Refugees Welcome
You really are a star
But ask yourself a question
Do you really know who they are?
I'm not talking about terrorists
They get in no matter what
But how do you reconcile your politics
With the beliefs many have got?
I'm no fan of religions
But even mild Muslim seems extreme
Their views on gays and women
Seem like a bad dream.
Even right-wing reactionaries
Such as the Catholic Church
Wouldn't dare support a punishment
That was stoning to death or the birch.
I'm not saying all shouldn't be welcome
Not by a long chalk
But how do YOU reconcile your caring beliefs
With their hate-filled talk?
I've no easy answer
But I know my left from right
And some of these religious beliefs
May as well be Nazi-lite.
I class myself as a leftie
Proud to be a red
But I simply can't share a platform
With those who want me dead.
Dulwich Poet 24 February 2016
(Walking through Hamburg I saw a parked van with a 'Refugees Welcome' scarf on the dashboard. I support their plight...but part of me has a problem with the religious ideology of parts of the world that they flee flom..and thus, bring over here. Irrational, maybe...but I do not feel comfortable inside on demonstrations, like 'Stop The War' for ecample, marching with religious people, be that Catholic or Muslim...who, despite being 'caring' are still anti-gay, discriminate against women, and so on..)
Wednesday 24 February 2016
"Mystery Shopper"
I wish they had these in London
This is what I call the flicks
Proper porno cinema
Where I go for Hamburg tricks.
The place is really seedy
It's what the word was invented for
But it doesn't stop me paying
Eight euro's fifty at the door.
Straight into a cabin
Pure filth on the screen
And sticking your cock through a glory hole
There's no need to preen!
I'm happy to swallow
Even lick an arse
But when it comes to fucking..
Not for me, I have to pass.
Give me this over public toilets
At least you know the score
No need to panic
Everytime you hear the door.
I was in Germany for six days
'Only' went there thrice
I very much doubt it's to your taste
But I found it rather nice!
Dulwich Poet 24the February 2016
(In Hamburg there is a gay cinema place, called 'Mystery World.... basically for anonymous sex!)
This is what I call the flicks
Proper porno cinema
Where I go for Hamburg tricks.
The place is really seedy
It's what the word was invented for
But it doesn't stop me paying
Eight euro's fifty at the door.
Straight into a cabin
Pure filth on the screen
And sticking your cock through a glory hole
There's no need to preen!
I'm happy to swallow
Even lick an arse
But when it comes to fucking..
Not for me, I have to pass.
Give me this over public toilets
At least you know the score
No need to panic
Everytime you hear the door.
I was in Germany for six days
'Only' went there thrice
I very much doubt it's to your taste
But I found it rather nice!
Dulwich Poet 24the February 2016
(In Hamburg there is a gay cinema place, called 'Mystery World.... basically for anonymous sex!)
"Show Me The Way To Go Home"
I'm on my way to Gatwick
Easyjet in the air
Always my carrier of choice
Mainly for the fare.
Not so keen on the 'trolly dollies'
Prefer the young lads in the aisle
Not they notice me
Don't even get a smile.
Returning from Hamburg
I needed that break
Sadly the Altona game was off
So this time was a mistake.
The weather wasn't perfect
A mix of cold and wet
Not that it really mattered
Not a cause to fret.
Soon it's back to the 'same old...'
Worry and no belief
It's a times like this I think of the future
My lack of confidence underneath.
It's the same old story with me
Need to sort myself out
Believe in all my good things
Banish my self-doubt.
I need to set myself targets
Just one step at a time
Not overwhelmed by negativity
And maybe it will turn out fine.
No idea what I'm looking for
Wouldn't know where to begin
Perhaps sort my flat out
So it's fit to invite a friend in.
Slowly, slowly, slowly
I've got to get out of this rut
Otherwise I've got no future except
In a coffin with the lid shut.
Now I'm getting older
I'm not sure I want to die
But I feel I've not long left to live
And not adverse to giving it a try.
