My Town


Everyone you see smokes.
So everyone also chokes.
Swearing is the new pollution,
Chips one of your five a day contributions.
Unfinished developments are fenced off,
Building of new houses has stopped.
Pound stores and take aways spread
Like weeds in neglected civic flower beds.
Every betting shop has children outside,
Every off licence has children inside.

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Pub Armistice


 

Wine glass stems gripped so tight they might break,
Lighters flicked on and off illuminating,
Two pairs of eyes that don’t want to meet.
While their offspring springs off on his scooter,
To investigate the fruit machine’s lights,
Oblivious to this cold war on a summer’s day.

While sat with a pint in my local yesterday afternoon I pondered that  since a lot of pubs have now become ” family friendly, ”  a lot more families can now be found in all manner of establishments that might once have closed their doors to them.

I have no problems with this, in fact as a father I welcome the idea of good cheap food in a convenient location that also serves good beer. However it struck me the other night how many couples now seem to use the pub as neutral ground to meet to discuss their domestic disputes while their offspring run merrily around drinking a soft drink. Needless to say such thoughts lead to poetry.

DDO Cast 222


Another week another DDO cast by the excellent Sig and Anne. If you listen to the podcast ( available via my sidebar links ) you are in for a double treat as not only is my usual poem available but one of my other poems has been re-recorded by the talented Anne and graces the opening of the show.

If you just want to listen to my segment just click the link below.

ddo poetry corner 42

Enjoyed the poem? Then check out my complete audio poetry archive from the link above.

I’m Having a Mid-life Crisis.


Mid-life crisis,
What should I do ?
Mid-life Crisis,
Get a tattoo ?

Mid-life crisis,
Get a motorbike ?
Mid-life crisis,
Decorum takes a hike?

Mid-life crisis,
New leather pants ?
Mid-life crisis,
My last chance ?

 

Turned 41 recently and this old poem sets the tone nicely of my recent thoughts.

An Enjoyable Hour Spent on the Beach.


The waves lap gently on the shore,
As just for an hour or a little more,
We all sit down upon the sand,
Our buckets and spades close at hand.
And while the gulls so rudely screech,
We make sandcastles on the beach.
These simple structures give simple pleasures,
And bring us all joy without measure,
Then after we’ve made a castle so firm,
It’s time for each of us to take a turn.
To raise up our trusty spade,
And joyfully destroy what we’ve just made.

I Can See the Sea from the Front Window


I can see the sea from the front window.
It’s just at the bottom of the garden.
Over the fence,
Past the road,
Down the steps,
Across the sand,
There it is.
Sometimes a passing bus obscures it,
Or a throng of sun-worshippers camp in front of it,
Or the men from the council trim the verge by it.
But if I stand on my toes,
Looking very closely,
Exercising a bit of imagination,
I can see the sea from the front window.

Seaside Youth


Huddling with your mates,
Shivering on the beach.
Cheap fags, cheaper lager,
Always within your reach.

At pensioners and tourists,
You sneer with contempt.
Hooded top always up,
Spleen ready to vent.

As the seasons swiftly pass,
As your best friends leave.
You’re left bitter and twisted,
The old man of the sea.

Haiku Police


Haiku Police are here,
Counting all your syllables.
They always prosecute.

 

Taken from my book “Beer Froth” now available on Kindle from an Amazon near you.

Chip Shop Philosophy


“Life is like a kebab.” My friend said.
“It looks like you have it all wrapped up.
Then as you prepare to enjoy it
Things start to become unstuck.
Pieces start to fall away out of control
Your once firm hold begins to slip.
What you were just about to enjoy
Escapes your eager finger tips.
But you carry on with it anyway
Although you may feel quite bereft.
Because if something is missing
You simply enjoy the bits that are left.”

It’s Bumpy on the Bus


It’s bumpy on the bus this morning,
My thumb stabs at my phone
And sends my misspellings global.
Passengers jostle each other
As every pothole reverberates
And shudders through our seats.
To make it worse the bus picks up speed
As the driver seemingly late for who knows what
Tears down the bus lane
Overtaking Ben Hur and Steve McQueen.
At last this modern-day pony express
Having ensured the male got through
Allows me to disembark
And find my land legs.