I bet you wouldn't touch it
With that proverbial barge pole
A Christian hostel called 'Shelter'
What an awful hole.
True, there's no big parties
But nothing could be further from the truth
In fact you won't find friendlier
Than the staff under their roof.
And despite the fact they're religious
They certainly don't preach
Though if believing in 'god' is your thing
He's certainly within reach.
The showers and rooms were the cleanest
And the place was secure
A spot that was affordable
With 24-hour staff on the door.
A small snack for breakfast
With free internet to peruse
And for those with modern gadgets
You've got their wi-fi to use.
Les than ten minutes from the station
Handy for the sights
And because they don't allow alcohol
It was relatively peaceful at nights.
When I go back to The 'Dam next year
It's to this hostel I will return
It's ticks all the boxes for me
When you haven't got money to burn.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(On my recent trip to Amsterdam I stayed in a 'backpackers hostel; in was actually a drug & alcohol free one, that is a Christian run one, called 'Shelter'. I didn't stay there for that, but more for easy location to the main train station. But this is about that hostel..)
Friday 30 October 2015
"Missed You"
I've decided....
Tomorrow I'm going to see you
It's been a month or more
It's live we've never been apart
When I push open your door.
You're certainly not the biggest
In fact some might say quite small
But size isn't everything
On the 5th floor of the Festival Hall.
For I'm talking about the Poetry Library
Where my books are overdue
Don't know if you've noticed
But I really have missed you.
Gently working my way along your shelves
Eyeing up each and every cover
I don't know if there's such a thing
But you're my secret literary lover.
I don't visit as much as I used to
But I still like to look
Sitting down with your pamphlets
I can read you like a book.
People talk of hidden gems
Well you're the jewel in London's crown
And even though I'm fine today
You're a great 'pick-me-up' when feeling down.
As the song goes: "You're the Pride of South London"
Even though you're not Pink & Blue
So I'll meet you after work tomorrow night
If you forgive me for neglecting you.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(It's been a while since I've visited the Poetry Library, at the Festival Hall...and I love going there. I support Dulwich Hamlet Football Club, and our colours are pink and blue)
Tomorrow I'm going to see you
It's been a month or more
It's live we've never been apart
When I push open your door.
You're certainly not the biggest
In fact some might say quite small
But size isn't everything
On the 5th floor of the Festival Hall.
For I'm talking about the Poetry Library
Where my books are overdue
Don't know if you've noticed
But I really have missed you.
Gently working my way along your shelves
Eyeing up each and every cover
I don't know if there's such a thing
But you're my secret literary lover.
I don't visit as much as I used to
But I still like to look
Sitting down with your pamphlets
I can read you like a book.
People talk of hidden gems
Well you're the jewel in London's crown
And even though I'm fine today
You're a great 'pick-me-up' when feeling down.
As the song goes: "You're the Pride of South London"
Even though you're not Pink & Blue
So I'll meet you after work tomorrow night
If you forgive me for neglecting you.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(It's been a while since I've visited the Poetry Library, at the Festival Hall...and I love going there. I support Dulwich Hamlet Football Club, and our colours are pink and blue)
"The Future"
Just come through the Channel Tunnel
Back in Blighty on the last leg
Returning to the same old existence
Though I'm not really a bad egg.
I'll get off the coach at Victoria
Take a train home to my pit
The normality of my non-existence
Reality of life being shit.
I think next year will be crucial
As I reach the age of the BIG five oh...
Time for me to make some decisions
And decide how I want my life to go.
Even though I'm single
As I will be for evermore
I'm 'married' to Dulwich Hamlet
I think you know the score.
But holiday trips make me realise
How many things I want to do
I never really think of myself
But of my Club and you.
Far too many people call me 'Mr. Dulwich'
Worn like a ball and chain
Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment
But I don't want to hear it again.
I'm simply one fan of many
Who's been lucky to serve his club
But sometimes it's a millstone
And therein lies the rub.
Don't get me wrong I love Dulwich Hamlet
They'll always be in my heart
But I'm not getting any younger
And I wouldn't mind some time apart.
So many places I've not been to
Lots of grounds I want to see
I wonder if I'll have the strength to break away
And just do something for me?
I don't mean gone forever
Just a few games here and there
Travelling when I can afford to
Whatever appeals when & where.
Not having to worry about the Committee
Programme, website or '50/50 Draw'
Turning up at a game when I choose
Only concern being the final score.
Leaving the 'new-veau' Rabble to sing what they like
Having their bit of fun
The bottom line is just another supporter
When all is said and done.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(Whilst I love everything I do for Dulwich Hamlet Football Club, I am getting to the stage where I'd like to step back and have more time for other things in life...don't worry, it will pass!)
Back in Blighty on the last leg
Returning to the same old existence
Though I'm not really a bad egg.
I'll get off the coach at Victoria
Take a train home to my pit
The normality of my non-existence
Reality of life being shit.
I think next year will be crucial
As I reach the age of the BIG five oh...
Time for me to make some decisions
And decide how I want my life to go.
Even though I'm single
As I will be for evermore
I'm 'married' to Dulwich Hamlet
I think you know the score.
But holiday trips make me realise
How many things I want to do
I never really think of myself
But of my Club and you.
Far too many people call me 'Mr. Dulwich'
Worn like a ball and chain
Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment
But I don't want to hear it again.
I'm simply one fan of many
Who's been lucky to serve his club
But sometimes it's a millstone
And therein lies the rub.
Don't get me wrong I love Dulwich Hamlet
They'll always be in my heart
But I'm not getting any younger
And I wouldn't mind some time apart.
So many places I've not been to
Lots of grounds I want to see
I wonder if I'll have the strength to break away
And just do something for me?
I don't mean gone forever
Just a few games here and there
Travelling when I can afford to
Whatever appeals when & where.
Not having to worry about the Committee
Programme, website or '50/50 Draw'
Turning up at a game when I choose
Only concern being the final score.