There's only a couple of years to go
Until I'm totally out of debt
And that's when I want to fly more
Thanks to Easyjet.
I'm not sure how to set my goals
Or what I want to attain
Is it too much to want normality
Rather than think I'm insane?
Dulwich Poet 24th February 2016
(I wrote this on the plane, flying home from Hamburg to London...it's, as you can guess, about me!)
Easyjet in the air
Always my carrier of choice
Mainly for the fare.
Not so keen on the 'trolly dollies'
Prefer the young lads in the aisle
Not they notice me
Don't even get a smile.
Returning from Hamburg
I needed that break
Sadly the Altona game was off
So this time was a mistake.
The weather wasn't perfect
A mix of cold and wet
Not that it really mattered
Not a cause to fret.
Soon it's back to the 'same old...'
Worry and no belief
It's a times like this I think of the future
My lack of confidence underneath.
It's the same old story with me
Need to sort myself out
Believe in all my good things
Banish my self-doubt.
I need to set myself targets
Just one step at a time
Not overwhelmed by negativity
And maybe it will turn out fine.
No idea what I'm looking for
Wouldn't know where to begin
Perhaps sort my flat out
So it's fit to invite a friend in.
Slowly, slowly, slowly
I've got to get out of this rut
Otherwise I've got no future except
In a coffin with the lid shut.
Now I'm getting older
I'm not sure I want to die
But I feel I've not long left to live
And not adverse to giving it a try.
There's only a couple of years to go
Until I'm totally out of debt
And that's when I want to fly more
Thanks to Easyjet.
I'm not sure how to set my goals
Or what I want to attain
Is it too much to want normality
Rather than think I'm insane?
Dulwich Poet 24th February 2016
(I wrote this on the plane, flying home from Hamburg to London...it's, as you can guess, about me!)
"Thomas Flynn"
I'm not one for names and faces
Forget who I met last week
As for someone I went to school with
Never been a memory geek.
Over thirty years since I left school
And we're at the same football game
You've got an 'excuse' watching your son
I've only got Dulwich Hamlet to blame!
You said you had a thing for faces
As we exchanged small chat
I didn't say what I really wanted
Just rabbited about this and that.
Turns out we really don't know anyone
From our days back in school
There was a person I wanted to ask about
But didn't want to look a fool.
Do you remember a boy called Colin Deary
I still think about him a lot
I was such a scared guilt ridden poof
He was the only fumble I got.
We used to stay over
And had fun for a few years
It was more naive touching
Because of my sad sexual fears.
I often think about him
Wonder how his life turned out
Did he grow up straight like you
Or was there always some doubt?
He told me he messed about with you
Which is how I remember your name
Did you see as part of growing up
Or were you riddled with shame?
I wish I'd been more open
So scared when I was at school
Not helped by my reputation
When you all thought I was a tool.
If only I'd been more adventurous
We could have had a play
Knowing what I do now
There's no shame in being gay.
Dulwich Poet 24th February 2016
( I was watching our Youth Team a few weeks ago, and one of the 'fans' supporting the away side recognised from school over 30 years ago, his son was playing for the opposition...this is about him, and one of my mates at school...)
Forget who I met last week
As for someone I went to school with
Never been a memory geek.
Over thirty years since I left school
And we're at the same football game
You've got an 'excuse' watching your son
I've only got Dulwich Hamlet to blame!
You said you had a thing for faces
As we exchanged small chat
I didn't say what I really wanted
Just rabbited about this and that.
Turns out we really don't know anyone
From our days back in school
There was a person I wanted to ask about
But didn't want to look a fool.
Do you remember a boy called Colin Deary
I still think about him a lot
I was such a scared guilt ridden poof
He was the only fumble I got.
We used to stay over
And had fun for a few years
It was more naive touching
Because of my sad sexual fears.
I often think about him
Wonder how his life turned out
Did he grow up straight like you
Or was there always some doubt?
