The constant hum
Of commuter traffic
Going one way
Or the other
To somewhere
Or nowhere
Along the A3
Completely oblivious
To the fact
That on the left
Or right
Depending on direction
It's 3rd v. 2nd
In the CoCo.
You'd be a clown
To miss it.
Only problem is
This is bottom of the table
Bog standard
Step Five fare
For maybe a score
In expenses.
Hence the dash
For those passers-by
To drive home
For over-paid
Over-rated
Multi-millionaire
Prima-donna
RUBBISH
is on the box
To satisfy
The armchair brigade
Sat behind their steering wheels.
I can stretch my legs
Resting on the backs
Of seats in front.
Not a soul to bother
As there's only one bloke sat
Much further along
This one hundred and two seater stand
Only two seats taken.
Maybe thirty hardy souls
On the Club House side
And half a dozen more
Out in the elements
The hardy ones
In winter coats
Hugging the rail.
I don't come here
For a classic
No video refs
Just a down to earth
Honest one
At level nine
Who will still get abused
For his troubles
In the minds of managers
And hardened players
Themselves as bent
As a nine bob note.
This is my therapy
This is my escape
Writing poetry
And watching football.
A million and one things
Going through my head
But not right now
As I try to push aside
The harsh reality
Of my existence
And a future
I dare not contemplate
The only way I can.
Too scared to look back in anger
And far too scared
To contemplate the future.
So this is where I am.
Alone
At Colliers Wood United FC.
Dulwich Poet 29th January 2018
(Wibbandune is the home of Combined Counties League Premier Division side Colliers Wood United. I wrote this during their home game against Godalming Town)
Monday 29 January 2018
Sunday 28 January 2018
"What Does The Future Hold?"
Another Sunday morning
The same thing in my head
Can't really enjoy my day off
Cos my Football Club could be dead.
People think I'm fairly normal
But I'm scared of how I will cope
If I'm unable to do that
I'll make my own hangman's rope.
Emotionally this is hurting me more
Than when my mum was about to die
At random moments in the day
I want to curl up and cry.
If The Hamlet pull through
I can say I'm proud to have served my Club
But can I forgive those who haven't
Therein lies the rub.
Genuinely believe there's some out there
Who want us re-formed in a Kent County League field
Revenge is not so much a dish served cold
As served up with whatever I choose to wield.
No idea if I'd cope
With the rest of my life in a cell
Very much doubt I'll survive
A banged up life of hell.
The problem is I'm not crazy
I don't hear voices in my head
But surely it's not normal
To want to butcher enemies dead?
The problem is my glass is half empty
Even if I still liked a drink
I can't imagine my Club surviving
And I'm teetering on the brink.
If the worst comes to the worst
I have to do what's right
Not something that will happen immediately
It won't be overnight.
A phoenix club might happen
But it will never be the same
In matters like this I won't be wrong
I'll know where to apportion blame.
Perhaps first I'll write my 'mythical memoirs'
Unburden those thoughts in my head
Maybe that will cleanse me
My memorial for when I'm dead.
I know what I'd have to do
My way out's under a train
My writing would be my legacy
Even if you think I'm insane.
Dulwich Poet 28th January 2018
(A poem about me thinking about the future, or not having a future, without Dulwich Hamlet Football Club)
The same thing in my head
Can't really enjoy my day off
Cos my Football Club could be dead.
People think I'm fairly normal
But I'm scared of how I will cope
If I'm unable to do that
I'll make my own hangman's rope.
Emotionally this is hurting me more
Than when my mum was about to die
At random moments in the day
I want to curl up and cry.
If The Hamlet pull through
I can say I'm proud to have served my Club
But can I forgive those who haven't
Therein lies the rub.
Genuinely believe there's some out there
Who want us re-formed in a Kent County League field
Revenge is not so much a dish served cold
As served up with whatever I choose to wield.
No idea if I'd cope
With the rest of my life in a cell
Very much doubt I'll survive
A banged up life of hell.
The problem is I'm not crazy
I don't hear voices in my head
But surely it's not normal
To want to butcher enemies dead?
The problem is my glass is half empty
Even if I still liked a drink
I can't imagine my Club surviving
And I'm teetering on the brink.
If the worst comes to the worst
I have to do what's right
Not something that will happen immediately
It won't be overnight.
A phoenix club might happen
But it will never be the same
In matters like this I won't be wrong
I'll know where to apportion blame.
Perhaps first I'll write my 'mythical memoirs'
Unburden those thoughts in my head
Maybe that will cleanse me
My memorial for when I'm dead.
I know what I'd have to do
My way out's under a train
My writing would be my legacy
Even if you think I'm insane.
Dulwich Poet 28th January 2018
(A poem about me thinking about the future, or not having a future, without Dulwich Hamlet Football Club)
Tuesday 23 January 2018
"What Way Will The Dice Roll"
I'm scared of the future
Scared of what it will hold
In truth I'm scared for myself
If the truth be told.
I've supported Dulwich Hamlet
44 years man and boy
All to be chucked away
A property developer's discarded toy.
How will I react
Only time will tell
Will I kill those responsible
Rest of my life in a cell?
Who will I do first
My spree will have to be short
There will only be so much time
Before I inevitably get caught.
