Happy Halloween


A scaryish poem to celebrate Halloween from the Skaggy archive.

Don’t Pick on me just because I’m Dead

You might call me a zombie or label me one of the living dead,
But in this P.C. day and age I would prefer to be called instead.
Something like terminally disadvantaged or living but impaired,
It would be nice if you could do this, to show me that you care!
So as I stagger towards you with my arms outstretched,
Please don’t try to shoot me, in fact it would be better yet.
If you put away your gun and we’ll have a word or two,
I have so much to tell you from my undead point of view!
I can speak properly you know I just like to grunt and groan,
And I can resist the urge to rip the flesh from your bones
So why don’t we have a chat about something that‘s fun?
How about my embarrassment of being an undead person?
My shameful story begins before I was a zombie you know
Way before the cruel hand of fate dealt me this nasty blow.
When I was alive I used to go to bars and argue with my mates,
That there was no hell or heaven with its pearly gates.
Once your dead you stay that way, I was sure that was the truth,
But now after dying I have found that I am unliving proof
Of the opposite of my argument I thought true I’d claimed.
So I hope I don’t see my old friends, I might just die of shame
However as if that wasn’t bad enough (as if things could get worse
Than stumbling around a victim of this terrible undead curse.
Is that people now call me a flesh-eating barbarian
How I wish I could tell them that I used to be a vegetarian!

 

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I think I’m going Bald, part 2.


If this site has a theme ( apart from poetry ) it’s probably the chronicling of my descent into middle age, hence I present the sequel to I_think_I’m_going_bald.

 

Glimpsed on the bus security camera
There for all to see
My newly forming bald spot
Staring back at me.
I swear it wasn’t there before
Where did it come from
And more importantly
Is it increasing its circumference ?
Hmmm, it is you know
It’s certainly not slowing
As right in front of my eyes
I swear I can see it growing.
This insidious no-grow area
Is intent on making my head cold
And intent on saying to passers-by
Look my owner’s getting old.

Sitting in the Marks and Spencers Cafe.


Based on a true story, Marks and Spencers  ( often abbreviated to just M+S ) for those who don’t know is a posh UK department store.

In the M + S cafe the world halts.
As the daughters and mothers
(Never fathers and sons)
Sip lattes and nibble tea cakes.
Tables of four are occupied
By just one lonely person
Waiting to challenge death
Over a lukewarm cup of tea.
The young wait on the old
Bringing items for examination.
“This would look nice in the hall.”
Is ignored as the old read the paper.
Feeling brave I remove my shirt
Showing my blue marked arms.
As the class war stares and comments
Threaten to put frost on my coffee,
My daughter oblivious to all
Learns to put the top on her juice bottle.

Morning Sun.


Based on the view out of my office window ( wish I had taken a photo ) this morning. Please note there are two versions of the poem as I can’t decide which I like better.

 

Version one.

Struggling to rise above the cityscape
The red sun creeps into view
Tinting the sky with fiery shades
As if burning away the last of the night.
And slowly red embers
Light up the morning
And the black shroud of the evening
Quietly melts.

 

Version two.

It’s just about seven-o-clock
And behind tower blocks
The red sun slowly rises
And the sky turns fiery
To burn away the night
To bring morning’s crimson light.

The Pandas are Coming


The pandas are coming, the pandas are coming,
You’d better start hiding, you’d better start running.
They’re sick of being nearly extinct and labelled cute,
So the pandas are coming to give us the boot.
Evolution be damned you can hear the pandas say.
No stupid human better get in our way.
Now we take our destiny into our hands,
Humans scream as we march through the lands.
The pandas are coming, the pandas are coming,
Trumpets are blowing and drummers are drumming.
The pandas are here and they all want our jobs,
They’ve cast off their image of bamboo guzzling slobs.
They shout if we hadn’t mobilized you’d have killed us off,
So now we’re here to replace you humans they scoff.
We’re going to evolve thumbs and other useful parts
I mean you humans did it so it can’t be that hard.
The pandas are coming, the pandas are coming,
They now serve burgers and mend the plumbing.
And in the endangered species zoo in a small case,
You’ll find the last members of the human race.

Winter Coat


In the cupboard all summer you’ve waited,
Next to bags of Christmas wrapping paper.
Your collar still all frayed and worn,
Your pockets with the lining still torn.
Patiently waiting for your time to come,
Quietly waiting for the Autumn.
To be taken down and dusted off
To protect the wearer from wind and frost.
Then once the weather has fully recovered,
Never complain as you return to the cupboard.

Three-nager


I wish I could take the credit for the title of todays poem but it came to me via my wife from a friend of hers.

A well skilled user of the silent anti-daddy protest,
Performs Oscar-winning tantrums at a moments notice.
Mistress of any kind of tactic that causes delay,
Every morning in bed you just want to stay.
Daughter we’re learning about each other you and me,
And I feel you’re nearly a teenager, despite just turning three.

The Naked Finger.


image

I totally forget to dress my ring finger today
So as a consequence it feels oddly cold.
And back at home safely on my study desk
A lego figure guards my precious band of gold.

Whitby


I’ve heard in Whitby they like to use a lot of beef fat
In their numerous fish and chip shops. Well fancy that !
And while some may consider this policy egalitarian
This is not a view held by those who are vegetarian.

A poem dedicated to my good friend Andy about his recent holiday to the seaside resort of Whitby .

The Power of Poetry


 

”Songs can produce a riot,”
The singer said.
”But poems can produce
A revolution.”

So I took pen and paper
Sat at my desk
Trying to write
A revolution.

Revolution it seems
Doesn’t come easy.
I feared I would lose my
Anarchist’s membership card.

So I put down pen and paper
Sat in my comfy chair
And decided I preferred
Peace and quiet.

The quote in verse one is taken from a poetry program starring of all people Cerys Matthews.