"Scribble"

Today's National Poetry Day
Feel obliged to do the deed
Pen and notebook in my bag
That's all I really need.
The only stumbling block is
I've got fuck all to say
So this is all you'll get out of me
On National Poetry Day.

Dulwich Poet 4th October 2018

(Today was, you guessed it, National Poetry Day!)

"In The Beginning"

A Thursday night lonely
Reserve Team football for me
It's Cray Valley (Paper Mills) in the Suburban
I'm scraping the barrel to see.
I should have been here early
Time for McDonalds at the Yorkshire Grey
But with the 'transport gods' interferring
I wasn't going to have my way.
Traffic backing up
Not even bus lanes whizz me through
Not sure if I will make kick-off
Undecided what to do.
Waiting forty minutes at Catford
Tempted to go home and fume
I'll simmer up with anger
Inside my little room.
Eventually I get there
Surprised there's still no score
The 'bonus' being twenty minutes late
There's no-one collecting money on the door.
So why am I here?
To watch Fisher's second string
For 'history in the making'
Who knows what the future will bring.
The Fisher stiffs are struggling 
Goal difference of minus twenty four
It would be fair to say
After six games they're somewhat poor.
So what has piqued my interest
In the seats holding hardly a soul
Well I'm quietly supporting a friend
In his first ever managerial role.
He is living his dream
Right on the bottom rung
I am quietly confident
That on terraces his name will be sung.
But that's distant in the future
Fames a long way away
This is the start of his managerial 'apprenticeship'
Years of hard working without any pay.
Doing what he does
Totally for the love of the game
Mastering the art of excuses
When his players are lame.
Imagine being a Gaffer
At the age of only twenty
I've no doubt he's going to make it
Becoming footballing cognoscenti.
Unlucky to lose tonight
The next game was six nil
For sure there will be disappointment
Heavy defeats such a bitter pill.
But age is on his side
Plenty of time to advance
Fair play to the people at Fisher
For giving him his first chance.

Dulwich Poet 29th Spetember 2018

(A friend of mine has just been appointed manager of Fisher FC reserves/Under 23s)

"Taking Sides"

I'm off out tonight
Going to see one of the Cray's
Yes I know they're brown bread
Not having one of those days.
Not talking about East End villians
Not spelt with a 'K'
I'm referring to Cray Wanderers
Who I'm going to watch play.
I'm talking Bostik League football
Division One South East
Their match against Whyteleafe
Is this evening's chosen feast.
Cray are top of the table
Winning six out of six
Soon to be in 'Seventh Heaven'
For my Wednesday football fix.
Admission a tenner
Programme two quid more
Not to mention a couple of golden goal tickets
As I come through the door.
So far it's been tasty
Decent end to end stuff
Been niggly rather than physical
Not deliberately rough.
The Leafe took the lead early
Before The Wands quickly hit back
Second half just starting
To keep title hopes on track.
Early doors a cheer
Leafe think it's in the bag
Celebrations cut short
By the Lino's offside flag.
Even though I'm neutral 
I want a Wanderers win
Never forgotten Leafe digs at Dulwich
Which wore a little thin.
Mutter as much as they like 
I pity those up their end
Barely a dozen middle-aged blokes
Probably stood with their only friend.
A home player gets fouled
'Get up you faggot!' you shout
Is it any wonder
You've hardly any fans about?
I'm here as a neutral
The score shouldn't matter at all
But since some of you have always had pops at Dulwich
"Come on Cray Wanderers" is my call.

Dulwich Poet 26th September 2018

 (Just me wittering on about going to watch another game tonight: Cray Wanderers versus Whyteleafe)

"Sunday Treat"

Sat here at Preston Park
Chitter chatter in the air
Right by some Edgware pensioners
Sunday without a care.
Still in Greater London
Not a hint of traffic noise
This is non-league football at its best
One of life's great joys.
Another new ground ticked off
A genuine pleasure
Sitting in the back row of the stand
Scribbling poetry at leisure.
The sun is out and shining
Two teams giving their all
Their chances of reaching  Wembley
In reality extremely small.
A bit of trying to play the game
Combined with stereotype long-ball hoof
The perfect way to spend a Sunday
If I'm telling the truth.
Here's the half-time whistle
So far there's no score
Despite the lack of goals in the net
It's hardly been a bore.
This is football tranquility
Smatterings of polite applause
Occasionally interspersed with the barking
Of a four-legged fan with paws.
It's autumnal not baking
A slight breeze through the trees
In all honesty I'm in groundhopping heaven
I am that easy to please!
In truth I could stay at home
Bottle up my thoughts and mope
This is how I get my kicks
Clear my head and cope.
These aren't million pound players
A billion miles from 'Match of the Day'
In fact they're probably out of pocket
For turning up to play.
I doubt if either side can afford expenses
Maybe enough for a pint of beer
Their reward is the simple enjoyment
Of playing the game they love so dear.
We're not talking Dulwich Hamlet or Bromley
Where it's a job in all but name
This is down to earth limited footballers
Who play for the love of the game.
So glad I've made the effort
visiting yet another new ground
If there's a greater antidote to down in the dumps
I doubt it's yet been found.
Groudhopping's my little hobby
Something I love to do
Which is why I've got a buzz of contentment
Sat here in the stand taking a pew.
Visting Harefield United
Wooden roof sheltering me from the sun
Going to ground number seven hundred & twenty eight
This is how I get my fun.