Leaving the 'new-veau' Rabble to sing what they like
Having their bit of fun
The bottom line is just another supporter
When all is said and done.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(Whilst I love everything I do for Dulwich Hamlet Football Club, I am getting to the stage where I'd like to step back and have more time for other things in life...don't worry, it will pass!)
"Anywhere But Home"
I must have seemed like an old curmudgeon
As people said 'Happy Birthday'
And also shook my hand...
But if I had my own way
That celebration would be banned.
Don't get me wrong
I don't mean for you
It's just something I don't enjoy
A reminder of forty-nine years of failure
My entire life man and boy.
That's why I go on a break
Anywhere but home
Even though I travel cheaply
It give me a chance to roam.
Every time I take a step forward
It follows there's two steps back
Going away and hiding
Gives me escapism and pleasure I lack.
Just camera, notebook and pen for company
I don't need money in the bank
Loneliness can be coped with
Thanks to an anonymous foreign
Sex cinema wank!
Riding a tram round a strange town
Going to visit a football ground
They say money can't buy you happiness
But this only costs a few pound.
Living out of supermarkets
And football food at night
The anticipatory buzz of finding the stadium
Spotting floodlights love at first sight!
I've said many a time I'd be dead by now
If I hadn't given up the drink
Despite it being over thirteen years
It's not as easy as you think.
On Monday night I walked the streets
Of dirty old Amsterdam city
Strolling past untold bars
I could have welled with pity.
Sure, it can get a little lonely
Wandering round on your Jacks
But then I stand back and observe
All those pisshead groups in packs.
My life may not seem normal
But i'm proud that I don't drink
There's many alcoholics, my dad included
Who couldn't pull themselves from the brink.
I don't go way to celebrate my birthday
Or run away from all that palarva
In truth it's to pat myself on the back
For not ending up in a morgue like my father.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(This is about me choosing to take a holiday each year when it is my birthday. I am not a 'birthday' person)
As people said 'Happy Birthday'
And also shook my hand...
But if I had my own way
That celebration would be banned.
Don't get me wrong
I don't mean for you
It's just something I don't enjoy
A reminder of forty-nine years of failure
My entire life man and boy.
That's why I go on a break
Anywhere but home
Even though I travel cheaply
It give me a chance to roam.
Every time I take a step forward
It follows there's two steps back
Going away and hiding
Gives me escapism and pleasure I lack.
Just camera, notebook and pen for company
I don't need money in the bank
Loneliness can be coped with
Thanks to an anonymous foreign
Sex cinema wank!
Riding a tram round a strange town
Going to visit a football ground
They say money can't buy you happiness
But this only costs a few pound.
Living out of supermarkets
And football food at night
The anticipatory buzz of finding the stadium
Spotting floodlights love at first sight!
I've said many a time I'd be dead by now
If I hadn't given up the drink
Despite it being over thirteen years
It's not as easy as you think.
On Monday night I walked the streets
Of dirty old Amsterdam city
Strolling past untold bars
I could have welled with pity.
Sure, it can get a little lonely
Wandering round on your Jacks
But then I stand back and observe
All those pisshead groups in packs.
My life may not seem normal
But i'm proud that I don't drink
There's many alcoholics, my dad included
Who couldn't pull themselves from the brink.
I don't go way to celebrate my birthday
Or run away from all that palarva
In truth it's to pat myself on the back
For not ending up in a morgue like my father.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(This is about me choosing to take a holiday each year when it is my birthday. I am not a 'birthday' person)
"So Much For Progress!"
Beggars can't be choosers
I'm using Megabus for price
But Jesus Christ I'm baking
Going under the Tunnel ain't nice.
It really is a sweatbox
Not enough to make blokes strip
Even though it's hot enough to
There's no perks on this trip!
No power on the coach
Just dim light from the train ..
Even though I probably will
I don't want to do this again.
I'm pining for the big ships
When you can stroll around the deck
I'm wouldn't have had this problem
If my birthday holiday was Czech!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(This one is about being on a coach under the Channel!)
I'm using Megabus for price
But Jesus Christ I'm baking
Going under the Tunnel ain't nice.
It really is a sweatbox
Not enough to make blokes strip
Even though it's hot enough to
There's no perks on this trip!
No power on the coach
Just dim light from the train ..
Even though I probably will
I don't want to do this again.
I'm pining for the big ships
When you can stroll around the deck
I'm wouldn't have had this problem
If my birthday holiday was Czech!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(This one is about being on a coach under the Channel!)
"Snapping"
I know nothing about photography
I just 'Point and Press'
Posh cameras are a mystery
I would only hazard a guess.
I'm happy with my 'digital box brownies'
Hardly top of the range
Even if I had money
I'm not one for change.
I love being a 'Bill-No-Mates'
Wandering strange streets snapping
You won't realise I'm doing it
A million miles from papping.
They're often out of focus
Too rush and zoomed to be any good
I just snap what I think might make a picture
From wherever I am stood.
I won't even pretend to be decent
Let me make that plain
Street Photography's just something I enjoy
In my attempts keeping sane.
I love my poetry and pictures
Know my limits...run of the mill
To use a poncy phrase for my 'well being'
That's where they fit the bill.
Doing things that give me pleasure
A sense of 'I can achieve'
Realising I'm not as useless as I think
It's not always easy to self believe.
So no matter how basic
Or simple is your dream
None of us are useless
It's not as bad as things seem.
I never imagined some would like my pictures
Never mind me performing at a poetry night
As I say, my life's not perfect
But you know what-I'm doing alright!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(Just about taking random pictures...and writing poetry!)
I just 'Point and Press'
Posh cameras are a mystery
I would only hazard a guess.
I'm happy with my 'digital box brownies'
Hardly top of the range
Even if I had money
I'm not one for change.
I love being a 'Bill-No-Mates'
Wandering strange streets snapping
You won't realise I'm doing it
A million miles from papping.
They're often out of focus
Too rush and zoomed to be any good
I just snap what I think might make a picture
From wherever I am stood.
I won't even pretend to be decent
Let me make that plain
Street Photography's just something I enjoy
In my attempts keeping sane.
