Combed back hair and glasses
Stroking your manicured beard
You are a stereotypical hipster
Totally fucking weird.
I really hate the Overground
Bringing your sort south
At least I've mellowed in sobriety
Writing poetry instead of giving it mouth.
Cos make no mistake sitting opposite
You'd hate the thoughts in my head
If I had my own way
You weirdy beardy tossers would all be dead!
At least back in the day a beard
Just meant a hippy or real ale freak
Now you take all the seats on the train
Every single day of the week.
It wasn't so bad when you were Dalston or Shoreditch
On the other side of the water
But now you're in my South London
It's time for a mass slaughter.
Surely that would be a winner
If I stood for London Mayor
The Anti-Hipster Mass Murder Party
They wouldn't have a prayer!
What a great transpontine pastime
Now bear baiting's not coming back
How about a 'Tally Ho! Hipster Hunt'
Across the Thames along the Overground track?
Dulwich Poet 28th January 2016
(I wrote this on the Overground train home from Shoreditch High Street to Sydenham, after having been to an Open Mic in Brick Lane. The bloke opposite got off at Brockley.)
Thursday 28 January 2016
"Janine Taught Me"
What is a haiku?
It's all Japanese to me
Will this do for you?
Dulwich Poet 28th January 2016
(I went to a poetry book launch, at Housemans, for Janine Booth's latest book. She included some haiku's in it, and explain their syllable patter of 5-7-5. So I wrote this...)
It's all Japanese to me
Will this do for you?
Dulwich Poet 28th January 2016
(I went to a poetry book launch, at Housemans, for Janine Booth's latest book. She included some haiku's in it, and explain their syllable patter of 5-7-5. So I wrote this...)
Wednesday 20 January 2016
"Silly Billy"
Wherever I go
Which way I look
There’s this chap Bill
All over Facebook.
He’s telling me this
He’s telling me that
But I’m not listening Bill
You’re just a cartoon prat.
I don’t know you
You don’t know me
Yet when I log on
You’re all I can see.
So go away Bill
Give it a rest
Terrace time travel
That’s what I want best.
Back to the Seventies
It will make him chill
All of us chanting
"Kill, kill…kill the Bill"!
If only….
Dulwich Poet 20th January 2016
(There’s this stick drawing character called Bill, who seems to be popping up on loads of Facebook statuses at the moment. I wrote this after a poetry friend shared her poem called ‘This is Bill’:
Bill uses Facebook.
Bill likes to tell other people what they should and should not post.
Bill is not smart.
He's a snotty, judgemental wanker.
Don't be like Bill. )
Which way I look
There’s this chap Bill
All over Facebook.
He’s telling me this
He’s telling me that
But I’m not listening Bill
You’re just a cartoon prat.
I don’t know you
You don’t know me
Yet when I log on
You’re all I can see.
So go away Bill
Give it a rest
Terrace time travel
That’s what I want best.
Back to the Seventies
It will make him chill
All of us chanting
"Kill, kill…kill the Bill"!
If only….
Dulwich Poet 20th January 2016
(There’s this stick drawing character called Bill, who seems to be popping up on loads of Facebook statuses at the moment. I wrote this after a poetry friend shared her poem called ‘This is Bill’:
Bill uses Facebook.
Bill likes to tell other people what they should and should not post.
Bill is not smart.
He's a snotty, judgemental wanker.
Don't be like Bill. )
Saturday 9 January 2016
"What Are The Odds?"
By the time I read this
I could be a multi-millionaire
But the odds don't stack up
This really ain't fair.
First they up the prices
Now it's two quid a pop
Then they add a load more numbers
To make the jackpot harder to cop.
Now I know I'll never win it
Not a hope in hell
But with the odds much longer
It leaves a nasty smell.
When the Lottery first started
We imagined it could be us
Rich beyond our wildest dreams
Life going on without a fuss.
I'd would've settled for three numbers
Which I can't get- try as I might
Not even doing well enough
To win a 'free' Platform One poetry night.
Truth is it's a big con trick
Another tax on the poor
Ticket price & odds going up
My dreams aren't real anymore.
Once I've lost again this evening
I really don't give a fuck
No longer a Camelot/Cameron cash cow
False hope based on imaginary luck.
