The city centre seagull


CITY CENTRE SEAGULL

Who needs a gentle sea breeze
To lightly ruffle your feathers.
When instead you can soar in smog
In all sorts of miserable weather.

Who needs fresh fish to dine on
That you can pluck flapping from the sea.
When you can feast on cold greasy chips
Scattered among the cities debris.

Who needs the open ocean vista
As you bob on waves that smoothly sway.
When you can have an endless concrete vista
Interspersed with choking motorways.

Who needs the calmness of the sea
With its soft rhythmic peace.
When you can have endless noise and light
And live in a city that never sleeps.

Oh Lord won’t you buy me the latest iPhone?


Inspired by my own poor phone, with apologies to Janis Joplin.

Apple-iPhone

Oh Lord won’t you buy me the latest iPhone?
My friends all have BlackBerrys, I’m feeling alone.
Hardly worked all my lifetime , a job I’ve not known,
So Lord won’t you buy me the latest iPhone?

Oh Lord won’t you buy me a 3D TV?
PPI cold callers are trying to find me.
I rarely get out of bed each day before three,
So Lord won’t you buy me a 3D TV?

Oh Lord won’t you buy me a night on the beer?
I’m counting on you Lord, the pub is quite near.
Prove that you love me and let’s both say cheers,
Oh Lord won’t you buy me a night on the beer?

Oh Lord won’t you buy me the latest iPhone?
I need to contact my dealer, I want to feel stoned.
My meds are wearing off, I thrash and I moan.
Oh Lord won’t you buy me the latest iPhone?

That’s it.

Nescafe Double Choca Mocha


Nescafe Double Choca Mocha

It’s a double choca mocha sort of day,
When the sky outside is dull and grey
And my synapses need a swift kick,
Of a tasty double choca mocha hit.

The kettle can’t boil fast enough,
I hover impatiently with my mug.
Willing the water to just boil quick,
Longing for my choca mocha hit.

And at last the kettle boils,
So the hot water I can pour.
And the choca mocha I can sip,
Caring not that it burns my lips.

The ballad of Peter and Ryan – the extended mix.


peter and ryan

The Scene is the local tavern
Our heroes are Peter and Ryan.
Who tonight can both be found,
Terribly drunk on red wine.
They are having an argument
Peter says Ryan’s a virgin.
Ryan defends his honor,
Peter says he’s full of wind.
Ryan takes offense at the slur
And wobbles to his feet.
He looks unsteadily at Peter
Who struggles to rise from his seat.
Ryan opens his mouth wide,
(The wine has stained his teeth red.)
” Peter I have something to say,
So pin back your ears to your head.
Peter your wife’s a scarlet woman,
She has been unfaithful to you!
One marvelous wild night with me,
And one with an orchestra from Crewe !”
” Ryan you have gone too far sir,
When you slander my wife that way.”
” Peter open your ears man,
Don’t be deaf to what I say.
She has a meter on her bed,
She is a tuppenny whore.
She is unfaithful to you sir,
Her bedroom has a revolving door !”
” My god Ryan I demand satisfaction.”
” Ironically Peter that’s what your wife said !”
“I challenge you to a duel Ryan you cur,
Where I’m going to shoot you dead.”

Next day the sun rose bright and early
As the two ex-friends met up.
But as the pistols were loaded,
Suddenly Peter’s wife turned up.
” Oh boys don’t die over me,
My life is not worth a dime.
Peter yes I’ve been unfaithful,
But I thought of you each time.”
These words enraged Peter,
Who aimed his pistol sight.
And let off a dastardly shot,
Which killed his unfaithful wife.
Ryan shook his head,
Then while Peter wasn’t looking.
Turned upon his heels,
And into the wood went running.
Peter reloaded his pistol,
Wondering why people laughed.
Then he realised that Ryan,
Was running away down the path.
Peter took careful aim at Ryan,
Then pulling the trigger shot him dead.
It was all agreed a superb shot,
A veritable triumph in lead.
The crowd cheered happily and wildly,
None thought Ryan’s death sad or cruel.
For surely they said death’s inevitable,
When two people fight a duel.
Peter walked over to Ryan,
Who in best melodrama tradition.
Was dying of a mortal wound,
But still able to give exposition.

Ryan looked up at Peter,
“Of my death you sir can now brag.
But I will not deny one thing
Your wife was an awfully good shag!”
Peter looked rather sad,
As Ryan convulsed and died.
“Oh Ryan we could still be friends,
If you only would have lied.”
Ryan opened his eyes,
“Peter I’m not quite dead yet.”
Peter seemed annoyed,
So shot Ryan again in the head.
Now on a hill stand two graves
And everyday Peter visits them.
Where on them flowers he lays,
And if you happen upon him
As he pays his daily respects
Then you just might hear
His words of regret.
“My wife , my love I miss you
More than life itself.
I didn’t mean to shoot you
I couldn’t help myself.
And Ryan you have shown me
The dangers of drink.
Why did I challenge you to a duel ?
I just really didn’t think.
Then to the tavern Peter walks away
Tears clouding his eyes,
Tumbling all down his face
As he tries to forget with red wine.

The ballad of Peter and Ryan part 1.


peter and ryan

A long time ago I used to take part in a writing challenge where you had three ideas and you had to make a fifty word story out of them. From that idea came these two foolish gents Peter and Ryan and if I can find it in my archive I’ll dig out the full poem that this turned into.

Peter took careful aim at Ryan,

Then pulling the trigger shot him dead.

It was all agreed a superb shot,

A veritable triumph in lead.

The crowd cheered happily and wildly,

None thought Ryan’s death sad or cruel.

For surely they said death’s inevitable,

When two people fight a duel.

Not quite a dedicated follower of time lord fashion


profile-2nd-doctor-bow-ties-are-cool

In a dress coat I looked like a stalker not a grandfather
And my cosmic hobo look was certainly more hobo.
My velvet jacket made me look like a standard lamp
And my very long scarf made running fast a no go.
Wearing some celery just raised people’s eyebrows
And my multicoloured coat just made people curse.
My question marked jumper was always ignored
And my frock coat look was just plain worse.
I’m too old to put on a worn leather jacket
And Converse just make my poor old feet cry.
Last but not least I was never really cool enough
To put on a red fez or a spotty bow tie.