"The Man Who hates Poetry"

Don't you think it's somewhat ironic
That I've got you as mate
Because of that thing called poetry
Which you profess to hate.
Something you despise so much
But you host your own poetry night
I reckon you're telling porkies
'Cos that doesn't sound right.
Maybe you're having a 'pop' at the circuit
The ones who are up their own arse
But for everyone of that type
There's a dozen who are class.
Although you & me are different
I think we can relate
Even though I'm a poofter
We both like to tell it straight.
If something's shit you say so
You won't put on a front
None of this poetry politeness
You call a cunt a cunt!
The first time I saw you
It was so much more than spoken word
You were absolutely mental
But not in a way that's absurd.
Every time I see you
It's a genuine joy
Sounding exactly like me
South London man and boy.
Hidden in my reading
I'm still so nervous inside
Intimidated by 'posh' voices
Hearing you fills me with pride.
Poetry's not just for the educated
It's not something to mock
It for you & me to be proud of
Proper working class council estate stock.
When I see you on stage
Dropping aitches in your act
I have a 'one of us' moment
Not made up...that's a fact.
You might not realise it
But you're an inspiration to poets like me
Breaking free from our shackles
What you get is what you see.
And every time I see you
The welcome's always warm
You shine a light for us working class
And it's an honour to see you perform.

Dulwich Poet 19th May 2015

(There's a bloke on the London Poetry circuit called David Turner, he's working class like me, and he co-hosts a monthly poetry night called 'Silence found a Tongue', as well as doing poetry podcasts. Tonight's poetry night is also his birthday, so a number of us regulars are writing a poem about him. This is my one...)

"Sit Down Shut Up"

I was only going two stops

So I pretended I didn’t care

I am so ashamed of myself

All I did was stand and stare.

You didn’t want to move your pram

Your baby might wake up and cry

Well if that’s such a hardship

Give being sat in a wheelchair a try.

I should have opened my mouth

And said something…anything

But wasn’t up for a row

Even though I’d have been right

Against such an ignorant cow.

Your child is just a baby

But what chance will it have to learn

If for good old fashioned decency

They only have you to turn?

For that empty space on buses

It’s not a buggy park

The priority is for the disabled

The contrast couldn’t…

Be more stark.

They’re in wheelchairs

For a reason!

It’s because they aren’t able to stand

Never mind sit in a seat

Even if you give them a hand.

They can’t fold up their wheelchairs

Like you can with a pram

What makes you so special

That you don’t give a damn?

This disabled bloke wasn’t angry

He must be used to…

Being treated like shit

A second class citizen

Taken for a twit.

In fact he was the proudest

A better person

Than her or me.

He might have been

Locked in his wheelchair

But his dignity was there to see.

I’m sorry I didn’t speak out

I kept my feelings inside

I’m ashamed I didn’t step in

Apologies for choosing to hide.

Dulwich Poet 2^nd May 2015

(I was on a very lazy two stop bus ride, to the train station. It was a packed 202 single decker, and a woman wouldn’t mover her pram because her baby was asleep in it, and she didn’t want to wake it up. Her pram was in the wheelchair area…and she wouldn’t move it for a bloke in a wheelchair. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t get involved, and stayed quiet.)