Dulwich Poet 16th September 2018

(I wrote this at Broadfields United versus Edgware Town, an FA Vase 2nd qualifying round replay, at Harefield United)

"Sat at the Crem"

The other day I went to a funeral
A football mate's dear old dad
It made me rather wistful 
For something I never had.
Of course I had parents
But stability I missed
My old man was never 'normal'
Heavy gambling or always pissed.
So envious at the crematorium
A glimpse of ordinary family life
So different to the one I grew up in
That seemed so full of strife.
Trying not to compare
Self-pity to the fore
It's taken me almost half a century
To keep my demons at the door.
This shouldn't be about me
Or how I feel inside
I'd rather focus on my mate Shaun
Whose life fills me with pride.
He's respected at The Hamlet
And always knows tact and care
Even if after a few beers
He's not afraid to swear!
A diplomat, unlike me...
Who calls a spade a spade
Not something I'm likely to change soon
It's just how I was made.
Of the 'Old Skool Rabble'
He's the most statesman like
Even though he won't suffer fools gladly
Telling then to take a hike.
I never knew his old man
So excuse me being bold
But from what I heard about him
I'd say his boy was from the same mould.
Caring for his family
Not afraid of hard work
Always willing to lend a hand
Not being one to shirk.
Never being materialistic
Genuinely down to earth
The sort of bloke I wish I was
For whatever that's worth.
Just being a decent person
Sounds so simple but tough
Others suffer the fickle hand of fate
Simply coping but it's rough.
Not my mate Shaun
He really is an inspiration and a rock
I'm sure his old man was proud of him
For being a chip off the old block!

Dulwich Poet 7th September 2018

( I wrote this after going to the funeral of my mate's dad, someone who I never knew, but went to support my mate, and the rest of his family. )

"Evening All"

Tuesday nights
Should be for football.
But nothing caught my eye.
In truth I'm at a loss what to do
Sorry, I can't lie.
Could've stayed in my room
Bored watching a DVD
Went out for a bit instead
Pretending I'm not at all lonely.
A bit of social interaction
Make that a session
At the internet cafe in Forest Hill
Two hours flying by
Racking up a two pound bill.
I could have then gone home
But 'home made' therapy's best
I'd practically pre-planned my night
Jumping on a train up west.
In my bag I'd packed old bread
Too mouldy and dry to eat
Aiming for St. James's Park
Where ducks devour my treat.
Now i'm resting on a bench
Sat in Trafalgar Square
All I can heat are the fountains
And foreigners chatting in the air.
Nothing wrong with that
Except I'm a nosy git!
Earwigging's not a bad thing to do
When your life's so shit.
Resort to writing poetry
A few hundred yards from Charing Cross
Pretending I'm relaxing
This is how I doss.
I won't pretend to be depressed
But I don't enjoy being alive
This humdrum attempt of an existence
Is the most I can strive.
Getting to the stage where I'm scared of dying
But also scared to get too old
Growing tired of being Bill-No-Mates
If honest truth be told.
Tonight I could've found a match
For game forty-one of the season
Instead I'm under the shadow of Lord Nelson
Writing poetry...
For which there's no rhyme or reason.

Dulwich Poet 4th September 2018

( I wrote this on a Tuesday evening, with nothing much to do, as no football match really appealed...it made me realise how lonely life can be...)

"Train of Thought"

The 'right-on hipster' shirt
Me. Sat here
In my Pink and Blue
Minding my own business.
Outside boarding the train
Worn, weary faced
Millwall fan
His own colours
On his back
Can of Grolsch 
In his hand.
How far apart 
Are our lives?
What is his back story
And what is mine?
We shall never know as...
He leaves at Lewisham.

As if to highlight
The modern 21st Century
Game of footie
A woman also
Minds the gap
With a West Ham shirt
On her back.
Think about that
For a moment...
A woman
In West Ham attire
Brazenly flaunting
Claret and blue
In the heart of
MY South East London.
But I am now all embracing.
Times change.
All are welcome 
In the all-are-welcome
Sanitised world
That we now watch
Our teams in.
Nowhere more so
Than Champion Hill
Even if...
We've been transplanted
To the wilds of Mitcham.