One thing for sure
Whoever I may blame
If I'm strong enough to do it
My life will never be the same.
It won't happen overnight
Need to have a plan of attack
It's quite a list in my head
So if you read this watch your back!
If I deem you one of those responsible
For taking my Club down
I am going to be gunning for you
When I go to town.
When the crunch comes to the crunch
Will I follow it through?
I will only know when it happens
If it's the right thing to do.
Prison terrifies me
For whatever sentence I get
But part of me feels it's inevitable
The die is already set.
If there's no Dulwich Hamlet
Will it work out for the good
A final stab at 'normality'
If only I could.
I love delving into the archives
Of the 'South London Press'
Could writing about local history
Get me out of my potential mess?
Concentrate on my poetry
The thing that clears my head
Is that the alternative
To lying on a prison bed?
Plenty of places to travel
Grounds I want to tick
Are my last few years worth wasting
Because of some Meadow Residential prick?
My emotions are daily doolally
All over the fucking place
The only thing I know at the moment
Is there's a fine line between normal & a basket case.
Dulwich Poet 23rd January 2018
(The football club I support, Dulwich Hamlet, may not even exist next season, killed off by the property developers who own our ground, and were in effect, running the Club, until their planning permission was turned down. In all honesty I have no idea what the future holds, or how I will react if The Hamlet vanish...)
Scared of what it will hold
In truth I'm scared for myself
If the truth be told.
I've supported Dulwich Hamlet
44 years man and boy
All to be chucked away
A property developer's discarded toy.
How will I react
Only time will tell
Will I kill those responsible
Rest of my life in a cell?
Who will I do first
My spree will have to be short
There will only be so much time
Before I inevitably get caught.
One thing for sure
Whoever I may blame
If I'm strong enough to do it
My life will never be the same.
It won't happen overnight
Need to have a plan of attack
It's quite a list in my head
So if you read this watch your back!
If I deem you one of those responsible
For taking my Club down
I am going to be gunning for you
When I go to town.
When the crunch comes to the crunch
Will I follow it through?
I will only know when it happens
If it's the right thing to do.
Prison terrifies me
For whatever sentence I get
But part of me feels it's inevitable
The die is already set.
If there's no Dulwich Hamlet
Will it work out for the good
A final stab at 'normality'
If only I could.
I love delving into the archives
Of the 'South London Press'
Could writing about local history
Get me out of my potential mess?
Concentrate on my poetry
The thing that clears my head
Is that the alternative
To lying on a prison bed?
Plenty of places to travel
Grounds I want to tick
Are my last few years worth wasting
Because of some Meadow Residential prick?
My emotions are daily doolally
All over the fucking place
The only thing I know at the moment
Is there's a fine line between normal & a basket case.
Dulwich Poet 23rd January 2018
(The football club I support, Dulwich Hamlet, may not even exist next season, killed off by the property developers who own our ground, and were in effect, running the Club, until their planning permission was turned down. In all honesty I have no idea what the future holds, or how I will react if The Hamlet vanish...)
Friday 5 January 2018
"Safety Valve"
Serenity's not a word
That I ever used to use
In fact I'd never really heard of it
Until I tried on my sobriety shoes.
Now over fifteen years later
I can still turn to A.A.
Last night I went to a rare meeting
To listen and have my say.
I'm not one of those who religiously
But they stop me going crazy
My sort of safety valve
When my thoughts go a bit hazy.
My Football Club appears fucked
Which doesn't help my head
I've really got a good mate
Who I'm afraid will soon be dead.
Even though I'm sure I won't
I'm scared I'll pick up a drink
You won't believe thoughts in my head
Don't know what to think.
I can go to an A.A. meeting
Total strangers sat around
It's where I feel most at home
Outside of a football ground.
An old friend once told me
My problem's I think too much
And now when I do that
Alcoholics Anonymous is my crutch.
I might not relate to everything
Once I'm through that door
It's where I escape and calm down
That's what I use them for.
When my head feels like exploding
There's more than one way to skin a cat
It's either a bit of poetry
Or the rooms of A.A. to be sat.
Dulwich Poet 5th January 2018
(Tonight I went to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's not very often I get to them nowadays.)
That I ever used to use
In fact I'd never really heard of it
Until I tried on my sobriety shoes.
Now over fifteen years later
I can still turn to A.A.
Last night I went to a rare meeting
To listen and have my say.
I'm not one of those who religiously
But they stop me going crazy
My sort of safety valve
When my thoughts go a bit hazy.
My Football Club appears fucked
Which doesn't help my head
I've really got a good mate
Who I'm afraid will soon be dead.
Even though I'm sure I won't
I'm scared I'll pick up a drink
You won't believe thoughts in my head
Don't know what to think.
I can go to an A.A. meeting
Total strangers sat around
It's where I feel most at home
Outside of a football ground.
An old friend once told me
My problem's I think too much
And now when I do that
Alcoholics Anonymous is my crutch.
I might not relate to everything
Once I'm through that door
It's where I escape and calm down
That's what I use them for.
When my head feels like exploding
There's more than one way to skin a cat
It's either a bit of poetry
Or the rooms of A.A. to be sat.
Dulwich Poet 5th January 2018
(Tonight I went to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's not very often I get to them nowadays.)
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