fucking care
That your dad was
An alcoholic and a gambler.
‘Fortunately’ I only
inherited
One of those traits
Which I managed to face up to
Before it was too late...
But I digress-not realising
My family was a mess.
My only recall
Of those power cuts
When I was small
Those bloody neighbours
Next door-the Browns!
Who came in
With their pots and pans
While my tins of beans
Stayed in their cans
Fish fingers still frozen
Starting to defrost
Because…
To my rumbling belly’s cost
Our cooker was gas flame
And every time the power cut
came
They couldn’t use their
electric hob
So OUR cooker would do the
job
And my mum would let them in
Even if it meant mine half
cooked
Went in the bin.
So ready to offer a helping
hand
She wore an amazing normality
cloak
Hiding mental torture from my
old man
And the fact we were always
broke.
I hope you enjoyed your hot
dinners
Dished up on a plate
Just for you Mrs. Brown
For even then I was filled
with hate
Even though I was only eight
I got into such a state.
I bet she never realised
When I lay in bed
She was the first ever adult
I prayed for to be dead.
So although I can’t really
recall
The lights going off
Without any warning
I remember the cow next door
Who I wanted dead by the
morning.
But don’t worry I’m over it
Now that I’m all grown up
And realise that praying a
con
You never get what you wish
Maybe I should have just
asked for
Some loaves and fish instead.
Dulwich Poet 10th
February 2015
(Not entirely sure where this
started from. It’s sort of about early childhood memories, with a general
election beckoning, there’s lots of ‘scare stories’ about the ‘bad old days of
the Seventies’.)
Tuesday 3 February 2015
"First Tuesday Worries"
What are you doing here
Is it just for the tea
Perhaps a bit of a chat
Or some camaraderie.
Possibly not sure what to expect
Today's a bit of a surprise
A poetry potpourri of London
Just relax and rest your eyes.
Some you may not understand
It can go flying over your head
All that rhyme ans stuff
Was your old schooldays dread.
But there's no need to worry
It's not only for academics and toffs
Even the working class can love poetry
So no more embarrassing coughs.
For poetry is nothing more
Than a little tale
Nothing to be scared of
It's not stuffy and stale.
Broaden your mind
Open your ears
I hope you've enjoyed this
And I've allayed your fears.
Dulwich Poet 3rd February 2015
(On the first Tuesday of every month I run a small group, for pensioners, in the library I work in. I try to get an outside speaker, but we don't offer money, so it's not always easy. Today I am 'filling in' reading poems about London. It's daunting, as it's a hour and a half, minus a tea break! On the bus into work I wrote this, to introduce it...the first time I've read anything of my own at work...my colleagues don't even know I like poetry!)
Is it just for the tea
Perhaps a bit of a chat
Or some camaraderie.
Possibly not sure what to expect
Today's a bit of a surprise
A poetry potpourri of London
Just relax and rest your eyes.
Some you may not understand
It can go flying over your head
All that rhyme ans stuff
Was your old schooldays dread.
But there's no need to worry
It's not only for academics and toffs
Even the working class can love poetry
So no more embarrassing coughs.
For poetry is nothing more
Than a little tale
Nothing to be scared of
It's not stuffy and stale.
Broaden your mind
Open your ears
I hope you've enjoyed this
And I've allayed your fears.
Dulwich Poet 3rd February 2015
(On the first Tuesday of every month I run a small group, for pensioners, in the library I work in. I try to get an outside speaker, but we don't offer money, so it's not always easy. Today I am 'filling in' reading poems about London. It's daunting, as it's a hour and a half, minus a tea break! On the bus into work I wrote this, to introduce it...the first time I've read anything of my own at work...my colleagues don't even know I like poetry!)
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