Part of me 
Will never change.
Which is why I don't
Bat an eyelid
At West Ham fans
Wearing their colours
Where they've no right to.
Invading and contaminating
Our Pavements!
Which is why
Under my skin
Deep in my heart
And in that grumpy
"It was better in the old days" mode
I am screaming inside
"Fack off back over the water
You east Lunnon schlaaag!"
Wearing my silent poker face
As she toddles off
Toward the D.L.R.

Dulwich Poet 1st September 2018

(Going to a Dulwich Hamlet home game, on the train into London Bridge, I saw someone in a Millwall shirt, and someone else in a West Ham United shirt. Basically...I am an old south London dinosaur...)

"In The Wrong Game"

You love Eminem
Not to be confused
With the sweets.
Which in my day
Were called 'Treats'...
Nothing like the American poet
With his rapping and beats
Which I don't call music
I think he cheats.
I can rhyme
It ain't no crime
Passes the time
Doing fine
Words all mine.
But a rapper I ain't
Just a poet.
Which is why Eminem
Is a millionaire
With me not having the
Proverbial pot to piss in
Doing five minute
Open Mic slots
In front of forty people
On a good night
At the Poetry Cafe
Rather than Eighty thousand
In Twickenham rapping
Most with their camera phones
Hero worship papping.
Maybe there's something in that
White Man Nigga Eminem shit after all.

Dulwich Poet 30th August 2018

(Wrote this after the constant playing of Eminem tracks by a young mate of mine, when I get a lift in his car.)

"Once An Enemy..."

Non-League football it's all a changing
New divisions brought in
Traditional footprints
Dumped in the bin.
But no matter where you play
No matter where you travel
Football would be all the poorer
If rivalry began to unravel.
Right now we're the squatters
Evicted from our Champion Hill home
Supposed to be grateful to the Thugs & Muggers
Where we have to roam.
Don't get me wrong I'm grateful
And some of their fans are ok
But they're our traditional bitter rivals
Who I hate at the end of the day.
We belong in East Dulwich
Home is SE22
Stuck in the Mitcham Surrey borders
Is not where we should take a pew.
Hand on heart their ground is half decent
Venereal Fields is good for a fan
But softening towards Tooting & mitcham
Is like the Irish mellowing to a Black & Tan.
Last night they sang 'We hate Dulwich'
I wouldn't expect anything less
And even though they won the game
I took delight in them being a mess.
Two divisions below us
Honest guv I'm not going to gloat
Sing about us as much as you like
Whatever floats your boat.
Crystal Palace and Brighton 
Millwal and west Ham
Where would football be if it was friendly
And no-one gave a damn?
We'd all be following the Rugger
With the 'After you Claude' brigade
It's the bitter hate of your rivals
On which the magic of football is made.
It's a depressing afternoon
When you're beaten out of sight
Only your local rivals not winning
Is what gets you through the night.
I've no idea why I hate them
Just the way I was brought up as a child
The bottom line is singing 'We hate Tooting'
In truth is rather mild.
Local rivalry not going anywhere
When push comes to a shove
So fuck off any new-veau fan
Who suggests we should hug and love.
Don't mention it again
Go take a running jump
Misjudge it at your peril
And you'll get a bleedin' clump!
 
Dulwich Poet 25th August 2018

(The football team I support are currently exiled at our arch rivals Tooting & Mitcham United home of Imperial Fields. Some of our fans suggest we should be nicer to them as they've let us play at their ground. I saw Tooting play Horley Town in an FA Cup game last night, on a Friday, and wrote this the next day)

"A Faithful Snapshot"

How ancient
And old fashioned 
You look.
The way things were
In the Sixties.
Even before my time
Soon though...
I am to be old-fashioned too.
Already at football
I am the dinosaur
Barely half a century old.
As for religion...
Mine is football
My 'God' is Edgar Kail
Though shalt not
Worship false gods.
But he was real.
Four hundred and twenty seven goals
Spanning fourteen seasons
Tells you all you need to know.
It's the words of your gods
That I don't really like.
I am man of my god enough
To hold my hands up
And admit
Some of the work you have done
In the name of your top bloke
Ain't all bad.
Bringing communities together
Looking after the poor
Be it day trips to the seaside
Or Quiz nights in the Church Hall
Isn't to be sniffed at.
But then neither is
That smelly incense
Which really does pen & ink.
Going to mass
It ruins everything.
I think I'll stick to the football.

Dulwich Poet 20th August 2018

(There was an outdoor exhibition of photos from the Sixties, on some boards in the grounds of Southwark Cathedral. After looking at them this is what I scribbled down.)

