Tuesday 23 December 2014

FuCKINgPIgSHitLIars!


Thank you very much-whatever your name is-for providing me with inspiration. This isn't the first time I've been randomly set upon by someone not completely in control of their actions, but it is the first time I've been kind of grateful for it. 



FuCKINgPIgSHitLIarS!

SAwAnANgrYLOOKINGMAN
COMInGDOWnTHEHIll
TOWaRDSMEaNDHaDto
MoVENeArERtOTHEKERB
TOavoiDColliDINGWIthHIM
BUThEMUSThaveREADMY
M.I.N.D.aSHEdeCIdedto
DoTHESAmeWeverY
NArroWLYAVoiDEdtouCHing
EACHothERaSheMoVEDiN
FROntofMeANDpiCKEdaHAlF
LEmoNOUToFTHEGUtTerITHouGht
HEwaSGOINgTOSQUASHitINTO
MyFAcEBUTiNSteADheThrEWIt
ACrosSMeSCREaminG
“FUCKINGPIGSHITLIARS!”
BeFOReCArryiNGoN(HOME?)
LeaVINGmEShakenBUTOtherWIse
UNhARMED.

Thing is sometimes random stuff like that happens
I don’t blame him for his actions he’s obviously not well
probably lives on his own and needs support and care
care what care care and the community the way
I see it it’s the system that’s at fault when I
got a little further up the hill and nearer to town
I had to give way to someone with a child in a pushchair

AndYOuKNOWWHat?
ShEDIDn’TeVENSAy”THAnks”
SHEjUSTwaLKEDPaSTmE
ANdGAveMEadiRTYLookWHat
THEFUckISWROnGwITHPEOPle?
WhYaRETHeySORudeIwAS
MOreWoUNDupABout
THAtTHanIWasOFBEinGScareD
SHiTTLeSSBYthEANgRYmAnaND
IfeLTless IRrITAtED BYwHATheDID
THanBYthATOTHeRpeRSoNS’sLAcKoF
GrATITudEaNDRECOGniTION
OFmyCoURTeOusaCTioNMaYBE
ThEANGRyMAnHasAPOIntTheWOrLD
REaLLYISfULLoF”FUCKINGPIGSHITLIARS”
AnDUNlIKEMEHeCAN’T
BeaRSEdtOKeePTHatTHought
TOhiMSELF





















Saturday 20 December 2014

Scarred for life



I have been reading, and enjoying some prose style poetry written by my friend, Jonathan King whose work can be viewed on my blogs reading list. I am now trying to compose some of my own poetry in this very attractive style of writing. I find it requires a great deal more thought than the rhyming couplets I usually produce and, as a consequence, it may be some time before I can up with anything reasonable enough for me to consider posting. In the meantime, here're some lyrics I wrote to a song I performed with Peter Gilsenen a lifetime ago.


Scarred for life

I saw myself today
In the mirror in the hallway
Reflection distorted
Like Dorian Gray
I watched the picture change
Like a living kaleidoscope
A visage in patches
Features melted away

They cut my face up
With the surgeon's knife
Stitched back together
Now it's scarred for life

You can change the future
But you can't take the past away
And the picture of your face
Tells a story today
It's a constant reminder
Of the times you left behind
Every line is a pathway
To the back of your mind

And all the time we pretend to be wise
This masquerade is a clever disguise
They cut my face up
With the surgeon's knife
Stitched back together
Now it's scarred for life

But I don't cry
I was scarred for life
I can hide my injured pride
I was scared for life

I saw my self today
In the mirror in the hallway
Reflection distorted
Like Dorian Gray
I watched the picture change
Like a living kaleidoscope
A visage in patches
Features melted away

And all the time we pretend to be wise
This masquerade is a clever disguise
They cut my face with the surgeon's knife.....

.......scarred for life!

