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)
Saturday 19 May 2018
Tuesday 15 May 2018
"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...)
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...)
Monday 14 May 2018
"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!)
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!)
Tuesday 8 May 2018
"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.
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!)
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.
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!)
Sunday 6 May 2018
"Before The Match"
Another day of destiny
Here comes deja vu
Is your glass half full or empty
Depends on your point of view.
Third consecutive play-off final
But the first at home
If you can really call it that
For to Tooting we've had to roam.
With our arch rivals relegated
We'll be two divisions apart
Much as I'm grateful for their helping hand
Them dropping warmed my heart.
There'll be two divisions between us
If we're victors at ten to five
And against the obscene Tamplin wads at Billericay
We did well to keep out title hopes alive.
So much play-off heartache in the past
It can't come soon enough
But Hendon won't be pushovers
It's going to genuinely tough.
Come the final whistle
I'll have tears in my eye
That'd whether we win or lose
I know I'm going to cry.
Perhaps it's Old Skool destiny
We went up when we shared at Sandy Lane
Now we're stuck at their new ground
It could be time again.
Will it be farewell to the Isthmian
National League bound?
Or grown men braking down
At the Tooting & Mitcham ground?
With all the off-field problems
I didn't want to go a level higher
But to say I don't want it in my heart
I'd have to admit to being as liar.
So will we finally do it
Only time will tell
It won't be the end of the world
If we're stuck in 'Bostik League hell'.
Except I'm not a 'big-time-charlie'
I'd never call it that
Anyone who uses that description
Is a disrespectful prat.
I'm desperate to leave the Isthmian
But proud enough to stay
Really don't want to tempt fate
But think it might finally be our day.
Dulwich Poet 7th May 2018
(I wrote this BEFORE the Bostik League Premier Division play-off Final, on the tram to the game, at our temporary home at Tooting & Mitcham United.)
Here comes deja vu
Is your glass half full or empty
Depends on your point of view.
Third consecutive play-off final
But the first at home
If you can really call it that
For to Tooting we've had to roam.
With our arch rivals relegated
We'll be two divisions apart
Much as I'm grateful for their helping hand
Them dropping warmed my heart.
There'll be two divisions between us
If we're victors at ten to five
And against the obscene Tamplin wads at Billericay
We did well to keep out title hopes alive.
So much play-off heartache in the past
It can't come soon enough
But Hendon won't be pushovers
It's going to genuinely tough.
Come the final whistle
I'll have tears in my eye
That'd whether we win or lose
I know I'm going to cry.
Perhaps it's Old Skool destiny
We went up when we shared at Sandy Lane
Now we're stuck at their new ground
It could be time again.
Will it be farewell to the Isthmian
National League bound?
Or grown men braking down
At the Tooting & Mitcham ground?
With all the off-field problems
I didn't want to go a level higher
But to say I don't want it in my heart
I'd have to admit to being as liar.
So will we finally do it
Only time will tell
It won't be the end of the world
If we're stuck in 'Bostik League hell'.
Except I'm not a 'big-time-charlie'
I'd never call it that
Anyone who uses that description
Is a disrespectful prat.
I'm desperate to leave the Isthmian
But proud enough to stay
Really don't want to tempt fate
But think it might finally be our day.
Dulwich Poet 7th May 2018
(I wrote this BEFORE the Bostik League Premier Division play-off Final, on the tram to the game, at our temporary home at Tooting & Mitcham United.)
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