"No Rhyme or Reason"

Who knows when our number's up
If there's anything on the other side
Or if there's a total finality
Once you've gone and died.
Will anyone really mourn me
When I end up brown bread
Whether that be through natural causes
Or acting on thoughts in my head.
Of course there's other options
Accidental or deeds foul
But whichever way I do depart
They'll mourn through duty rather than wail & howl.
Isn't that human nature
We think less of ourselves than others do
Too late when we're dead & buried
Loved more than we ever knew.
In truth I'm such a lonely man
More than you can possibly think
I really can relate to
When others are on the brink.
I've very few true friends
Plenty of people who I know
Those who will pretend to mourn me
Then forget me when I go.
In some ways I am lucky
I've got poetry in my life
My trusty pen and notebooks
Getting me through times of strife.
Never underestimate the power of poetry
For self-worth and easing pain
In slightly darker times
It's my words that keep me sane.
The delight in reading and sharing
Standing up at Open Mic
Such a buzz and confidence boost
That's what I really like.
Sat back down in my seat
Taking in other poets on the floor
That's why I keep on coming back
Always wanting more.
I know nothing about other performers
But for two hours they're all my friend
That's why it genuinely touches me so
When their lives come to an end.
We are all totally different
But for a few moments we're as one
So thanks to Ernie, Niall & Co.,
For all the events you have done.
To those who have departed 
I loved you all at the front of the room
Allowing me to escape my life of drudgery
All banality and gloom.
You're the poets who've shone before me
There'll be others when I'm gone too
I'm proud to be part of your poetry crowd
And being able to say I'm one of you.

Dulwich Poet 11th August 2018

(I wrote this before the 'Platform 1 Poetry' monthly night last Saturday.. There was no feature, it was just Open Mic. A few from the 'poetry circuit' have died recently, including one who supposed to feature, but passed away the week before and the host mentioned on Facebook that it might be nice to write some sort of tribute. This isn't a tribute as such, it's just what came out, it's about, Poetry, poets and myself...)

"The Day Is Here"

You know that song we sing
About being Conference South
In truth did you ever believe it
Words that just slipped out of your mouth.
Back in now distant days
Struggling in the depths of step four
Playing Three Bridges, Banstead, Whyteleafe
Yes we really were that poor.
A decade ago came Gavin
Two promotions on we're here
Dulwich Hamlet in National League South
Welling United hold no fear.
No longer the biggest fish
Having leapt from the Isthmian pond
Curious as to how much longer
Gavin can wave his magic wand.
I'm a lifelong Hamlet fan
An Isthmian Leaguer at heart
On the eve of this historic season
Pinching myself at this new start.
Could nick it by the odd goal
Or get stuffed by a few more
This afternoon is much more important 
Than just a football score.
It's about overcoming adversity
Promoted instead of death
Enemies who are out there
Wanted eviction to be our last breath.
Now comes the hardest task of all
The fight for Champion Hill
Who knows if it will happen
Where there's a way there's a will.
Most other clubs are richer
Sponsors and revenue streams
The financial playing field might not be level
But it won't stop us chasing our dreams.
Even if we lose today
Our season won't make or break
For there's still forty one games to go
With one hundred and twenty three points still at stake.

Dulwich Poet 4th August 2018

(Today Dulwich Hamlet make their debut in the National League South, with an away fixture at Welling United. I wrote this on the way to the match, which we ended up losing two nil)

"Done and Dusted!"

Wow! It really happened
The best weekend of my life
We finally got to Altona
After so much worry & strife.
It wasn't about the football
No matter what the score
Taking on the sheer magnitude
Of a 125th anniversary tour.
Two games in one weekend
Both of them won
In truth the scores were secondary
When all is said and done.
I hope the players enjoyed it
And helped our pre-season plan
But it will be cherished a million times more
By every single Hamlet fan.
Such a unique bond
Hard to say our goodbyes
Untold people from both clubs
Wiping tears from their eyes.
Proud to have played my part
But too much credit humbled me
It was all the others who helped
That really was the key.
Will it happen again?
I'm sure it will some date
But I've done my duty
Someone will step up to the plate.
When I can just rock up
Simply travelling as a fan
Without having to fret about all the details
In a way that only I can.
Been hampered by my dodgy foot
Sunburnt as well to boot
There can't be any denying
It was still a hoot!
Even those who don't like me
Have patted me on the back
Despite not seeing eye to eye 
For keeping everything on track.
The weather's been scorching
And I've set my foot back for ages
Not even had time to jot down poetry
On my empty notebook pages.
Would I change this for anything?
Not in a million years
Haven even been wistful of others
Knocking back their German beers.
Having stepped down from the Committee
My duties are complete
Reverting back to a fan like any other
Relax and take a back seat.
I don't care what they remember me for
I'm not one to shout or boast
But a little bit deep inside of me
Wants it to be for the Altona friendship most.

Dulwich Poet 24th July 2018

(Dulwich Hamlet have just played two matches in Hamburg, including a special 125th anniversary match against our close friends from Altona 93. I was one of the fans involved in over three years of fundraising to over the costs of the trip for the First Team squad)

"Altona Haiku"

Football's Coming home
But not as you all know it
Eighteen Ninety Three

Universal game
Altona Dulwich Hamlet
Special bond of love

Chance meeting in snow
Hearts melt all over Europe
Magical weekend

Zines and groundhopping
Uniting our football fans
Jager und Kail-JA!