I love my poetry and pictures
Know my limits...run of the mill
To use a poncy phrase for my 'well being'
That's where they fit the bill.
Doing things that give me pleasure
A sense of 'I can achieve'
Realising I'm not as useless as I think
It's not always easy to self believe.
So no matter how basic
Or simple is your dream
None of us are useless
It's not as bad as things seem.
I never imagined some would like my pictures
Never mind me performing at a poetry night
As I say, my life's not perfect
But you know what-I'm doing alright!
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(Just about taking random pictures...and writing poetry!)
"What Are Ya?"
Haiku's are the thing
Some sort of a formula
Who the fuck's counting?
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(A poetry friend of mine has been publishing a lot of poems called Haiku's on her page. This is for her...)
Some sort of a formula
Who the fuck's counting?
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(A poetry friend of mine has been publishing a lot of poems called Haiku's on her page. This is for her...)
"Moan Bloody Moan"
25 minutes for boarding
Eurotunnel apologise for the delay
Does anyone really believe
A word that their signs say?
Actually I'm not bothered
I don't know what time our crossing is
But all this mock-sincerity
What a fucking swizz!
At least they're not like the Underground
Who boast of 'a good service today'
As if it's something special
Rather than what we expect when we pay!
I know some say I'm a moaner
Or even a miserable old git
But let's all have some honesty
And admit when the service is shit.
We're just captive audience commuter fodder
With no other way to work
Being patronised over the speakers
Taken for a total jerk.
The worst thing is the accents
A fake Jamaican or Cockney sound
As if they understand and we're as one
Dear old London Underground.
I dread to think what will happen
When this twenty four hour tube begins to run
Perhaps they can explain to me
When the maintenance will get done?
Pretending it's for night workers and clubbers
Needed to make our city tick
Well we've managed so far without it
Boris is such a prick!
Thank you to the Unions
Gawd bless the R.M.T.
Protecting the interests of their members
While caring for passengers like me.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(This one is a good example of a poem by me, where I don't know where it will go! I wrote it after an electronic notice said that we would have to wait 25 minutes for our coach to board a Eurotunnel train, and it got me thinking about 'announcements')
Eurotunnel apologise for the delay
Does anyone really believe
A word that their signs say?
Actually I'm not bothered
I don't know what time our crossing is
But all this mock-sincerity
What a fucking swizz!
At least they're not like the Underground
Who boast of 'a good service today'
As if it's something special
Rather than what we expect when we pay!
I know some say I'm a moaner
Or even a miserable old git
But let's all have some honesty
And admit when the service is shit.
We're just captive audience commuter fodder
With no other way to work
Being patronised over the speakers
Taken for a total jerk.
The worst thing is the accents
A fake Jamaican or Cockney sound
As if they understand and we're as one
Dear old London Underground.
I dread to think what will happen
When this twenty four hour tube begins to run
Perhaps they can explain to me
When the maintenance will get done?
Pretending it's for night workers and clubbers
Needed to make our city tick
Well we've managed so far without it
Boris is such a prick!
Thank you to the Unions
Gawd bless the R.M.T.
Protecting the interests of their members
While caring for passengers like me.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(This one is a good example of a poem by me, where I don't know where it will go! I wrote it after an electronic notice said that we would have to wait 25 minutes for our coach to board a Eurotunnel train, and it got me thinking about 'announcements')
" It's Not The Same"
First time I went abroad
Was with the 8th Camberwell Cub Scouts
It was about 1975
There or thereabouts.
For me it seemed so exotic
Going to Boulogne-sur-Mer
For most it was nothing special
But I didn't really care.
It was such an adventure
Going across the Channel in a ship
Not that I can really remember
Bet the night before I had no kip.
Forty years later
You can't hear the sea or a sound
Would you Adam & Eve it
A coach on a train underground!
They call it the Channel Tunnel
An amazing engineering feat
But no matter how impressive
I feel it's a bit of a cheat.
There's still that little kid inside me
Who get a thrill of going on a boat
Gazing at the White Cliffs of Dover
From up deck on my coat.
The town itself may be a shithole
But those cliffs mean that you're home
A legacy left by Vera Lynn
Wherever you may roam.
Dulwich Poet 30th Octoboer 2015
( I wrote this after coming back across the Channel on a coach through the tunnel, and not the more usual coach route of boat)
Was with the 8th Camberwell Cub Scouts
It was about 1975
There or thereabouts.
For me it seemed so exotic
Going to Boulogne-sur-Mer
For most it was nothing special
But I didn't really care.
It was such an adventure
Going across the Channel in a ship
Not that I can really remember
Bet the night before I had no kip.
Forty years later
You can't hear the sea or a sound
Would you Adam & Eve it
A coach on a train underground!
They call it the Channel Tunnel
An amazing engineering feat
But no matter how impressive
I feel it's a bit of a cheat.
There's still that little kid inside me
Who get a thrill of going on a boat
Gazing at the White Cliffs of Dover
From up deck on my coat.
The town itself may be a shithole
But those cliffs mean that you're home
A legacy left by Vera Lynn
Wherever you may roam.
Dulwich Poet 30th Octoboer 2015
( I wrote this after coming back across the Channel on a coach through the tunnel, and not the more usual coach route of boat)
"Just A Return To..."
I can't believe I'm so polite
It's because I'm abroad
Cos if this was Blighty
I'd be ranting rest assured!
We're queuing to buy tickets
That's ALL you have to do
Not dither planning your journey
I want to turn the air blue.
I've no idea what you're speaking
Probably double bloody Dutch
The line's building behind me
They don't seem to care much.
Th locals behind seem so British
A few tuts and a mutter
Having to bite my tongue
Wanting to explode and splutter.
Good job I'm not in a rush
I'd be going mental if that was the case
I'd tell her to get a move on
Right in her fucking face!
The long queue to my left
All served and got their trains for sure
I'm still waiting like a lemon
Been here for ten minutes and more!
Finally sh'es finished
I get my ticket and go
Down to information booths on the concourse
I can check my times below.
