It's a tough time at Christmas
Facing a dinner times two
Perhaps turn up after the second
But for dessert what to do?
You've managed to avoid double turkey
Thankfully too late
But what else can you do
When dessert's plonked on the plate?
It's not a gigantic portion
Just a generous slice
But not even touching it
I fear you'll pay the price.
You'll not upset Mr. Kipling
Or whoever does Tesco home brand
For this culinary masterpiece
Was done by my sister's own hand.
She may say she's not upset
For an argument small beer
Just a spoonful or two would have done
For you to be together next year!
In the future when she dumps you
What more could you have done to stay?
In truth you'll get your just dessert
For not toying with that play on Christmas Day.
Would it really have hurt
To try that slice of cake
That's how you work a relationship
A bit of give and take.
Even I thought it was tasty
Which was a bit of a surprise
But you not having a single spoon
Almost brought tears to my eyes.
Was it too much to ask for
A homemade piece of cake
The one that your loving partner
Took several hours to make.
When it comes to festive decorum
You were hardly cream of the crop
Would it really have been that awful
To scrape a mouthful off the top?
But that's what you get from east London
Standards are rather low
We really can't expect any better
From the likes of Bethnal Green or Bow.
Our South London family thought it was delicious
Sponge and cream divine
So at least our Christmas wasn't ruined
By an East End boy out of line.
Dulwich Poet 26th December 2016
(My sister's partner, Eddie, came round to my brothers on Christmas Day, he was stuffed, and couldn't eat anything as he'd been round to his family beforehand. He couldn't even manage some of the delicious homemade cake my sister had made. I, being me, ribbed him a lot, and he said I should write a poem about it. I'm not sure if he was joking, if it was a challenge, or both...)
Monday 26 December 2016
Sunday 18 December 2016
"Christmas Treat"
Sitting in an Old Skool boozer
It would have been posh back in the day
Here on the Sunday before Christmas
It's where the poets come out to play.
I've come here to listen
Be entertained for free
Most of these are propa Old Skool
Which is what I want to see.
None of those beards from Shoreditch
Or Dalston hipsters up their arse
Working class poetry from the heart
Observations being first class.
A West Ham fan spouts his nonsense
But his stuff ain't bad
Problem is I can't stand the 'Ammers
Secretly I'm trying not to get mad.
Today's not about football boundaries
Whatever side of the river you live
It's about working class unity
And what you have to give.
Save anger for the posh cunts
And the revolution that's slow to come
Not to be wasted on a poet
Even if he's a West Ham tosser...and some! ;-)
Sorry I can't let go...
I'm Sarf Lunnon and prahd
That's what football does to you
It can divide an anonymous crowd.
I need to keep my two lives separate
Think about the message of what we write
Football's for the terrace
A wound-up poet ain't right.
Time to chill at the Betsy
Supping my orange & lemonade
In awe of the talent reading
Knowing I'll never make their grade.
Content to be on the fringes
Part of this poetry thing
It's the highlight of my Christmas
Despite the joy it's supposed to bring.
I get my pleasure from football
Yesterday we lost to a late goal
This is ideal for my 'pick-me-up'
To get out of a depressing hole.
Football's generally not for enjoyment
In all honesty it's a curse
That's why I so love poetry
My escapism's in verse.
I can stay true to my roots
Knowing who I am
If I've got to mix with a few posh cunts
I no longer give a damn.
I'll mix with anyone
As long as you're decent at heart
Provided you're for the poetry
Rather than wanky art.
For all poetry means to me
Jot down what's in your head
It's a bonus if you're working class
A leftie and a red.
The day's been a celebration
Of poetry & being working class
If you happen to be a lah-di-dah interloper
I'd ride with it and let you pass.
Dulwich Poet 18th December 2016
(On the Sunday before Christmas I went to listen & enjoy a Poetry all-dayer, at the Betsy Trotwood pub, in Farringdon. A great mix of working class poets to listen to, but one or two posher people in the audience...)
It would have been posh back in the day
Here on the Sunday before Christmas
It's where the poets come out to play.
I've come here to listen
Be entertained for free
Most of these are propa Old Skool
Which is what I want to see.
None of those beards from Shoreditch
Or Dalston hipsters up their arse
Working class poetry from the heart
Observations being first class.