Can't draw for toffee
Poetry is from the heart
Altona engraved

Wearing a false crown
Mask modestly hides hard work
Football's chalk and cheese.

Dulwich Poet 18th July 2018

(Dulwich Hamlet Football Club have had a special pre-season tour to Hamburg, culminating in a special game against our good friends from Altona 93. One of their supporters produced a fanzine, with half a blank cover, for the occasion. The idea being that you copy it and send him your entry for an artistic competition. I can't draw, my 'art' is through my poems, so I thought I'd write some 'haiku' to scribble on the cover of mine to send him...)

"Love & Hate"

Today is Fathers Day
Just another date
Forgive me if I'm not happy
Got other stuff on my plate.
In all honesty I made that up
I'm indifferent to it all
I never much loved him
Going back to when I was small.
A  bit of me always cared
But 'love' was a thing we rarely said
I spent most of my young life
Wishing he was dead. 
Yet when the moment came
I shed tears and cried
But only for the dad I never knew
The strange part of him that died.
I won't miss his demons
The gambling and the drunk
The way he treated my mum
He never lived like a monk.
He was never one to hit her
But in vodka a demon possessed
It broke her heart when he croaked it
Even if she could finally rest.
Hand on heart I never felt parental love
The way I played up
Didn't actually deserve it
When push comes to a shove.
Looking back I'm not angry
Just the way cards were dealt
And at least I wasn't beaten much
Not suffering with a belt.
I probably brought some of it on
Being the runt of the litter
I felt I was as to blame as much as them
No point in feeling bitter.
Would I change anything?
I'd rather not think that way
Just coping with the right now
Is how I keep my demons at bay.
I guess I wish we'd spoke more
Had the relationship we never had
But the way I grew up
Leaves me no more than sad.
Would it have been too much to ask
An occasional hug or kiss
The things ordinary folk take for granted
Sound like unattainable bliss.
Is it any wonder
When all is said and done
That I turned against them
And felt the unloved son?
You both wrecked my life
Making me the insecure person I am
The way you treated me and I reacted
Felt like none of us gave a damn.
You never taught me to love
I don't know how to hug and hold
To scared to even love myself
So I come across as cold.
As I reach the autumn of my life
I'm too far gone to change
It's something I've come to accept
Which you probably feel is strange.
It's the little things that keep me going
Sobriety, new grounds and rhyme
I've genuinely got no expectations
I'm way past my prime.
On a good day I wake up in the morning
Simply content to be alive
Wanting any more than that would be pointless
Even if I dared to strive.
So forgive me if I don't get pleasure
From when you share Happy Fathers or Mothers Day posts
It's not that I'm not pleased for you
I'm just hiding from my demons and ghosts.

Dulwich Poet 17th June 2018

(I wrote this on Fathers Day, in response to so many 'Happy Fathers Day' posts on Facebook)

"Freundschaft"

Sometimes things happen by accident
Or is it meant to be fate
Meeting by luck or chance
Where a stranger becomes a mate.
An ice cold frozen November
A few hundred in the ground
The snow-covered Adolf-Jager-Kampfbahn
Was the groundhop found.
A welcoming fanzine seller
Who went by the name of Jan
And from that little acorn
Grew this weekend's plan.
It feels like I've got a new family
So much love from Altona 93
Who've embraced Dulwich Hamlet strangers
Including you and me.
This trip shouldn't happen
Something our Club couldn't afford
All of our supporters dug deep
Everyone on board.
Over three years of planning
Untold people mucking in
I can't really say Thank You
I don't know where to begin.
But one thing I do know
When I thought my endeavours would fail
I was always strengthened by my faith
In the spirits of Adolf Jager and Edgar Kail.
Even if I live to be a hundred
Nothing will beat Dulwich Hamlet playing here
So if you see me dabbing myself with a tissue
Please excuse me for shedding a tear.

Dulwich Poet 17th June 2018

( After over three years of fundraising, in less than a month Dulwich Hamlet will be going to Hamburg for a two game pre-season tour, all team expenses for the trip raised by the fans. The trip would not have been possible with that, and it celebrates the friendship and the 125th anniversary of both Dulwich Hamlet and our close friends Altona 93)

"Mates"