And would you Adam & Eve it
She's also at that too!
I wait for the other window
I know how long she'll take
Earwigging while I'm waiting
She's English for fuck sake!
Now I'm really fuming
Gloves about to come off
No beating about the bush
None of that 'excuse me' with a polite cough.
My platform inquiry takes thirty seconds
Then I tap her on the shoulder
Not bothering about the 'audience'
Anger starting to smoulder.
"You've been fucking about for five minutes
After talking bollocks for a quarter of an hour up top..
Why don't you just FUCK OFF
And stop giving us English a bad name
You fucking stupid cow?"
Now I know that wasn't my usual poetry
'Cos it didn't sort of rhyme
But hand on my honest heart
It's what I said at the time.
All those waiting behind me
I could see they understood the lingo
Smiles breaking out on their faces
As if they'd won a line at the bingo.
The old bat seemed a bit shocked
Her colour seemed to drain
Like I was fucking bovvered
Dashing off to make my train.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(I was stuck in a queue at Amsterdam Centraal station, waiting to buy a ticket. One old lady was taking ages, asking all sorts of questions...when all she had to do was buy a bloody ticket! In the end I had a bit of moan to her face....in my usual 'diplomatic' style.)
It's because I'm abroad
Cos if this was Blighty
I'd be ranting rest assured!
We're queuing to buy tickets
That's ALL you have to do
Not dither planning your journey
I want to turn the air blue.
I've no idea what you're speaking
Probably double bloody Dutch
The line's building behind me
They don't seem to care much.
Th locals behind seem so British
A few tuts and a mutter
Having to bite my tongue
Wanting to explode and splutter.
Good job I'm not in a rush
I'd be going mental if that was the case
I'd tell her to get a move on
Right in her fucking face!
The long queue to my left
All served and got their trains for sure
I'm still waiting like a lemon
Been here for ten minutes and more!
Finally sh'es finished
I get my ticket and go
Down to information booths on the concourse
I can check my times below.
And would you Adam & Eve it
She's also at that too!
I wait for the other window
I know how long she'll take
Earwigging while I'm waiting
She's English for fuck sake!
Now I'm really fuming
Gloves about to come off
No beating about the bush
None of that 'excuse me' with a polite cough.
My platform inquiry takes thirty seconds
Then I tap her on the shoulder
Not bothering about the 'audience'
Anger starting to smoulder.
"You've been fucking about for five minutes
After talking bollocks for a quarter of an hour up top..
Why don't you just FUCK OFF
And stop giving us English a bad name
You fucking stupid cow?"
Now I know that wasn't my usual poetry
'Cos it didn't sort of rhyme
But hand on my honest heart
It's what I said at the time.
All those waiting behind me
I could see they understood the lingo
Smiles breaking out on their faces
As if they'd won a line at the bingo.
The old bat seemed a bit shocked
Her colour seemed to drain
Like I was fucking bovvered
Dashing off to make my train.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(I was stuck in a queue at Amsterdam Centraal station, waiting to buy a ticket. One old lady was taking ages, asking all sorts of questions...when all she had to do was buy a bloody ticket! In the end I had a bit of moan to her face....in my usual 'diplomatic' style.)
"Nosey Cunt"
I'm writing this on a coach
Sort of as a test
If you want to look over my shoulder & read it
Go on...be my guest.
I know nothing at all about you
For all I know you're a half-decent chap
But I know you're a nosey fucker
To peek at my poetry crap.
I turn to look toward you
And you glance sharply ahead
Are you pretending not to be nosey
Or is it being caught that you dread?
So go on ..be a good boy
And go back to that headphones contraption on your head
Best not to piss me off son
In case I start to see red.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(I wrote this on the long coach journey home, from Amsterdam to London. The bloke next to me kept on looking at what I was writing. So when I finished the poem I was doing..I decided to wind him up, and scribbled this one down...)
Sort of as a test
If you want to look over my shoulder & read it
Go on...be my guest.
I know nothing at all about you
For all I know you're a half-decent chap
But I know you're a nosey fucker
To peek at my poetry crap.
I turn to look toward you
And you glance sharply ahead
Are you pretending not to be nosey
Or is it being caught that you dread?
So go on ..be a good boy
And go back to that headphones contraption on your head
Best not to piss me off son
In case I start to see red.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(I wrote this on the long coach journey home, from Amsterdam to London. The bloke next to me kept on looking at what I was writing. So when I finished the poem I was doing..I decided to wind him up, and scribbled this one down...)
"Culture Vulture"
It's amazing how much we take for granted
Museums that are free
Hardly ever visiting
When there's so much to see.
From the British Museum to the Science
National Gallery to the Tate
If you can't get time off work
Some even stay open late.
Unexplored palaces
All with an open door
Welcoming the working classes
And the uneducated poor.
You might think they're just for tourists
And pram pushing yummy mummies
But knowledge brings us power
So don't be taken for dummies.
Broaden your horizons
Educate your mind
Take time out to visit one
You'll be surprised what you find.
You never realise what you have
Until it's there no more
How long before they bring back paying
Another Tory tax on the poor.
They think education & art's a luxury
Not for the likes of you or me
Well soon it bloody won't be
If they decide it's no longer free.
The beauty of not charging
Is you can dip in when you like
When you wouldn't bother for a tenner
At that price take a hike.
The best thing about our museums
Is popping in & out as you choose
That ability to stop for half an hour
What have you got to lose?
So next time when you're up town
Don't dash off for your train
Treat yourself to a free attraction
And stimulate your brain.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(Not sure what this one is really...the idea was a 'moan' about the cost of museums abroad, But it turned into an appreciation of our free museums, and how we 'neglect' visiting them generally, as Londoners in our own city.)
Museums that are free
Hardly ever visiting
When there's so much to see.
From the British Museum to the Science
National Gallery to the Tate
If you can't get time off work
Some even stay open late.
Unexplored palaces
All with an open door
Welcoming the working classes
And the uneducated poor.