A West Ham fan spouts his nonsense
But his stuff ain't bad
Problem is I can't stand the 'Ammers
Secretly I'm trying not to get mad.
Today's not about football boundaries
Whatever side of the river you live
It's about working class unity
And what you have to give.
Save anger for the posh cunts
And the revolution that's slow to come
Not to be wasted on a poet
Even if he's a West Ham tosser...and some! ;-)
Sorry I can't let go...
I'm Sarf Lunnon and prahd
That's what football does to you
It can divide an anonymous crowd.
I need to keep my two lives separate
Think about the message of what we write
Football's for the terrace
A wound-up poet ain't right.
Time to chill at the Betsy
Supping my orange & lemonade
In awe of the talent reading
Knowing I'll never make their grade.
Content to be on the fringes
Part of this poetry thing
It's the highlight of my Christmas
Despite the joy it's supposed to bring.
I get my pleasure from football
Yesterday we lost to a late goal
This is ideal for my 'pick-me-up'
To get out of a depressing hole.
Football's generally not for enjoyment
In all honesty it's a curse
That's why I so love poetry
My escapism's in verse.
I can stay true to my roots
Knowing who I am
If I've got to mix with a few posh cunts
I no longer give a damn.
I'll mix with anyone
As long as you're decent at heart
Provided you're for the poetry
Rather than wanky art.
For all poetry means to me
Jot down what's in your head
It's a bonus if you're working class
A leftie and a red.
The day's been a celebration
Of poetry & being working class
If you happen to be a lah-di-dah interloper
I'd ride with it and let you pass.
Dulwich Poet 18th December 2016
(On the Sunday before Christmas I went to listen & enjoy a Poetry all-dayer, at the Betsy Trotwood pub, in Farringdon. A great mix of working class poets to listen to, but one or two posher people in the audience...)
"Hair of the Dog"
When you're feeling rotten
'Hair of the dog' is the cure
But then what happens
When the Youth Team are just as poor?
Not based on performance
But chucking away a lead
It's bad enough when it's First Team
On a Sunday it's not what I need.
I don't expect success
Wall-to-wall joy
Been following Dulwich for decades
Over forty years man and boy.
The wrong result on a Saturday
I can't even cry in my beer
Have to rely on the youngsters
To being me Sunday cheer.
Now it's double bubble
The pain is twice as bad
So winning at Kingstonian tomorrow
Is the only way to stop me feeling sad.
That's the thing with football
Dulwich Hamlet are my life
So when any team loses a game
I'm battered with inner-strife.
I take it really personal
You might think it weird
But it's more than just something to do
Supping craft beer and trimmed beard.
I'm not one for Christmas
Even though it's so near
So come on Dulwich Hamlet
Win tomorrow for my seasonal cheer.
Dulwich Poet 18th December 2016
(I wrote this the day before Dulwich Hamlet won away to Kingstonian, on Monday 19th December. On the Saturday we'd lost, make that been mugged, two one, when we were at home to Tonbridge Angels. On the day after I saw the Youth Team lose at home to Phoenix Sports, which didn't lift my footballing mood, as a Youth Team win often does after a First Team defeat...)
'Hair of the dog' is the cure
But then what happens
When the Youth Team are just as poor?
Not based on performance
But chucking away a lead
It's bad enough when it's First Team
On a Sunday it's not what I need.
I don't expect success
Wall-to-wall joy
Been following Dulwich for decades
Over forty years man and boy.
The wrong result on a Saturday
I can't even cry in my beer
Have to rely on the youngsters
To being me Sunday cheer.
Now it's double bubble
The pain is twice as bad
So winning at Kingstonian tomorrow
Is the only way to stop me feeling sad.
That's the thing with football
Dulwich Hamlet are my life
So when any team loses a game
I'm battered with inner-strife.
I take it really personal
You might think it weird
But it's more than just something to do
Supping craft beer and trimmed beard.
I'm not one for Christmas
Even though it's so near
So come on Dulwich Hamlet
Win tomorrow for my seasonal cheer.
Dulwich Poet 18th December 2016
(I wrote this the day before Dulwich Hamlet won away to Kingstonian, on Monday 19th December. On the Saturday we'd lost, make that been mugged, two one, when we were at home to Tonbridge Angels. On the day after I saw the Youth Team lose at home to Phoenix Sports, which didn't lift my footballing mood, as a Youth Team win often does after a First Team defeat...)
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