He's never shy of work
Going for a job
Not afraid of graft
To earn a few bob.
You hear about youngsters
The lazy and feckless git
Dossing in bed all day
Never giving a shit.
Stereotype dealing in drugs
To make extra dosh
Running with nasty gangs
When life's got you under the cosh.
Carry knives and guns
To prove you're a man
All of those false assumptions
Ain't in this young man's plan.
Turning his hand to anything
A bit of this and that
Mending bicycles down the market
Cooking Thai food
Slaving over hot fat.
Paying out of his own pocket
For his coaching qualification
Such a positive attitude
A role model for the nation.
Any bit of adversity
Doesn't get him down
Keeping his above water
Instead of giving up to drown.
Every knock he faces
He picks himself up again
I've got so much respect for him
Which I'm doing through my pen.
He's going on a journey
One that's only just begun
When he gets to the top of his profession
What a tale to be spun!
I've no doubt one day he'll make it
A top football coach
One that becomes so good
Everyone will want to poach.
He's also my inspiration
Outwardly full of hope
My sort of safety valve
When I'm struggling to cope.
Having time to help
If I'm in a bit of a mess
Keeping a confidentiality
If I've got something to confess.
I really do love him
But in a weird sort of way
I wouldn't even touch him
If he was the slightest bit gay.
It's such a weird friendship
A huge generation gap
I can even forgive him
For constantly playing rap.
I wish I could thank him
With a little peck on the cheek
In the way your Europeans do
Every day of the week.
A manly British hug
But I'm too scared to be affectionate that way
Scared it'll ruin our close bond
And he'll think I'm making a play.
He's out on the road right now
Taking an Argos driving test
Pass or fail at that
For me he's still the best. 
Not just someone who knows me
They'd be an acquaintance not a friend
When I'm broken inside
He knows how to help me mend.
Not sure if he realises
I don't have many muckers
Loneliness can be hard for me
One of life's 'Bill-No-Mates' old fuckers.
Sometimes I can't get my words out
I struggle to speak from the heart
In truth my social skills are rubbish
I don't know where to start.
It's easier through my poetry
Expressing what I mean
So this is what I'm doing
To a friend who's still a teen.
You've got me through a tough time
When i didn't know what to do
So if ever you need to talk
I hope I'm there for you.
Not sure if you'll like this piece
It might end up in the bin
No matter, what I'm trying to say
Is thanks for everything, Finn!

Dulwich Poet 13th June 2018

(I have a bit of a struggle mentally really, and a young mate from football has been there to help...I didn't know how to express it properly, so wrote this poem for him. Fortunately he seemed to like it when I gave it to him...)

"Germany Calling!"

Can't believe it's happening
I'm going to be Altona bound
Gonna to be such a special moment
When my plane takes off the ground.
Got the ok from the doctors
Oral antibiotics next week
My wound and toe's not yet healed
But the future's not so bleak.
This trip would mean the world to me
My Dulwich Hamlet holy grail
Not entirely sure how I'd coped 
If it was all to no avail.
By that I mean not going
Selfish, I know you'll say
But what's kept my sanity over the last season
Is anticipating The Hamlet and Altona play.
A once in a lifetime opportunity
Genuine fusion of football friends
That's why it was so vital
To see that my big toe mends.
To say that I am buzzing
Given the clearance to go
Means more than anything to me
More than you will ever know.
A  huge cloud has been lifted
Inside tranquil and calm
For weeks I've being doing my nut in
Internally living on a funny farm.
That's the problem with me
Outside I look 'normal' at best
Inside I'm top of the waiting list
For "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest".
Gonna step back after this tour
Taken so much to achieve
Dream realised by help from so many others
Who had the faith in me to believe.
Six years on the Committee
It was time for me to step down
I know this trip's ultimately due to me
Despite some new-veau's thinking I'm a clown.
I've never done what I do for popularity
Or to receive pats on the back
I don't want to be immortalised
On a soon to be forgotten plaque.
It's simply for the love
Of my little Football Club
And partly as a penance
For all those years wasted down the pub.
This tour would NEVER have happened
Without my determination and drive
It will be one of those genuinely rare moments in my life
When I'm so glad to be alive.

Dulwich Poet 7th June 2018

( I wrote this after finding out I can travel to Germany to see the 125th anniversary tour for Dulwich Hamlet, culminating with a special match against Altona 93)

"5th Floor Balcony"

I can hear the wind
Whistling through
Whispering to me
In a strange language
That I don't understand.
A bit like poetry
As I am sat  here.
The whole balcony
Almost my own.
Manners maketh the man
Resting my bad foot up
On the adjacent seat
Under the protection
Of yesterday's 'Metro'
Which resisted the attempt
To turn into
The traditional
Fish and chip paper. Except...
We don't really do that
Here in London.
And a rude commuter type
I am not.
Trains rumbling below
Children cheerfully
Chattering and whooping
Fountain unseen 
Four floors down.
Opposite of old times
Heard but not seen.
A bit like me
As I hide up here
At peace
Content with the world
Knowing that
In just over a month
I WILL be in Hamburg!
Where I DESPERATELY 
Want to be. A bit like now:
Resting. Reading.
Relaxing. Writing.
Inwardly rejoicing
Possibly on the mend.
As lonely as I may seem here
The happiest I have been
For months
Not including
Promotion, naturally.
No fancy words needed.
Just simple 
Working Class Poetry
For a simple
Working Class Bloke
Like me.