You might think they're just for tourists
And pram pushing yummy mummies
But knowledge brings us power
So don't be taken for dummies.
Broaden your horizons
Educate your mind
Take time out to visit one
You'll be surprised what you find.
You never realise what you have
Until it's there no more
How long before they bring back paying
Another Tory tax on the poor.
They think education & art's a luxury
Not for the likes of you or me
Well soon it bloody won't be
If they decide it's no longer free.
The beauty of not charging
Is you can dip in when you like
When you wouldn't bother for a tenner
At that price take a hike.
The best thing about our museums
Is popping in & out as you choose
That ability to stop for half an hour
What have you got to lose?
So next time when you're up town
Don't dash off for your train
Treat yourself to a free attraction
And stimulate your brain.
Dulwich Poet 30th October 2015
(Not sure what this one is really...the idea was a 'moan' about the cost of museums abroad, But it turned into an appreciation of our free museums, and how we 'neglect' visiting them generally, as Londoners in our own city.)
Sunday 25 October 2015
"Spoiler Alert"
Just stop moaning
About this line being so long
Go and chill out
Enjoy a spliff or a bong.
You're on holiday
So find something better to do
Than being stuck
In this godforsaken queue.
You're wasting your time
Stood here static
She's not even at home
They found her in the attic!
Dulwich Poet 25th October 2015
(I wrote this, while briefly toying whether to join a long queue at the Anne Frank House, in Amsterdam. I decided to leave it for another day, as I was dashing off to Arnhem to watch football)
About this line being so long
Go and chill out
Enjoy a spliff or a bong.
You're on holiday
So find something better to do
Than being stuck
In this godforsaken queue.
You're wasting your time
Stood here static
She's not even at home
They found her in the attic!
Dulwich Poet 25th October 2015
(I wrote this, while briefly toying whether to join a long queue at the Anne Frank House, in Amsterdam. I decided to leave it for another day, as I was dashing off to Arnhem to watch football)
Saturday 24 October 2015
"Happy Birthday To Me"
Running late
But bang on time
Stop yer panic
All is fine.
Megabus- mega queue!
Now all checked in
But what a zoo.
People impatient
A push and a shove
Where's your manners
No 'Excuse me, Guv!'
But never mind
I'm sat on my seat
Here begins...
My Birthday treat!
Now forty nine
I'm getting old
Just another day
If the truth be told.
It's just a reminder
My life's been shit
This is an excuse
To get out of my pit.
And as birthdays go
I'm not feeling sad
Football wise
It's not been bad.
That's understated
By a proverbial mile
A lovely inner glow
With a constant smile.
Winning two one at Canvey
To go top of the table
Maybe that Championship dream
Isn't that unattainable.
And for those 'football bonuses'
Millwall won at Sheffield United
With those Thugs & Muggers losing
T*****g always blighted!
Fuck all cards and presents
Which suits me fine
I'm just happy for Dulwich top of the table
On the day I turned forty nine.
Dulwich Poet 24th October 2015
(Every year, since I've been sober, I've gone away on my 'real' birthday, following my first 'sober' birthday. This year was unusual, because I travelled on the evening of my birthday, so had to suffer people wishing me 'happy birthday', but I took great delight in the Hamlet winning & going top, for a perfect present!I wrote this on the Megabus all-night coach trip to Amsterdam that night.)
But bang on time
Stop yer panic
All is fine.
Megabus- mega queue!
Now all checked in
But what a zoo.
People impatient
A push and a shove
Where's your manners
No 'Excuse me, Guv!'
But never mind
I'm sat on my seat
Here begins...
My Birthday treat!
Now forty nine
I'm getting old
Just another day
If the truth be told.
It's just a reminder
My life's been shit
This is an excuse
To get out of my pit.
And as birthdays go
I'm not feeling sad
Football wise
It's not been bad.
That's understated
By a proverbial mile
A lovely inner glow
With a constant smile.
Winning two one at Canvey
To go top of the table
Maybe that Championship dream
Isn't that unattainable.
And for those 'football bonuses'
Millwall won at Sheffield United
With those Thugs & Muggers losing
T*****g always blighted!
Fuck all cards and presents
Which suits me fine
I'm just happy for Dulwich top of the table
On the day I turned forty nine.
Dulwich Poet 24th October 2015
(Every year, since I've been sober, I've gone away on my 'real' birthday, following my first 'sober' birthday. This year was unusual, because I travelled on the evening of my birthday, so had to suffer people wishing me 'happy birthday', but I took great delight in the Hamlet winning & going top, for a perfect present!I wrote this on the Megabus all-night coach trip to Amsterdam that night.)
Saturday 10 October 2015
"Off You Get"
Reasoning.
Blagging.
Bullshit.
Call it what
You like.
It's late.
I want to get home.
And so does
The rst of the bus.
So get off.
Fuck off.
Show me the way
To go home.
I'd better not
Miss my train.
Lip synching
Hard done by
Muttering
Through the window.
I would say
"Shut it cunt!"
But I can't hear you
As I'm on the bus
And you're not.
So you're just a
CUNT!
Don't spare the horses driver!
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2015
(I wrote this one on a bus, after someone tried to get on the bus without their pass. The driver refused to move the bus until they got off.)
Blagging.
Bullshit.
Call it what
You like.
It's late.
I want to get home.
And so does
The rst of the bus.
So get off.
Fuck off.
Show me the way
To go home.
I'd better not
Miss my train.
Lip synching
Hard done by
Muttering
Through the window.
I would say
"Shut it cunt!"
But I can't hear you
As I'm on the bus
And you're not.
So you're just a
CUNT!
Don't spare the horses driver!
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2015
(I wrote this one on a bus, after someone tried to get on the bus without their pass. The driver refused to move the bus until they got off.)
"Great Men are the Humblest"
It all seemed far too clinically clean
Newly built spick and span
But I didn't come for the surroundings
I came to say goodbye to a great man.
Nearly three decades since you left London
But you never lost your love
I don't believe in 'heaven'
But if there is you'll be watching from above.
