The Doughnut Prayer


The Doughnut Prayer

 

Here’s a poem from my book “Beer Froth” tarted up a bit for the blog, hope you like the picture.

Like the poem ? Why not buy my book, just click here.

It’s great to share and if you have enjoyed this poem why not share it with your fellow poets or friends. I don’t mind in fact I encourage sharing on Facebook, Twittter or where ever you fancy – just use the buttons below – all I ask is you please credit this site when you do so. Thank you.

The Weight of Words


The Weight of Words

the weight of wrods

I’m carrying a poet’s briefcase,
Its weight makes my arms drag.
Curious as to the contents I ask the poet,
“It contains poetry dear boy, ” he replies.
So now I know what words weigh,
And I never thought they would be a burden.
As carrying poetry makes my back ache,
And has me gasping for breath.
So I have an idea and stop,
What if I was to open the case?
What if I set free the poetry within?
Imagine the words floating away
Caught by everyone around.
Who suddenly find joy in them.
Then my burden would be shared
Everyone carrying part of it
Because when it comes to poetry
Surely it’s better to share?

Like the poem ? Why not buy my book, just click here.

It’s great to share and if you have enjoyed this poem why not share it with your fellow poets or friends. I don’t mind in fact I encourage sharing on Facebook, Twittter or where ever you fancy – just use the buttons below – all I ask is you please credit this site when you do so. Thank you.

Beer Froth my first published poetry book is now available.


Long term fans of the blog may have noticed content has been slow these last few months. Well I can finally reveal why. I’ve been busy writing, editing and self publishing my first poetry anthology ” Beer Froth.”

Beer Froth poetry book by Richard Archer

Beer Froth is a collection of my favorite poems from this site, edited specially for this collection and some brand new poetical work as well. Here is the book’s advertising spiel…

Beer Froth is a collection of poetry from Walsall poet Richard Archer. From pork scratchings and unicorns to OCD and Were-Hamsters this poetry anthology covers all these and more. A collection designed to hopefully make you laugh and think, not necessarily in that order.

The book contains nearly sixty poems, each with its own Director’s Commentary. Here I try to explain a bit about the poem’s influences and what thoughts went through my head that led me to write them.

So where can you get a copy of the book well follow this link to go to Lulu and snap up a copy. Currently the book is only available in print, I’m trying to figure out how to get a digital copy out there but bear with me while I work it all out. If you buy a copy and like the book please leave a review which will help me to promote it.

If you live in the West Midlands and would like to hear me read any of my work, or have poems of your own you’d like to share, why not consider joining the Walsall Poetry Society and participate in one of their open mic nights as I do. To find out more just click the link below.

https://www.facebook.com/WalsallPoetrySociety?fref=ts

If you enjoy this blog fear not I’m still going to put poems here every month.

Thanks for reading this

Richard

Praise for Beer Froth from the Walsall Poetry Society.

” This book made me laugh, it made me feel patriotic, it made me feel soppy…it has done the one thing it was supposed to do, it made me feel and therefore the book has done its job and done it well.”

Angela Garratt

 

 

50 shades of grey peas


grey pays and bacon

50 shades of grey peas*

The only masochistic streak I had was liking my local football team.
The only thing I bleed if you cut me is Highgate Bitter.**
The only contract I ever signed was for my mobile phone.
The only urge I submit too is to buy another pint at last orders.
The only thing I like whipped is the cream on my trifle.
The only grey I tolerate are the clouds over my home town.

* Grey peas or grey pays in my local Black Country dialect are delicious with bacon and are a well known local dish where I live.

** Highgate Bitter used to be brewed at the end of my road, but now with the brewery sadly closed is made under licence elsewhere in the UK. In spite of all this it’s still a local beer in my eyes wherever it’s made.

Like the poem ? Why not buy my book, just click here.

It’s great to share and if you have enjoyed this poem why not share it with your fellow poets or friends. I don’t mind in fact I encourage sharing on Facebook, Twittter or where ever you fancy – just use the buttons below – all I ask is you please credit this site when you do so. Thank you.