I'll pretend to still take part
Putting my money in a jar
Saving for a little holiday
Somewhere near or far.
I'll put my pound coins in a cup in the kitchen
Buying tickets I'll skip
Saving up my eight pounds a week
To pay for a foreign football trip.
Dulwich Poet 9th January 2016
( I wrote this on the way into work, in anticipation of reading it at the Platform One poetry night, in an Open Mic slot. The rollover jackpot, not won since October, since they added more numbers, is estimated to be about £6o million tonight.)
I could be a multi-millionaire
But the odds don't stack up
This really ain't fair.
First they up the prices
Now it's two quid a pop
Then they add a load more numbers
To make the jackpot harder to cop.
Now I know I'll never win it
Not a hope in hell
But with the odds much longer
It leaves a nasty smell.
When the Lottery first started
We imagined it could be us
Rich beyond our wildest dreams
Life going on without a fuss.
I'd would've settled for three numbers
Which I can't get- try as I might
Not even doing well enough
To win a 'free' Platform One poetry night.
Truth is it's a big con trick
Another tax on the poor
Ticket price & odds going up
My dreams aren't real anymore.
Once I've lost again this evening
I really don't give a fuck
No longer a Camelot/Cameron cash cow
False hope based on imaginary luck.
I'll pretend to still take part
Putting my money in a jar
Saving for a little holiday
Somewhere near or far.
I'll put my pound coins in a cup in the kitchen
Buying tickets I'll skip
Saving up my eight pounds a week
To pay for a foreign football trip.
Dulwich Poet 9th January 2016
( I wrote this on the way into work, in anticipation of reading it at the Platform One poetry night, in an Open Mic slot. The rollover jackpot, not won since October, since they added more numbers, is estimated to be about £6o million tonight.)
Sunday 3 January 2016
"It Stinks"
Why do they say that?
Wake up, and smell the coffee?
I can’t stand coffee!
It stinks.
Try toffee.
I could cope with that.
Or bacon.
Everybody loves
The smell of bacon.
Even vegetarians.
But coffee?
I’d rather pull the duvet
Over my head
And smell my own farts.
Dulwich Poet 3rd January 2016
(I have no idea where this came from! Just short one that popped in my
head out of nowhere!)
"Judging"
Here I Am
Sat on the fifth floor
Of the Royal Festival Hall
Majestically relaxed
Sat on the fifth floor
Of the Royal Festival Hall
Majestically relaxed
In a comfy settee.
One of my favourite
Spots in London.
Home of the Saison Poetry Library.
Whoever he may be…
I’m no expert you know.
Nobody knows me here.
I am just one
Stranger among many.
There are no
Twelve men and good
Here it is me
And me alone
Who is judge and jury.
Sockets by the window
For MY laptop
Stolen by YOU
Selfish old man
Head gently nodding
To the left
Moving like clockwork
Powered by
Your silent snores.
You fucking selfish old git.
It seems this
Is where
Old people come
To hibernate.
Man to the right
Trying to get through
A Jo Nesbo.
Nemesis.
His or mine?
Keeping on reading
Inbetween a bit
Of shut-eye.
We’re not the sort
For power-napping.
Drowsiness caused
By the lack of a life
And these saggingly comfy
Low leather sofas.
So far, so good.
Better than I have at home.
Which is where
I am hiding from.
Desperate to
Find tranquillity
And anonymity
From the reality
Of life within
My own four walls.
Yes, sit down
Come and join
The party…
In our heads.
Staring…
Trying not to
Silently judge
But we all are.
I can see it
In your eyes.
As the newcomer
Takes off
His homeless shoes
To rest his weary
Sockless feet.
Dumping all three
Of his meagre bags
In front of you and me.
But not before he’d rescued
His precious Sunday dinner
Of a can of Fosters
From within
To fill the void inside.
I could be wrong but…
Your green jacket
Light but practical
Complementing your sweatshirt
Adorned with the stars and stripes
With matching black
Adidas tracksuit bottoms.
Not quite clean
Though neither of
The great unwashed style…
Yet, hinting,
To me at least
That you had
Some sort of
‘Crisis at Christmas’
If you get my drift
As you drift.
But what do I know?
And what do they
Think of me?