Thursday 18 December 2014

A Day Off

A Day Off
Security at all airports in the UK
Will be non-existent just for one day
Passport control told the government to stick it
So go board a plane
No need for a ticket
A police announcement at the same time
Said drink driving will not be a crime
On this occasion it’s not be a big deal
To drink past the limit
And drive where you will
The fire brigade's spending the day in bed
No fires will be put out today they said
For twenty four hours they intend to retire
Now strike those matches
And light up a fire
From this dawn till next no hospital will
Be looking after anyone ill
And ambulance callers can to go to Hell
It’s not a good day
For being unwell
In a further announcement the police released
A statement all patrolling’s ceased
Nobody’s watching CCTV
You can ram raid a shop
Grab something for free
Drugs are all legal kids can get drunk
Snort lines of coke and smoke joints of skunk
There’s no age restriction today there’s no need
Go spend your sweets money
On booze coke and weed
Back to work
Woke this morning the news was filled
With numerous plane crashes countless killed
No clues found no established facts
No reasons for so many
Terror attacks
On motorways vehicles stacked up in piles
Mangled dead bodies for miles and miles
Police have advised don’t travel by car
The roads are shut
You won’t get very far
Then came breaking news an aerial view
Of smoke so thick you couldn’t see through
Reports of charred bodies and arson abound
Westminster’s gone
It’s been burnt to the ground
The phone rang and I sat up in bed
A nurse’s voice at the other end said
I have some bad news I’m so sorry to say
Your father has peacefully
Passed away
I lay for a while got up and got dressed
Felt deeply disturbed despondent depressed
Went downstairs saw glass everywhere
Looked outside
And the car wasn’t there
And where was my wife when this day begun?
She was upstairs looking after our son
Now coming round from being out cold
In a drunken stupor
At twelve years old
Back to bed
Pondering impulses unrestrained
The morning has left me mentally drained
I head back upstairs reflect on the day
And lying in bed
I wish it away










Wednesday 10 December 2014

Attention Seekers Allowance

Howdy all

..................... but honestly, sometimes one needs to get it off ones chest doesn't one?

Attention Seekers Allowance

In a bid for popularity
With a total lack of clarity
A strictly personal tragedy
That should have been kept in the family
Wasn’t private enough apparently
To stop it being candidly
And blandly posted randomly
To be judged unitelligently
By the friends of a total calamity
With a fucked up personality

And now it’s just a malady
An attention seeking travesty
A cry for help and sympathy
Sincerity and empathy
With a feeling of impunity
At every opportunity
It’s “Liked” and “Shared” implicitly 
In a tidal wave of complicity
And sacrificed specifically   
To the cause of self-publicity.    

Wednesday 19 February 2014

Grandma's ghost

I guess we all have the occasional "flashback" to our younger days, but recently I had one encompassing two things that happened to me in 1980 and 1986 respectively, the first being an LSD trip (yes I was a naughty boy), the second, a visit to a spiritualist.

This random memory took me quite by surprise whilst in the middle of a totally unrelated task at work (I'm a printing assistant) and stayed with me during my drive home along with the words "I saw a strange old lady" which are the opening lines of the subsequent poem below:

Grandma’s ghost
I once saw a lady
In an armchair by my bed
Gazing down upon me
While I was off my head
A spectre born of acid
Hair devoid of pigment
Visage old and placid
A psychedelic figment
Of my imagination
And yet her vacant smile
Aroused a chill sensation
That froze me for a while
I pulled up the bedsheets
Hid beneath them scared
Till after many heartbeats
And still not quite prepared
I dared to have a peep
Discerned an empty chair
Fell gradually asleep
Relieved she wasn’t there
Slept off the disarray
Dreamed about her not
Awoke well past midday
And very soon forgot
Another five years flew
My friend a psychic said
She was listening to
A relative long dead
“I’ve got your grandma here
And she wants you to know
She’s always very near
Nigh everywhere you go”
She ran a list of things
Dates events names places
Relations gatherings
Long forgotten faces
Of past generations
And anecdotes she told
Of Christmas celebrations
Within the family fold
And I initially
Was quietly sceptical
It didn’t seem to be
Remotely true at all
Or so I thought before
My poetry she mentioned
How grandma liked it more
With rhyming words intentioned
I time travelled mentally
Remembering her there
Staring at me intently
From my old bedside chair
A very strange old dear
From five years back in time
Was she now standing here
Suggesting write in rhyme”?
I couldn’t and can’t decide
If the elderly entity
Had been identified
Was this ancient anomaly
Sedentary by the bed
Fair giving me a fright
A guardian ghost instead
Of what I perceived that night
To be a hallucination
Induced by LSD?
The physics’ revelation
Seemed apt poetically
Since rhyming is my thing
Therefore this one’s in view
Of Doris Margaret King
And the ghost of who knows who
May be a doodle
All reactions:
Mary-Ann Ambrose, Nicola Burrell and 6 others

Sunday 16 February 2014

He's on it

This one, I dedicate to very dear friend, one Andrew Grice who lives in Rotherham. One of his favourite sayings is "On it like a seagull on a bag of chips". I thought it would be fun to write a poem with variations on that theme.