Dulwich Poet 6th June 2018

(I wrote this sat on the open air balcony, overlooking the Thames, at the Festival Hall, having been told a few days earlier that my daily dose of injected antibiotics will be stopped and I will change to oral tablets, meaning I can go on the Altona tour!)

"The Waiting Game"

Waiting for my next appointment
Am worried about my toe
But honest truth be told
It's to Altona I want to go.
This trip means the world
Will be one of the highlights of my life
More than chopping off part of my foot
That's causing me so much strife.
My body's fighting back
With antibiotics pumped through
Until I go to Germany
I really don't know what to do.
Going to see The Hamlet in Altona
Means more than you'll ever know
Such dark thoughts inside if I'm not there
You really don't want to know.
I scared of what I'll do
So frightened if I do not
It's desperately hard to keep level-headed
Even though it's the only hope I've got.
Don't know what the future holds
But I've got to make this trip
At stake is a lot more
Than my big toe giving me gyp.
This anniversary football tour
Is so close to my heart
If I can't make it
Will really tear me apart.
Put my faith in the doctors
Praying to Edgar they let me go
I really don't want to contemplate 
How i'll react if they say no!

Dulwich Poet 5th June 2018

(I wrote this in the waiting room, before I see a consultant, five weeks into a six week course of  intravenous antibiotics, and five weeks before Dulwich Hamlet are due for a once in a lifetime trip to Hamburg to play Altona 93)

"Nothing To Watch"

Clogging up the telly
So-called wedding of the year
Such a happy occasion 
Supposed to fill us with cheer.
Unless you're one of the homeless of Windsor
Swept off the street
I'd doubt if they'll be the ones fawning
At the royal couple's feet.
All done so kindly
Temporary accommodation found
If it's that fucking simple
Why ain't it done all year round?
These rough sleepers
They don't want to help themself
In case you hadn't worked out
It's because of their mental health.
Well I'll tell you something now
They're not as bad as the wedding crowd
Head to toe in Union Jacks
Whooping out aloud.
Arriving days before
Sleeping bags and thermos flask
Uniform completed
With a Prince Harry cardboard mask.
Conveniently forgotten
Is his Nazi fancy dress
Not one of them in tribute
To Hitler or Rudolf Hess.
The thing about this couple
Is they're 'ordinary' like you or me.
Well I've got no neighbours like that
Popping in for a cup of tea.
What on earth do they know
About counting coins on the kitchen table
A choice between feeding your dog
Or yourself if you are able.
Not going down to use the library
Because you've got that small fine
The day before your benefits
Beans on toast equal fine dine.
Being totally skint
For ten minutes late at the job centre
Never getting repairs done
Cos you're a dodgy bedsit renter.
I haven't watched the telly
You may have guessed I think they're cocks
There's nothing worse I want to see
On the fucking box.
Hopefully we'll copy the French
Who had the right idea
If it's off with their heads
Even I'll raise a beer!

Dulwich Poet 19th May 2018

(I wrote this on the day of the Royal Wedding of Prince Harry & Meghan Markle)

"For The Chop"

I'm really selfishly scared
Don't want to be any less of a man
All I want is save my big toe
If I possibly can.
Story of my life
Been rubbish with my health
Now an open ulcer under my toe
Has infected my bone by stealth.
Having to take daily antibiotics
Fed direct into my arm
Outwardly acting normal
No cause for alarm.
If all the treatment don't work
My toe's for the chop
I'll only be fit for purpose
When I got on a footballing groundhop.
Losing my big fat pinkie
To save the rest of the foot
That's what the consultant said
The way the words were put.
Got to put my trust in medication
All I can do at the end of the day
Clasp my hands together
And begin to pray.
Ask my Football God Edgar Kail
To get me through this time
Hoping beyond all hope
Everything will be fine.
Fearing for the worst
Even though I'm not going to die
It's not as though as I've got cancer
I'm not going to die.
But everywhere I go
It's by bus or train
I doubt I'll ever be able to walk long distance
Never, ever again.
Such a little bit of me
Nothing like losing an arm or a leg
I'm not going to be out of a job
Or sit on the street and beg.
It's the worry in my head
Starting to do my nut
Alone in bed late at night
Panicking my toe will be cut.
I should have looked after myself better
For decades chucking down the beers
Then not taking my diabetes seriously
In my sober years.
Despite being the youngest
From a family of four
I'm sure I'll be the first to die
And it's just round the door. 
I'd love to be a hundred
But I think that's passed me by
I've never had ambition 
Don't want to reach for the sky.
Yet there's so many cities
Places I want to go
Having a minor amputation
Would be such a blow.
If I get through this
It's time for a bit more travel
Missing some Dulwich games to do so
Won't make my life unravel.
Bottom line is it's only a small bit
Proper raspberry I won't be
Not what they call life-changing
But will seem like that to me.
Need to be positive
Time to soldier on
If the worst comes to the worst
It's only my big toe that's gone.