He told me he messed about with you
Which is how I remember your name
Did you see as part of growing up
Or were you riddled with shame?
I wish I'd been more open
So scared when I was at school
Not helped by my reputation
When you all thought I was a tool.
If only I'd been more adventurous
We could have had a play
Knowing what I do now
There's no shame in being gay.
Dulwich Poet 24th February 2016
( I was watching our Youth Team a few weeks ago, and one of the 'fans' supporting the away side recognised from school over 30 years ago, his son was playing for the opposition...this is about him, and one of my mates at school...)
Monday 22 February 2016
"Locked-in Love"
No matter where you go
It's something you immediately clock
This new sign for love
Engraved on a padlock.
Now bridges are collapsing
Under this emotional weight
Symbolising that 'seven-year-itch'
Now that's what I call fate.
It's such a simple idea
Probably invented by a padlock shop
Great to boost profits
Until the bridges drop.
Affection for tight gits
Cheaper than flowers and chocs
Though you'll need to buy a hacksaw
When your relationship hits the rocks.
How many women will be locked in
Unable to break loose
Public love chained to a bridge
Behind closed doors it's abuse.
Perhaps I'm being cynical
Never had a partner to care
But even if I ever did
There's no way I'm going there.
If you love someone just tell them
Stop vandalising our sites
Show them you mean it by shagging them senseless
When football's called off on winter nights.
What happens when it's all over
You're locked in forever more
I suppose it could be worse than that
I'm sure you know the score.
In the old days it would have been a tattoo
Your names inked through a heart
That relationship with you forever
Long after your fresh start.
Now when loves goes cold
It's only the padlock that will shiver
As council workmen cut them off
To end up at the bottom of the river.
(Dulwich Poet 22nd February 2016)
(I wrote this, after seeing some more of those bloody stupid padlocks stuck on bridges in Hamburg)
It's something you immediately clock
This new sign for love
Engraved on a padlock.
Now bridges are collapsing
Under this emotional weight
Symbolising that 'seven-year-itch'
Now that's what I call fate.
It's such a simple idea
Probably invented by a padlock shop
Great to boost profits
Until the bridges drop.
Affection for tight gits
Cheaper than flowers and chocs
Though you'll need to buy a hacksaw
When your relationship hits the rocks.
How many women will be locked in
Unable to break loose
Public love chained to a bridge
Behind closed doors it's abuse.
Perhaps I'm being cynical
Never had a partner to care
But even if I ever did
There's no way I'm going there.
If you love someone just tell them
Stop vandalising our sites
Show them you mean it by shagging them senseless
When football's called off on winter nights.
What happens when it's all over
You're locked in forever more
I suppose it could be worse than that
I'm sure you know the score.
In the old days it would have been a tattoo
Your names inked through a heart
That relationship with you forever
Long after your fresh start.
Now when loves goes cold
It's only the padlock that will shiver
As council workmen cut them off
To end up at the bottom of the river.
(Dulwich Poet 22nd February 2016)
(I wrote this, after seeing some more of those bloody stupid padlocks stuck on bridges in Hamburg)
"Hungry Dream"
I was feeling a bit peckish
Needed something to eat
Decided to jump on a train
Going off the tourist beat.
Two stops from the Reeperbahn
Altona across from a pub
Been there in the summer
Where we'd had some grub.
If Carlsberg did kebab shops
This is what they'd do
Doner World has almost everything
I can't believe it's true.
Back home the 'health police' would raid it
To stop serving drunks and bums
But in this little part of Hamburg
It's perfect for rumbling tums.
A huge chicken doner wrap
With chips and full fat coke
Only cost me seven euro's
I'm not going to go broke.
Not only is the food delicious
There's a fair bit of choice
Won't struggle with the menu
Bloke behind the jump's got an English voice.
That's not what makes this place special
It's what they also serve here
By another counter there's
A row of fridges full of beer.