The simple answer is…
Nothing.
Here, on floor five
Of the Festival Hall,
I am a nobody.
I blend in
So seamlessly
It is untrue.
But this is the reality.
A story of my life.
Surrounded by
What might have been
Or what is to come.
Only fate can decide.
Who am I to judge?
Dulwich Poet 3rd January 2016
( I wrote this, as I was sat down on one of the comfy armchairs on the
5th floor of the Festival Hall, just relaxing & finishing off a
book, before returning it to the adjacent Poetry Library, on the same floor.)
Saturday 2 January 2016
"Six Pointer"
Call me silly
Call me a fool
I'm as nervous as
My first day at school.
Call me a fool
I'm as nervous as
My first day at school.
Because if we win
I live for days like these
It’s not like Harrow or Hendon
That’s chalk and cheese.
We’ve had a couple of good wins
A statement of intent
Three points at Tonbridge Angels
Will be heaven sent.
The spirit of Edgar Kail
Looking down from above
As always guiding Gavin
The genuis who’s the Guv.
Second half of the season
It’s up an running
Which team will be the first to choke?
Who will be more cunning?
New-veau fans saying it’s great to be top
But in reality we ain’t
Other teams can catch us
In my mind the title’s faint.
It’s going to be a long four months til April
As we all jostle for top spot
Maybe, just maybe, it will be us
If we give it all we’ve got.
Dulwich Poet 2nd January 2016
(Dulwich Hamlet are away to one of our title challengers Tonbridge
Angels. I wrote this on the way to the match. We actually drew 1-1, they
equalised in the last minute. Taking off my ‘Pink & Blue tinted
glasses’..it was a fair result.)
Friday 1 January 2016
"For Neil..."
Was it really a year ago
When you trotted out the door
Going for a Parkrun jog
Ending up on the floor.
A heart stopping moment
Where your heart really didn't start
If it wasn't for two off-duty doctors
Alex's life would have fallen apart.
Rushed off to King's College
Where it was touch and go
The emotions she must have gone through
Far too scared to show.
You weren't ready for the cemetary
A fighter through and through
She was there every day
A love that was so true.
You started to get stronger
Word got to Champion Hill
Jaws dropped in horror
Time almost stood still.
You couldn't kick the bucket
That's just where you stood
Surely it wasn't true
That 'god' only took the good?
To Alex, your family and football
You had far too much to give
This couldn't be happening
You simply had to live.
Even though I don't know you well
It was great to see you back
Even more emotional
When you jogged round that Dulwich Park 'track'.
I'm proud to have you both as friends
I hope you can call me a mate
It's a pleasure to be here with you
On this very special date.
Dulwich Poet 1st January 2016
(A young Dulwich Hamlet supporter, in his thirties, collapsed & his his heart stopped, last New Years Day. He had a spell in intensive care, followed by a long recovery, both in hospital and at home. This New Years Day he invited some friends to a drink at the East Dulwich Tavern, I went, and wrote this inside the card I gave him)
When you trotted out the door
Going for a Parkrun jog
Ending up on the floor.
A heart stopping moment
Where your heart really didn't start
If it wasn't for two off-duty doctors
Alex's life would have fallen apart.
Rushed off to King's College
Where it was touch and go
The emotions she must have gone through
Far too scared to show.
You weren't ready for the cemetary
A fighter through and through
She was there every day
A love that was so true.
You started to get stronger
Word got to Champion Hill
Jaws dropped in horror
Time almost stood still.
You couldn't kick the bucket
That's just where you stood
Surely it wasn't true
That 'god' only took the good?
To Alex, your family and football
You had far too much to give
This couldn't be happening
You simply had to live.
Even though I don't know you well
It was great to see you back
Even more emotional
When you jogged round that Dulwich Park 'track'.
I'm proud to have you both as friends
I hope you can call me a mate
It's a pleasure to be here with you
On this very special date.
Dulwich Poet 1st January 2016
(A young Dulwich Hamlet supporter, in his thirties, collapsed & his his heart stopped, last New Years Day. He had a spell in intensive care, followed by a long recovery, both in hospital and at home. This New Years Day he invited some friends to a drink at the East Dulwich Tavern, I went, and wrote this inside the card I gave him)
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