Dulwich Poet 15th May 2018

( A foot ulcer infection has gone to the bone. I am on daily injected and oral antibiotics for six weeks, then oral ones for a further six weeks. If the bone infection is not stopped my left big toe will almost certainly be amputated...)

"The Wrong 'un"

I've got this young mate
He's perfect in every way
Well except for for one flaw
The fact he's not gay!
Despite the generation gap
Our friendship's more important than that
He always there when I need him
For a confidential chat.
I don't have many friends
Close friends even less
He's my safety valve
When I'm feeling under stress.
His life isn't always great
His dad died at a young age
His mum's got an alcoholic partner
That should fill him with rage.
Some times it does
Going home can be rough
But he keeps it all together
When the going gets tough.
I'm so full of admiration
For the way he's coped so far
Because inside his head
He must carry many a mental scar.
So what makes him a "wrong 'un"?
Perhaps his only flaw
What is it that really annoys me
When I tell him what for?
The answer's really shocking
He can't stand pie and mash
And whenever it's mentioned
We have a verbal clash.
How can he not be in love
With 'double,double' on a plate
The greatest dish on earth
Is simply something NOT to hate!
It's not as if he shouldn't like it
He's Sarf Lunnon through and through
I've tried to convince him of the culinary beauty
Don't know what more I can do.
Handcuff him to a table
Manacle him to the chair
Force feed him pie, mash and liquor 
One day I will do it
I really fucking swear!
Down on one knee begging him
To try a single on a plate
And hope he doesn't realise
It's my fantasy of a date!
The bonus of it is
If it really turns him off
I'll scrape it all over mine
With more for me to scoff.
He genuinely is a good friend
One not sure I deserve
And this is his only flaw
That hits my raw nerve.
Not something I'll kill him for
Though it's such a heinous crime
Thankfully we don't have the death penalty
Not sure if I'd do the time.
If this were America
And the electric chair was my fate
At least I'd have the comfort of a last meal
With pie and mash on my plate!

Dulwich Poet 14th May 2018

(A young mate of mine says that pie and mash is disgusting. Shame on him!)

"Random Day Off"

Alarm clock goes
After my late night
Sober slumber.
There will be others
Worse off than me.
Shit, wash and dress
In that order.
Head to hospital
For my six weeks
Of daily antibiotics
Direct into my arm
Through a plastic tube
Into my heart.
Metro to read
From the bus
Beats the boredom.
Then it's out into 
The early morning sun.
Barely nine o'clock.
Lewisham calling.
Pants and socks
From Primark
Too lazy for a visit
To the laundrette.
Wilko's next.
Assorted crap
To clean my bathroom.
Landlady moaning
Even though her son
Believe it or not
Is the messy one.
A glass of milk.
Not for refreshment
But to line my stomach
To soak up
A multitude of medication.
Then it's out again
Bermondsey bound
Old work stomping ground
Out of my way
To the cobblers.
New heels needed
On my hospital made shoes.
Heels not supplied
By the N.H.S.
Twenty five sovs.

It's not cheap

Being ill.

Then...first treat of the day
Fish and chips
Down the Blue
Only a fiver
Bargain!
And even better
My mate's paying.
But they don't do cards
So it's old fashioned me
With traditional cash.
He meant well.
Ice cream from Iceland
'Mum knows best'
Except she's long dead
So she don't.
On to the library
It's emotional
Dulwich Hamlet
All over the internet.
What an invention!
Both the Club
And the contraption.
Bus to Waterloo.
The Poetry Library
My 'secret' oasis.
Toilets downstairs closed
So no furtive wanking.
Am as lonely
As my day.
Another mode of transport
On the tube
Northern Line to Stockwell
Then Brixton 
And bus.
More chips
This time with scampi
Or should that be
Scooby snack chips
As Wetherspoons portions 
At the Crown and Sceptre
And all of their other
Pro-Brexit boozers.
I voted to leave
But they're cheap.
And I've never pretended
To have fiscal principles
As a poor working class man
In a capitalist society.
Even though
Don't blame me
I voted to stay.
Finally I get a lift
To my endz
As the youth say
With young mates
Grown men
And it's a new experience
Only sexual 
In my mind sadly
As they take me
To an ice cream parlour.
A 21st Century twist
On those fondly remembered
Knickerbocker Glory's
In the Wimpy Bar
From the Seventies.
With the lads embarrassingly
Acting like kids
As I would have done
All those decades ago.
It's been all in all
Just another day off work
Like every other Tuesday.
Except tonight
As I got to sleep
And finally rested
My infected foot
I am starting to realise that
At least until next April
We ARE National League South.

Dulwich Poet 8th May 2018

(Basically what I did yesterday!)