Not only that they sell cigarettes
Like a tobacconists back home
So if you're a pisshead trying to get cancer
You won't have far to roam.
All they need is a little extension
Have a 'Paddy Power' as well
Then you really would have
The proverbial 'corner shop from hell'.
But that depends on your perspective
You might find it rather nice
I suppose it all depends
On what is your chosen vice.
If we could combine what I've described
And plonk it in Peckham down Rye Lane
We'd soon see off those craft beer bars
That have become such a bane.
Cigarettes and alcohol
That working class vice
Who needs a wanky mag by the same name
That say's Peckham's edgy, arty and nice?
In my old fashioned utopia
We'd still drink in dives like The Hope
And we'd use those fancy arty farty lamp posts
To hang those hipsters from some fucking rope!
Dulwich Poet 22nd February 2016
(There's a lovely kebab shop in Altona. Somehow my head went from there back to Peckham!)
Needed something to eat
Decided to jump on a train
Going off the tourist beat.
Two stops from the Reeperbahn
Altona across from a pub
Been there in the summer
Where we'd had some grub.
If Carlsberg did kebab shops
This is what they'd do
Doner World has almost everything
I can't believe it's true.
Back home the 'health police' would raid it
To stop serving drunks and bums
But in this little part of Hamburg
It's perfect for rumbling tums.
A huge chicken doner wrap
With chips and full fat coke
Only cost me seven euro's
I'm not going to go broke.
Not only is the food delicious
There's a fair bit of choice
Won't struggle with the menu
Bloke behind the jump's got an English voice.
That's not what makes this place special
It's what they also serve here
By another counter there's
A row of fridges full of beer.
Not only that they sell cigarettes
Like a tobacconists back home
So if you're a pisshead trying to get cancer
You won't have far to roam.
All they need is a little extension
Have a 'Paddy Power' as well
Then you really would have
The proverbial 'corner shop from hell'.
But that depends on your perspective
You might find it rather nice
I suppose it all depends
On what is your chosen vice.
If we could combine what I've described
And plonk it in Peckham down Rye Lane
We'd soon see off those craft beer bars
That have become such a bane.
Cigarettes and alcohol
That working class vice
Who needs a wanky mag by the same name
That say's Peckham's edgy, arty and nice?
In my old fashioned utopia
We'd still drink in dives like The Hope
And we'd use those fancy arty farty lamp posts
To hang those hipsters from some fucking rope!
Dulwich Poet 22nd February 2016
(There's a lovely kebab shop in Altona. Somehow my head went from there back to Peckham!)
Thursday 11 February 2016
"What A Load Of Rubbish!"
They say back in the day in Bermondsey
A sack of spuds could wear a red rosette
And Labour would still be elected
It was such a safe bet.
Such blind loyalty is how I feel
About some of our 'New-veau' fans
Almost as if they don't seem bothered
By our under-achieving fancy dans.
Some seemed a bit disappointed
When the team didn't give them a clap
Perhaps they were just too embarrassed
Ashamed after spineless gutless crap.
The final whistle's gone
Chanting like lemmings behind the goal
Sycophantically backing the team
Is that really my role?
Ninety minutes are over
What's wrong with telling the truth
A burst of "What a load of rubbish!"
Bouncing off the Lewes roof.
There's nothing wrong with loyalty
But love shouldn't make you blind
Where's that boo or two at the final whistle
You have to be cruel to be kind.
I'm writing this in anger
The score's ruined the rest of my week
But I'll pick myself up on Saturday
And hope the next game's not so bleak.
I'm used to being let down
It's part of being a Dulwich Hamlet fan
Something we all have to deal with
In any way we can.
At least I'm not a Clapton Ultra
Which is the definition of bleak
Being forced to watch mediocrity
In the Essex Senior League every week.
Dulwich Poet 11th January 2016
(I wrote this after having to suffer an abject Dulwich Hamlet performance last night, losing 3-1 at bottom of the table Lewes)
A sack of spuds could wear a red rosette
And Labour would still be elected
It was such a safe bet.