Chinwagging with the spirits of old mates
With who you used to stand around the ground
Still cheering on The Hamlet
Though we won't hear you make a sound.
I hope this doesn't sound morbid
For it's not what I mean to do
But I'd love to have peeked in your coffin
To have one last look at you.
When it comes to my time
Which I hope isn't for quite a while
I want to wear full Dulwich kit like you
Even in death you had quality and style.
You had such a good innings
Making it to ninety three
Even at such a grand age
It's The Hamlet you wanted to see.
In those rare games that you got to
There was that magical twinkle in your eye
That old football song was never truer
You really were Dulwich til you die.
Such a humble man
Keeping quiet about the War
Lying about your age and such long service
I dread to think of the horrors you saw.
Coming home & settling in Camberwell
Finding yourself a wonderful wife
Discovering another love for your local Club
Decades later you came into my life.
Truth is I didn't really know you
Apart from our love of Pink and Blue
But your genuine warm heart
Embraced everyone you knew.
We were from different generations
But I'm so glad we met
Despite years away from our South London
The Hamlet you'd never forget.
Come each and every Saturday
You'd be desperate for Malcolm's text
If the result didn't go our way
It was time to get vexed!
But there was still that hope and optimism
Passed down from father to son
Even if we lost this week
There was always the next to be won.
You had a love for Dulwich Hamlet
A win would always hide our strife
That's what supporting our boys did for us
Giving us so much pleasure in life.
Having known you and your family
Truly fills me with pride
It's been a pleasure to share the terraces with you
We'll forever be side by side.
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2015
(Yesterday I was lucky enough to be at the funeral of a 93-year-old Hamlet fan...this is for Ivor Bateman RIP)
Newly built spick and span
But I didn't come for the surroundings
I came to say goodbye to a great man.
Nearly three decades since you left London
But you never lost your love
I don't believe in 'heaven'
But if there is you'll be watching from above.
Chinwagging with the spirits of old mates
With who you used to stand around the ground
Still cheering on The Hamlet
Though we won't hear you make a sound.
I hope this doesn't sound morbid
For it's not what I mean to do
But I'd love to have peeked in your coffin
To have one last look at you.
When it comes to my time
Which I hope isn't for quite a while
I want to wear full Dulwich kit like you
Even in death you had quality and style.
You had such a good innings
Making it to ninety three
Even at such a grand age
It's The Hamlet you wanted to see.
In those rare games that you got to
There was that magical twinkle in your eye
That old football song was never truer
You really were Dulwich til you die.
Such a humble man
Keeping quiet about the War
Lying about your age and such long service
I dread to think of the horrors you saw.
Coming home & settling in Camberwell
Finding yourself a wonderful wife
Discovering another love for your local Club
Decades later you came into my life.
Truth is I didn't really know you
Apart from our love of Pink and Blue
But your genuine warm heart
Embraced everyone you knew.
We were from different generations
But I'm so glad we met
Despite years away from our South London
The Hamlet you'd never forget.
Come each and every Saturday
You'd be desperate for Malcolm's text
If the result didn't go our way
It was time to get vexed!
But there was still that hope and optimism
Passed down from father to son
Even if we lost this week
There was always the next to be won.
You had a love for Dulwich Hamlet
A win would always hide our strife
That's what supporting our boys did for us
Giving us so much pleasure in life.
Having known you and your family
Truly fills me with pride
It's been a pleasure to share the terraces with you
We'll forever be side by side.
Dulwich Poet 10th October 2015
(Yesterday I was lucky enough to be at the funeral of a 93-year-old Hamlet fan...this is for Ivor Bateman RIP)
Thursday 8 October 2015
" My Glory's Better"
All the talk's of Europe
A great night for the Paddies
But my magic moment tonight
Was watching our young laddies.
The glory of the FA Youth Cup
A competition where you can dream
Of seeing our boys at the Emirates or Anfield
Pitting themselves against the Premiership cream.
Tonight we went down to Margate
Moneybags flash club on the coast
Pipped us in the Ryman play-offs last year
But in the Youth Cup they are toast.
An early 'oggie' calmed the nerves
Two up at the break
So much for them being decent
This is a piece of cake.
In the second half they hit us
Suddenly it's level
It really couldn't get much worse
If it was scripted by the devil.
A roar as we get a penalty
Groans as it balloons over the bar
I'd hate to have taken it
Such will be the mental scar.
Fortunately we continue to press forward
Attacking wave after wave
Defeat is never considered
The lads being ever brave.
There goes the final whistle
Margate two, Dulwich Hamlet four;
Only one more qualifier to go
We're knocking at the door.
You might think I'm a little crazy
To watch the Youth Team on the Isle of Thanet
But when it comes to my Dulwich Hamlet
I'm a total Pink and Blue gannet.
How I love nights like this
Under lights in the autumn chill
Enough to warm the cockles of my heart
I genuinely get a thrill.
I might sometimes question my sanity
In a field on a Sunday & all that lark
But I get my reward on nights like tonight
With glorious victories at Hartsdown Park.
Dulwich Poet 8th October 2015
(I wrote this on the coach back to London, after we had just won 4-2 at Margate, in the 2nd qualifying round of the FA Youth Cup. It was the same night at the Republic of Ireland qualified for Euro 16, in France, next year.)
A great night for the Paddies
But my magic moment tonight
Was watching our young laddies.
The glory of the FA Youth Cup
A competition where you can dream
Of seeing our boys at the Emirates or Anfield
Pitting themselves against the Premiership cream.
Tonight we went down to Margate
Moneybags flash club on the coast
Pipped us in the Ryman play-offs last year
But in the Youth Cup they are toast.
An early 'oggie' calmed the nerves
Two up at the break
So much for them being decent
This is a piece of cake.
In the second half they hit us
Suddenly it's level
It really couldn't get much worse
If it was scripted by the devil.
A roar as we get a penalty
Groans as it balloons over the bar
I'd hate to have taken it
Such will be the mental scar.
Fortunately we continue to press forward
Attacking wave after wave
Defeat is never considered
The lads being ever brave.
