Not crazy enough to be crazy
Too normal to be the norm
Playing pretence of ordinary
Hiding my inner storm.
I've never been so unhinged
To be classed as 'mental mad'
But my life has been such a waste
Not depressed but sad.
If I'd been an earlier generation
Would I have been able to cope
Teachers gone one one step further
Thrown in an asylum without hope?
I think I grew up kind of mental
Without seeing a psychiatrist quack
For my head was fucked up
Without being Black Dog black.
If I'd been born two decades earlier
I'd have been in a Cane Hill cell
The only contact with the outside world
Ringing for the nurse with a bell.
I was always a weird kid
The 'strange one' when at school
Not quite trusted to be popular
Or confident to be class fool.
At home I felt no love
Felt like the family flid
It was just something I accepted
Being the youngest kid.
That feeling of worthless
Never went as I got older
Full of insecurity
A constant of cold shoulder.
Who knows what would have happened
If I'd have seen a shrink
Would it have been the making of me
Or was there much further to sink?
Now I'm middle-aged
Things are about right
My life's not that exciting
But at least I rest at night.
Can't currently put my finger on it
But I feel less mental pain
It's currently only once in a while
Thinking of a jump under a train.
It's not the dying I'm scared of
Just the fear of hurt
That moment of sheer agony
Before they scrape me off the dirt.
I've not got a pot to piss in
Scared of getting old
Even though I want to live to be a hundred
If the truth be told.
But my half century's made me weary
With little self-esteem
The only thing that keeps me going
Is the ability to dream.
I enjoy poetry writing
And historical research
My only drug is football
Dulwich Hamlet being my church.
I need to set myself some targets
Manageable goals
I need to think of myself for once
And scale back my football roles.
I'm so scared of the future
While scared to look at my past
But only I can change what's left of my life
By not accepting the way the die's been cast.
Dulwich Poet 17th January 2017
(I caught the last day of an exhibition at the Wellcome Collection galleries, about the old mental health institutions, called 'Bedlam'. It got me thinking about in a different era, I could quite easily have been locked up in one...)
Tuesday 17 January 2017
Friday 6 January 2017
"Hold The Front Page"
You look like a wannabe WAG
Is that your aim?
That's what I'm thinking
As you state your claim.
Pouting on the front page
And on You Tube with your boot
I agree, pretty disgusting...
Even though it's a hoot.
Going to Sainsbury's
Find a dead mouse in your shoe
Go viral and tell the world
What else can you do?
Claiming you felt violated
I hope she never really is
Like burglary or sexual assault
Violating's NOT a supermarket swizz.
Who knows you might be a nice girl
But that's not what comes across
The wannabe fame and fortune generation
You're a total loss!
Ten grand would have done you
What a greedy bitch
This is England not America
A dead mouse won't make you rich.
Is it any wonder
The country's in such a state
When you've been hypnotised by reality TV
And want everything on a plate.
It is just so tragic
This modern world of get rich quick
Saying 'fuck' a few times
Sounding like a dick.
Sainsbury's offered thirty quid and a refund
Which sounds about right
Now fuck off to shit like 'X Factor'
And get out of my sight!
Dulwich Poet 6th January 2017
(There was a story in the front page of the 'News Shopper' local about a 17-year-old girl who found the carcass of dead mouse in a shoe of some sort that she bought in a Sainsbury's, just before Christmas. She You Tubed about it, full of expletives, asking for a lot of compensation...while trying, in my view, to make herself a star...)
Is that your aim?
That's what I'm thinking
As you state your claim.
Pouting on the front page
And on You Tube with your boot
I agree, pretty disgusting...
Even though it's a hoot.
Going to Sainsbury's
Find a dead mouse in your shoe
Go viral and tell the world
What else can you do?
Claiming you felt violated
I hope she never really is
Like burglary or sexual assault
Violating's NOT a supermarket swizz.
Who knows you might be a nice girl
But that's not what comes across
The wannabe fame and fortune generation
You're a total loss!
Ten grand would have done you
What a greedy bitch
This is England not America
A dead mouse won't make you rich.
Is it any wonder
The country's in such a state
When you've been hypnotised by reality TV
And want everything on a plate.
It is just so tragic
This modern world of get rich quick
Saying 'fuck' a few times
Sounding like a dick.
Sainsbury's offered thirty quid and a refund
Which sounds about right
Now fuck off to shit like 'X Factor'
And get out of my sight!
Dulwich Poet 6th January 2017
(There was a story in the front page of the 'News Shopper' local about a 17-year-old girl who found the carcass of dead mouse in a shoe of some sort that she bought in a Sainsbury's, just before Christmas. She You Tubed about it, full of expletives, asking for a lot of compensation...while trying, in my view, to make herself a star...)
Thursday 5 January 2017
"Families"
Imagine if you hated yours
I can't say that's me
But then I'm rather fortunate
I've got the choice of three.
There's my proper real one
Parents are both brown bread
Don't see my brother and sisters often
If the truth be said.
But the four of us love each other
The kind that comes from the heart
Does it really matter
That mainly we're apart?
My second family's at football
Dulwich Hamlet being my Club
It's what made and defines me
Sadly too often that was down the pub.
But my friends here keep me going
Supporting me through thick and thin
Now without any alcohol
My buzz is when we win.
My last five years on the Committee
Have taught me to believe
As down the decades in the past
I never thought I could achieve.
I'm still roughly the same person
Outwardly moany and quite poor
But my inner confidence-
That has grown for sure.