He’s on it

He’s on it like water on sinking ships
Like a hand on the ball nicked into the slips
Like a kiss on Angelina Jolie’s lips
He’s on it like a seagull on a bag of chips
He’s on it like a rat climbing up a drain pipe
Like a stray dog pouncing on a bag of tripe
Like mould on fruit that’s gone overripe
Like Oswald on Kennedy, waiting to snipe
Like an angry driver with an urge to yell
In rush hour traffic FUCKING HELL    
Like a convict on a bunk in a prison cell
Quasimodo on the rope of the cathedral bell
He’s on it like an actor on a West end stage
Like an Eastern European on the minimum wage
Like a sex scanda on The Sun’s front page
Jimmy Saville’s dirty hands on the underage
He’s on it like a rash all over your skin
He’s on it like a fox on a rubbish bin
Like an old alcoholic on a bottle of gin
Like an unsuspecting arse on a drawing pin
He’s on it like a pisshead on a donor kebab
He’s on it like a finger on a dried up scab
Like a hand on a Rolex at a smash and grab
Like a night clubber running for a taxi cab
He’s on it like a cokehead on a big white line
Keith Floyd on a bottle of French red wine
Like Diana on the trail of another landmine
Like a picnic on the beach when the weather’s fine
He’s on it like a kitten on a ball of string
Like a wedding guest on a chicken wing
Like a wannabe singer who really can’t sing
He’s on the karaoke singing everything
Like an England captain on his best friend’s wife
Like a psycho in a fight with a carving knife
Like a man on appeal in solitary strife
On suicide watch sent down for life
Like a fired torpedo on an enemy fleet
Like a new-born baby on a mother’s teat
Like a man with diarrhoea on a toilet seat
He’s on it like a lion on a piece of meat
He’s on it like a spy on a document
That’s marked “Top secret” by the government
Like Guy Fawkes underneath Parliament  
With a highly explosive implement
He’s on it like a gossip on a juicy tale
Like a seventy’s pop star on a young female
Like a bird in the garden on bread gone stale
Like a member of CAMRA on a pint of real ale
Like The Terra Nova on a frozen shore
Like Captain Scott on a mission to explore
Like a poet sitting down on a muddy floor
Writing accounts of the First World War
Like a thirsty man on a beer in the fridge
Like Kingdom Brunel on designing a bridge
Like a broker on a deal with Etheridge
Like Hillary climbing up a mountain ridge
He’s on it like a multi millionaire’s son
At the Bullingdon club with his flies undone
Burning a fifty pound note for fun
Then shagging a pig in front of everyone
He’s on it like a bard writing a sonnet
He’s on it like bird shit on a shiny bonnet
Like an addict needing more he falls upon it
Like a junkie on a score
He’s happy when he’s on it 









Friday 14 February 2014

London Streets

About thirty five years ago, myself and two friends went for a drink in Brentwood. We got so drunk that we fell asleep on the train home, missed our stop, and consequently ended up having to spend the night on Liverpool Street Station. Not very nice. Especially when a poor old down and out lady sits down very near you, starts swearing and shouting out racist comments, and then does something rather disgusting, before being dragged away by two hapless policeman. Said lady figures in the subsequent poem borne of this event, as do the two policemen.

The London Streets of Ralph McTell

The London Streets of Ralph McTell
A land so rank with the rancid smell
Of a rubbish tip and a nearby den
Of broken bottles
And broken men
Round Bishop's Gate
They congregate
In one big methylated state and wait
For the soup van, cups of tea,
And a box to sleep in
All for free

Then it's down
Down
Downward bound
To the depths of the London Underground
Where a drunken dragon
With a voice so dry
Shouts racial abuse at passers by
And as a sudden entrance to a sickly play
Two policemen appear, and she's dragged away
But the smell of urine lingers on
As the London busker sings his song..........

The London streets of Ralph McTell
Where an old man walks in a living hell
With a brown paper bag and a manic grin
Through the Sinking
Stinking
Streets of sin
And as the night draws in on another cold day
He staggers and sways as he finds his way
To a rubbish tip and a nearby den
Of broken bottles
And broken men

So let me take you by the hand
And lead you away from this wasted land
Where a tramp in the gutter
Is a pitiful sight
On a cold, uncaring winter's night
We'll walk through the streets in the pouring rain
Go home on the early morning train
Far away from the filth
And the rancid smell
Of the London streets of Ralph McTell

Wednesday 12 February 2014

Haiku4alcohol(3rd person)

One day I'll learn how to post photos and stuff like a proper blogger. Meanwhile, here's another poem, written in the Haiku style with a smidgen of rhyme.