There goes the final whistle
Margate two, Dulwich Hamlet four;
Only one more qualifier to go
We're knocking at the door.
You might think I'm a little crazy
To watch the Youth Team on the Isle of Thanet
But when it comes to my Dulwich Hamlet
I'm a total Pink and Blue gannet.
How I love nights like this
Under lights in the autumn chill
Enough to warm the cockles of my heart
I genuinely get a thrill.
I might sometimes question my sanity
In a field on a Sunday & all that lark
But I get my reward on nights like tonight
With glorious victories at Hartsdown Park.
Dulwich Poet 8th October 2015
(I wrote this on the coach back to London, after we had just won 4-2 at Margate, in the 2nd qualifying round of the FA Youth Cup. It was the same night at the Republic of Ireland qualified for Euro 16, in France, next year.)
"Facebook Challenge"
What a way to celebrate
Stuck in a traffic jam
But as long as we win tonight
I really don't give a damn.
So if we've not played the game yet
What is there to celebrate...
Does today mean nothing to you
Well go and check the date.
For Thursday 8th October
Is 'National Poetry Day'
Not sure if I qualify as a poet
But I'm still gonna rhyme and say-
I've fallen in love with poetry
Even though I don't love myself
It's helped me keep my sanity
Though I'm supposed to be in good mental health.
I don't know where my poems will take me
Just like life in the real world
But at least it generally stops dark thoughts
From deep in my head being unfurled.
When I decide to read and share one
It's always a sense of relief
I still find it a struggle
To accept people have belief.
I guess I do sort of OK
Most times I step on a stage
Even though I get taken for an angry poet
Who likes to read, rant and rage.
Not all of my poems are for sharing
In reality just a select few
Now that I've got used to it
It's something I like and do.
I believe it's made me a better person
Giving me confidence and self-belief
If you think that's bullshit though
I'm not going to have a beef.
For I know it's made me stronger
Doesn't matter how you feel
I know what poetry's done for me
And I'm telling you what's real.
There's some who don't think I should be poet
It for the middle-class up-their-arse
But the more I got into it
The more I let that pass.
Anyone can pick up some paper
Put a cheap biro in their hand
Deep down we can all write poetry
So don't bury your head in the sand.
Truth is there's no rules to poetry
There's no rhyme or reason
You can do it on the beach one lazy summer
Or on a coach in the football season.
Poetry's like your cock
It can be long, short or inbetween
Poetry's not just for rich posh schoolboys
Also for us Council Estates geerzers without a bean.
I don't know if you like experiments
But please try this for me
As soon as you've finished reading this
Try writing a poem for me!
HAPPY POETRY DAY!
Dulwich Poet 8th October 2015
(Thursday 8th October was 'National Poetry Day'. I wrote this on the coach down to Margate, on the way to watch the Youth Team. I had no idea what was going to write, but finished it off, by deciding to post it on Facebook, to see if-very unlikely!-anyone will respond.)
Stuck in a traffic jam
But as long as we win tonight
I really don't give a damn.
So if we've not played the game yet
What is there to celebrate...
Does today mean nothing to you
Well go and check the date.
For Thursday 8th October
Is 'National Poetry Day'
Not sure if I qualify as a poet
But I'm still gonna rhyme and say-
I've fallen in love with poetry
Even though I don't love myself
It's helped me keep my sanity
Though I'm supposed to be in good mental health.
I don't know where my poems will take me
Just like life in the real world
But at least it generally stops dark thoughts
From deep in my head being unfurled.
When I decide to read and share one
It's always a sense of relief
I still find it a struggle
To accept people have belief.
I guess I do sort of OK
Most times I step on a stage
Even though I get taken for an angry poet
Who likes to read, rant and rage.
Not all of my poems are for sharing
In reality just a select few
Now that I've got used to it
It's something I like and do.
I believe it's made me a better person
Giving me confidence and self-belief
If you think that's bullshit though
I'm not going to have a beef.
For I know it's made me stronger
Doesn't matter how you feel
I know what poetry's done for me
And I'm telling you what's real.
There's some who don't think I should be poet
It for the middle-class up-their-arse
But the more I got into it
The more I let that pass.
Anyone can pick up some paper
Put a cheap biro in their hand
Deep down we can all write poetry
So don't bury your head in the sand.
Truth is there's no rules to poetry
There's no rhyme or reason
You can do it on the beach one lazy summer
Or on a coach in the football season.
Poetry's like your cock
It can be long, short or inbetween
Poetry's not just for rich posh schoolboys
Also for us Council Estates geerzers without a bean.
I don't know if you like experiments
But please try this for me
As soon as you've finished reading this
Try writing a poem for me!
HAPPY POETRY DAY!
Dulwich Poet 8th October 2015
(Thursday 8th October was 'National Poetry Day'. I wrote this on the coach down to Margate, on the way to watch the Youth Team. I had no idea what was going to write, but finished it off, by deciding to post it on Facebook, to see if-very unlikely!-anyone will respond.)
Wednesday 7 October 2015
"Double Bubble"
I'm off to South Park tonight
Heading there with my mate Finn
For a sad old git like me
It's what I call a "win-win".
An awkward one to get to
Which is why I've not done this local 'tick',
Now I've got company
It's an excuse for this being my pick.
For I love hanging around Finn
Even though he's sadly straight
He makes me smile and happy
Even though he's just a mate.
All those things I'd love to do
I fantasise in my head
Not that I'd go any further
His mum would have me for dead!
Truth is I'm a lonely old git
With a very low self-esteem
I enjoy and trust his company
And what's the harm in a dream?
He actually makes me sad
He's everything that I'm not
Young, beautiful, ambitious, talented
While my life's gone to pot.
Other might laugh at me
Thinking I'm really sad
It's not my fault I fancy him
I hate making him feel bad.
Truth is nothing would ever happen
If that chance came I'd say NO
For the silly softie that I am
I'd hate for our friendship to go.
By rights we shouldn't be mates
The generation gap's so wide
That's what makes Dulwich Hamlet so special
Young and old side by side.