Finally there's the poetry crowd
Who are my newest tribe
Sometimes I feel I don't fit in
Qualifying as a scribe.
It's a bit like Dulwich Hamlet
Learning to accept those who are posh
Old fashioned insecurities based on accents
In all honesty a load of tosh.
Well old habits are there to be broken
Stereotypes tossed aside
All that should really matter
Is the warmth of heart inside.
Next time a stranger speaks
I won't be working class judge and jury
Obviously easier said than done
But first I'll try to hear your story.
My real family I'll always care for
Take that as read
The same for Dulwich Hamlet
Who I'll support until I'm dead.
The third one is a bonus
One I'm so lucky to have found
Open Mic gets me buzzing
As any football ground.
The old saying 'family is for love'
A cliché that's a bane
For me I'm just grateful
I've got three to keep me sane.
You might think I'm weird
My hobbies so wrong
But I've got no shame at all
For it's where I belong.
Dulwich Poet 5th January 2017
( A poem based on my 'three' types of family...blood, football and poetry!)
I can't say that's me
But then I'm rather fortunate
I've got the choice of three.
There's my proper real one
Parents are both brown bread
Don't see my brother and sisters often
If the truth be said.
But the four of us love each other
The kind that comes from the heart
Does it really matter
That mainly we're apart?
My second family's at football
Dulwich Hamlet being my Club
It's what made and defines me
Sadly too often that was down the pub.
But my friends here keep me going
Supporting me through thick and thin
Now without any alcohol
My buzz is when we win.
My last five years on the Committee
Have taught me to believe
As down the decades in the past
I never thought I could achieve.
I'm still roughly the same person
Outwardly moany and quite poor
But my inner confidence-
That has grown for sure.
Finally there's the poetry crowd
Who are my newest tribe
Sometimes I feel I don't fit in
Qualifying as a scribe.
It's a bit like Dulwich Hamlet
Learning to accept those who are posh
Old fashioned insecurities based on accents
In all honesty a load of tosh.
Well old habits are there to be broken
Stereotypes tossed aside
All that should really matter
Is the warmth of heart inside.
Next time a stranger speaks
I won't be working class judge and jury
Obviously easier said than done
But first I'll try to hear your story.
My real family I'll always care for
Take that as read
The same for Dulwich Hamlet
Who I'll support until I'm dead.
The third one is a bonus
One I'm so lucky to have found
Open Mic gets me buzzing
As any football ground.
The old saying 'family is for love'
A cliché that's a bane
For me I'm just grateful
I've got three to keep me sane.
You might think I'm weird
My hobbies so wrong
But I've got no shame at all
For it's where I belong.
Dulwich Poet 5th January 2017
( A poem based on my 'three' types of family...blood, football and poetry!)
Wednesday 4 January 2017
"Farewell Doctor"
So the man is dead
Fitting that people are choked
Heimlich Manoeuvre
Dulwich Poet 4th January 2017
(I recently read that Dr. Henry Heinlich died of a heart attack, aged 96, so I did this haiku for him...)
Fitting that people are choked
Heimlich Manoeuvre
Dulwich Poet 4th January 2017
(I recently read that Dr. Henry Heinlich died of a heart attack, aged 96, so I did this haiku for him...)
"Off My Trolley"
Farewell to my Co-Op
It's where I like to potter round
Not the same now it's Budgens
Seem to get less for my pound.
Your home brands look rubbish
There's better value at Lidl
Seems like you're ripping us off
Budgens on the fiddle.
Your 'knockdowns' aren't so generous
Where's the stuff going cheap?
Reductions hardly worth the effort
I almost want to weep.
Do you not realise
I'm not here because it's nice
My only motivation
Is finding stuff at a lower price.
Reeled in by that yellow sticker
To put a bargain in my bag
Tease me with a reduction
Or you're just another High Street slag.
The Co-Op wasn't the cheapest
A sort of love-hate affair
But the 'knockdowns' could be decent
Pretending that you care.
How sad does that make me
Nothing to rush home for
The almost out of date corner
That was my only lure.
My dinner's just like me
Almost past it but not quite out of date
A bit ropey and rough round the edges
Same as the stuff on my dinner plate.
How sad must it be
For it's for the Co-op that I pine
Missing that bargain bottom shelf
To decide how fine I dine.
Dulwich Poet 4th January 2017
(A few months ago the Co-Op branch in Sydenham closed, and was replaced by a Budgens)
It's where I like to potter round
Not the same now it's Budgens
Seem to get less for my pound.
Your home brands look rubbish
There's better value at Lidl
Seems like you're ripping us off
Budgens on the fiddle.
Your 'knockdowns' aren't so generous
Where's the stuff going cheap?
Reductions hardly worth the effort
I almost want to weep.
Do you not realise
I'm not here because it's nice
My only motivation
Is finding stuff at a lower price.
Reeled in by that yellow sticker
To put a bargain in my bag
Tease me with a reduction
Or you're just another High Street slag.
The Co-Op wasn't the cheapest
A sort of love-hate affair
But the 'knockdowns' could be decent
Pretending that you care.
How sad does that make me
Nothing to rush home for
The almost out of date corner
That was my only lure.
My dinner's just like me
Almost past it but not quite out of date
A bit ropey and rough round the edges
Same as the stuff on my dinner plate.
How sad must it be
For it's for the Co-op that I pine
Missing that bargain bottom shelf
To decide how fine I dine.
Dulwich Poet 4th January 2017
(A few months ago the Co-Op branch in Sydenham closed, and was replaced by a Budgens)
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