Such blind loyalty is how I feel
About some of our 'New-veau' fans
Almost as if they don't seem bothered
By our under-achieving fancy dans.
Some seemed a bit disappointed
When the team didn't give them a clap
Perhaps they were just too embarrassed
Ashamed after spineless gutless crap.
The final whistle's gone
Chanting like lemmings behind the goal
Sycophantically backing the team
Is that really my role?
Ninety minutes are over
What's wrong with telling the truth
A burst of "What a load of rubbish!"
Bouncing off the Lewes roof.
There's nothing wrong with loyalty
But love shouldn't make you blind
Where's that boo or two at the final whistle
You have to be cruel to be kind.
I'm writing this in anger
The score's ruined the rest of my week
But I'll pick myself up on Saturday
And hope the next game's not so bleak.
I'm used to being let down
It's part of being a Dulwich Hamlet fan
Something we all have to deal with
In any way we can.
At least I'm not a Clapton Ultra
Which is the definition of bleak
Being forced to watch mediocrity
In the Essex Senior League every week.
Dulwich Poet 11th January 2016
(I wrote this after having to suffer an abject Dulwich Hamlet performance last night, losing 3-1 at bottom of the table Lewes)
Saturday 6 February 2016
"Who the fuck are Palace?"
Saturday morning train
That quiet time
When I stare across
Wanting to commit a crime.
Not a run of the mill one
As in nick your Metro or brolly
Thoughts going round my head
Totally off my trolly.
Imagination running riot
As you catch me staring
Do I look bovvered
I'm beyond caring.
You would have been anonymous
If it wasn't for your scarf
Crystal fucking Palace
Are you having a laugh?
I want to poke out your eyes
Stamp on your head
String you up from the roof
Leave you there for dead.
You ruined my journey
Poisoned my day
I can't stand Palarse
What more can I say?
This may not seem rational
Because it's so full of hate
Deep down I'm a dinosaur
Change is far too late.
On the plus side I'm older
With age I mellow
Grown out of screaming abuse
Can't be arsed to bellow.
In my mind I'm calling you
All the names under the sun
Yet I don't know if you even go to games
When all is said and done.
As I'm heading toward fifty
Violence is 'safe' in my brain
Plus you don't realise how 'lucky' you are
With CCTV all over the train.
Time to get off Canada Water
You're down the escalator
Go ahead and and make my day
Get hit by a double-decker later.
Dulwich Poet 6th February 2016
(I wrote this on the train to work this morning. The words just came out onto my notebook when I bloke got on wearing a Crystal Palace scarf and sat opposite me...)
That quiet time
When I stare across
Wanting to commit a crime.
Not a run of the mill one
As in nick your Metro or brolly
Thoughts going round my head
Totally off my trolly.
Imagination running riot
As you catch me staring
Do I look bovvered
I'm beyond caring.
You would have been anonymous
If it wasn't for your scarf
Crystal fucking Palace
Are you having a laugh?
I want to poke out your eyes
Stamp on your head
String you up from the roof
Leave you there for dead.
You ruined my journey
Poisoned my day
I can't stand Palarse
What more can I say?
This may not seem rational
Because it's so full of hate
Deep down I'm a dinosaur
Change is far too late.
On the plus side I'm older
With age I mellow
Grown out of screaming abuse
Can't be arsed to bellow.
In my mind I'm calling you
All the names under the sun
Yet I don't know if you even go to games
When all is said and done.
As I'm heading toward fifty
Violence is 'safe' in my brain
Plus you don't realise how 'lucky' you are
With CCTV all over the train.
Time to get off Canada Water
You're down the escalator
Go ahead and and make my day
Get hit by a double-decker later.
Dulwich Poet 6th February 2016
(I wrote this on the train to work this morning. The words just came out onto my notebook when I bloke got on wearing a Crystal Palace scarf and sat opposite me...)
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