I really am honoured
For young Finn to be a mate
Hopefully he'll never be scared off
By my constant dreams of him being a date!
Dulwich Poet 9th October 2015
(This wasn't the poem I expected it to be! I went to a game with a young mate of mine, where a team he coaches with was the away side, and I hadn't been there before, so that was my 'excuse' ! ;-) )
Heading there with my mate Finn
For a sad old git like me
It's what I call a "win-win".
An awkward one to get to
Which is why I've not done this local 'tick',
Now I've got company
It's an excuse for this being my pick.
For I love hanging around Finn
Even though he's sadly straight
He makes me smile and happy
Even though he's just a mate.
All those things I'd love to do
I fantasise in my head
Not that I'd go any further
His mum would have me for dead!
Truth is I'm a lonely old git
With a very low self-esteem
I enjoy and trust his company
And what's the harm in a dream?
He actually makes me sad
He's everything that I'm not
Young, beautiful, ambitious, talented
While my life's gone to pot.
Other might laugh at me
Thinking I'm really sad
It's not my fault I fancy him
I hate making him feel bad.
Truth is nothing would ever happen
If that chance came I'd say NO
For the silly softie that I am
I'd hate for our friendship to go.
By rights we shouldn't be mates
The generation gap's so wide
That's what makes Dulwich Hamlet so special
Young and old side by side.
I really am honoured
For young Finn to be a mate
Hopefully he'll never be scared off
By my constant dreams of him being a date!
Dulwich Poet 9th October 2015
(This wasn't the poem I expected it to be! I went to a game with a young mate of mine, where a team he coaches with was the away side, and I hadn't been there before, so that was my 'excuse' ! ;-) )
Sunday 4 October 2015
"Bus Wank Response"
This is actually two poems...the first, in italics, was written in about fifteen minutes by a young mate of mine, the second is my response to it....as to which one is better..that's for you to decide:
"Bus Wankers"
Now I feel like such a tart
Cos this fat cunt just cracked a fart
And the reason I think he's such a twat
Is that we're both sitting at the back
He's ruined my fucking cherry pies
And I can't even shift to the right!
Cos I've got some seat hogger there
Who's just playing with their fake hair!
Fuck it I'm getting off the bus
What the fuck's all the fuss?
Why are we all trying to get to places?
When Dulwich Hamlet are playing!
(By my mate, 4th October 2015)
"Bus Wank Response"
I don't drive
Never had a car
So I use public transport
Going near and far.
It's my way to travel
I don't make a fuss
The old-fashioned British way
Not to shout and cuss.
I simply silently seethe
Whether upstairs or down
But at the very worst
I only wear an angry frown.
How I hate those tinny tunes
That no-one can understand
A racket out of their headphones
Or mobile gadget in your hand.
Then there's that real stench
Of your bargain grease chicken wings
Polluting my nostrils
The annoyance that it brings.
Then there's cards called oysters
Please don't get me started
I'd rather people caused a stink
By letting go having farted.
Delaying my journey
As you hunt for your bloody card
Just fucking have it ready
It really isn't hard!
But the worst of the lot
Are those human tubs of lard
Squashing you against the window
If you're not on your guard.
Please don't get wrong
I know I'm hardly slim
Being suffocated by blubber though
Really ain't my thing.
It's the price I have to pay
For using a Travelcard
At least there's the consolation
Of being a 'Bus Wanker Bard'.
Dulwich Poet 4th October 2015
(As I mentioned at the start, this is a response to a poem, and is on the same subject, which is using public transport)
"Bus Wankers"
Now I feel like such a tart
Cos this fat cunt just cracked a fart
And the reason I think he's such a twat
Is that we're both sitting at the back
He's ruined my fucking cherry pies
And I can't even shift to the right!
Cos I've got some seat hogger there
Who's just playing with their fake hair!
Fuck it I'm getting off the bus
What the fuck's all the fuss?
Why are we all trying to get to places?
When Dulwich Hamlet are playing!
(By my mate, 4th October 2015)
"Bus Wank Response"
I don't drive
Never had a car
So I use public transport
Going near and far.
It's my way to travel
I don't make a fuss
The old-fashioned British way
Not to shout and cuss.
I simply silently seethe
Whether upstairs or down
But at the very worst
I only wear an angry frown.
How I hate those tinny tunes
That no-one can understand
A racket out of their headphones
Or mobile gadget in your hand.
Then there's that real stench
Of your bargain grease chicken wings
Polluting my nostrils
The annoyance that it brings.
Then there's cards called oysters
Please don't get me started
I'd rather people caused a stink
By letting go having farted.
Delaying my journey
As you hunt for your bloody card
Just fucking have it ready
It really isn't hard!
But the worst of the lot
Are those human tubs of lard
Squashing you against the window
If you're not on your guard.
Please don't get wrong
I know I'm hardly slim
Being suffocated by blubber though
Really ain't my thing.
It's the price I have to pay
For using a Travelcard
At least there's the consolation
Of being a 'Bus Wanker Bard'.
Dulwich Poet 4th October 2015
(As I mentioned at the start, this is a response to a poem, and is on the same subject, which is using public transport)
Saturday 3 October 2015
"My Fun Palace"
Come to Carnegie Library
A great place to chill
Then go to a local match
Dulwich Hamlet at Champion Hill.
Three o'clock on a Saturday
Time to cleanse your soul
Non-league football's uplifting
Go on, make it your goal.
(There was a community event at a local library, I was there on a stall from Dulwich Hamlet Football Club. It was a broad arts & community event. There was yards of blank paper which you could draw or write on..and this is what I wrote)
A great place to chill
Then go to a local match
Dulwich Hamlet at Champion Hill.
Three o'clock on a Saturday
Time to cleanse your soul
Non-league football's uplifting
Go on, make it your goal.
(There was a community event at a local library, I was there on a stall from Dulwich Hamlet Football Club. It was a broad arts & community event. There was yards of blank paper which you could draw or write on..and this is what I wrote)
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