Brain Donor


Brain-Donor-Hoodies

 

I’m really worried about my brain,
As lately it’s use to me causes doubt.
So I popped in to see my Doctor,
Who told me it had to come out.

Unsurprisingly I stopped in my tracks,
And said to the doc “how can you tell?
And I’d really like a second opinion.”
“OK sir,” he said “you’re ugly as well.”

The doc explained, “if your brains no use,
And about it you become a moaner.
Then a brain transplant patient applies,
And you become a brain donor.”

So it’s bye-bye to my cortex,
Farewell to my neurological mass.
Goodbye to my little grey cells,
I hope my brains loss will soon pass.

And now in between my ears,
Replacing that I had to discard.
Is a mobile phone ten quid special,
One gigabyte sim card.

So now I never get upset,
I don’t miss my brain, I’m not glum.
I smile and drool all day long,
Happily comfortably numb.

Like the poem ? Why not buy my book, just click here.

It’s great to share and if you have enjoyed this poem why not share it with your fellow poets or friends. I don’t mind in fact I encourage sharing on Facebook, Twittter or where ever you fancy – just use the buttons below – all I ask is you please credit this site when you do so. Thank you.

The lost art of queuing for the bus


bus queue

 

Many things have vanished in the mists of time
Books, plays, films and works of art sublime.
But recently vanishing without any fuss
Seems to have been the art of queuing for the bus.
Gone are the days when folk would stand in line
And politely get on the bus one at a time.
Nowadays it seems it’s quite impossible
To get on a bus without being pushed or jostled.
This madness starts before the bus has arrived
Passengers mingle ambiguously their plans devised
So when the bus arrives but before it thinks of stopping
They’ll be first in the queue due to their nefarious plotting.
Some folks watch from afar while others lurk near
But they are all ready when the bus is here
To quickly form a mob around its door
Not caring who gets pushed to the floor.
Bags, trollies and brollies are widely used
To get their owners to the front of the queue.
Children old and young begin to cry
As desperate bus boarders push them to the side.
Old folk tut loudly but are ignored
As the eager stampede through the bus doors
Even though passengers are still trying to get off
For this mob that’s no reason to stop.
It’s almost as if the bus driver has said
There’s a prize for who gets on first, alive or dead.
I’ve seen better behaved rugby scrums
That would act more politely when a bus comes
And I wouldn’t be surprised if one night
The bus queue erupted into a fight.
And those who are found standing last
Will be awarded a special bus pass
That allows for everyday of next month
To the front of the bus queue they can jump
But I bet even after all this fuss
They still fight to be first on the bus.
It’s great to share and if you have enjoyed this poem why not share it with your fellow poets or friends. I don’t mind in fact I encourage sharing on Facebook, Twittter or where ever you fancy – just use the buttons below – all I ask is you please credit this site when you do so. Thank you.

Adopt a poet


adopt-a-poet-

So if you are allergic to cats,
Or not allowed pets in your flat.
Or don’t want to stroke a goat,
Why not instead adopt a poet?
They are nearly all house trained,
And always willing to entertain.
Often full of deep deep thoughts,
With a heavy brow and posh talk.
They never leave the loo seat up,
Never slurp tea from their cup.
They eat whatever you give them,
And behave like ladies or gentlemen.
Of course they steal all your pens,
But it’s too late to complain by then.
As they’ve also pinched your paper,
For a poem they will write later.
And if they run out of writing material,
They will write anywhere it’s immaterial.
To them that they scrawl on the floor,
Or on your windows or on the door.
And don’t try to take their pens away,
Else they will get angry and say.
You’re a liar and a cheater,
All in perfect iambic pentameter.
What’s that your allergic to poets,
Well wouldn’t you know it.
How sad you can’t give one a home,
I hope it doesn’t have to be put down.

Like the poem ? Why not buy my book, just click here.

It’s great to share and if you have enjoyed this poem why not share it with your fellow poets or friends. I don’t mind in fact I encourage sharing on Facebook, Twittter or where ever you fancy – just use the buttons below – all I ask is you please credit this site when you do so. Thank you.