Haiku4alcohol (3rd person)

The more strong cider
He drinks the more he believes
The more he deceives

The more wine he drinks
The more easy to forget
His non self-respect

Another night drunk
And she’s telling him to stop
He’ll drink every drop

And then the next day
Restless lying in their bed
Wishing he was dead

Morning brings regret
For last night’s atrocities
Heartfelt apologies

God I’m so sorry
I’m trying to make you see
Last night wasn’t me

Those bruises she’s got
On her legs her arms her face
Reflect his disgrace

So sorry my love
I beg you to believe me
Sorry sincerely

But deep down he knows
He’ll forget all that’s just past
His remorse won’t last

It’s Friday again
And he’s opening the wine
Pretending It’s fine

He’ll just have the one
And forget as his disease
Reclaims him with ease

And she. Fearfully
Forgetfully taken in
By his carefree grin?

And so it begins
One drink followed by six more
And another he’ll pour

And all of those things
That happened last Saturday
Seem so faraway

All is forgotten
Another promise spoken
Easily broken

They drink and they laugh
And talk about tomorrows
Drowning their sorrows

And all of the while
Slowly destroying his health
Deceiving himself

He pours another
Is that a problem? So what?

You finished? I’m not






Sunday 9 February 2014

Dead pop stars

It's amazing how many great performers are still alive lol. And long may that last. Meanwhile, here's my tribute to some of the ones no longer with us. I am presently working on getting this down as a song. I have the tune ready, it's just a case of getting Leo (my son) to translate it on his guitar.

 
Deadstock (Admission Free)

Are you going to Deadstock? I’ll see you there someday
When good soul’s come together, to watch the dead bands play
There’s no ticket for reservation, and no form to apply
It’s an open invitation, to the great gig in the sky

The songs they played were anthems of the time
A mark was made when they were in their prime
I dedicate this song today
To the ones who’ve passed away
Like Jimi say’s
I’ll meet you in the next the world
And come and watch you play

Are you going to Deadstock? I've heard that it’s a scream
Where a crowd that stretches to infinity, is there living the dream
The sun is up there shining and the grass is always dry
And there’s some kind of mushroom there if you’re wanting to get high

The songs they played were anthems of the time
A mark was made when they were in their prime
I dedicate this song today
To the ones that passed away
Like Jimi says
I’ll see you in the next world
And come and watch you play

Ritchie Havens, Jimi Hendrix, John Entwistle, Janis Joplin
Frank Zappa ,John Bonham, Kurt Cobain, Ray Charles , Keith Moon
Marvin Gaye ,Lou Reed, George Harrison, Ian Curtis, Mama Cass
Michael Jackson, Muddy Waters, Amy Winehouse, Joey Ramone
Gram Parsons, Ronnie Van Zant, Freddie Mercury, Jeff Buckley
Tupac Shakur, Jam Master Jay, Ole dirty Bastard, Easy E
Sid Vicious , Marc Bolan, Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran
Ritchie Edwards? Pete De Freitas, Dime Bag Darell, Phil Lynott

Are you going to Deadstock? I’ll see you there someday
When good soul’s come together, to watch the dead bands play
There’s no ticket for reservation, and no form to apply
It’s an open invitation, to the great gig in the sky

Where the visuals are amazing, the sound is crystal clear
And the crowd gets bigger all the time, but the stage is always near
Are you going to Deadstock?  It’s a place for me and you
We can dance all day while the music plays and our friends will be there too

Alex Harvey, Donna Summer, Paul Raven, Jim Morrison
Bob Marley, Cassie Gains, Michael Hutchence, David Bowie
Whitney Huston, Dusty Springfield, Dee Dee Warwick, Patti Page
Stuart Sutcliffe, Steve Marriot, Patsy Cline, Ray Manzarek
Tim Buckley, Tommy Bolin, Dennis Wilson, Ian Stewart,
Robert Calvert, Roy Orbison, Tom Foggerty, Ronnie Lane
Johnny Thunders, Miles Davis, Lawrence Payton, Cozy Powell
Eddie Rabbit, Curtis Mayfield, Ian Dury, Mickey Finn, Lemmy
Steve Gaines, Richard Wright, Ronnie James Dio, Huw Lloyd Langton
John Glascock, Billy Fury, Bill Hayley, Rory Gallagher
Desmond Decker, Gene Vincent, Gregory Isaacs, Jeff Buckley
Phil Everly, Robert Johnson, Hillel Slovak, Alan Wilson
Hank Williams, John Denver, Cliff Burton, Duane Allman
Stevie Ray Vaughan, Joe Strummer, The Notorious B.I.G.
Clarence Johnson,Davy Jones, Adam Yauch, Jon Lord
Pete Seeger, Scott McKenzie, Reg Presley, John Lennon.
............................................?