Pulp Noir, the Final chapters.


For those of you enjoying my Pulp poetry story here is the final chapter.

Yet again my repeated thanks to all those readers who have told me how much they have enjoyed this poem, I hope you enjoy the ending.

Chapter 3: Truth will out.

So Brady limps back through the rain
To his office and the dame.
And demands that she now spill the beans.

And the dame burst into tears
Confirming Brady’s worst fears.
That there’s more going on than first seemed.

Turns out the corpse without a head
Was a diplomat it’s said.
And was holding vital files for the UK’s Queen.

And just before he went missing
And his body was found by fishing.
He passed this document to the dame by secret means.

So now the dame is running scared
She wasn’t sure who to trust or where to turn.
And shakily hands Brady the folder that caused this scene.

And in it Brady finds,
The details of all the UK’s spies.
And now he knows why the dame to find him was keen.

But this won’t put Brady off
Cos he’s made of rugged stuff.
And now he’s learned what these secrets to the wrong folk mean.

Chapter 4: Bullet Time.

So to prevent all sorts of diplomatic trouble
Brady knows that on the double.
He needs to get the files back to their rightful place.

Because if the fall into the wrong hands
Then all across this land.
British spies will be in dire straits.

And the inevitable fallout
Will be without a doubt.
War between Britain and the United States.

But before Brady can act
In through the doors fast.
Come villainous henchmen to deliver the coup de grace.

Bullets fly high and wide
As Brady dodges to one side.
And with his revolver seals the goon’s fate.

But a stealthy ricochet
Has sent the dame to an early grave.
And Brady closes her eyes before setting off to close the case.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5: Brady saves the day.

So quickly Brady races outside
Starts his car and begins to drive.
Knowing he must get to the British embassy fast.

But his enemies have one last plan
And accelerating their car as fast as they can.
Try to force Brady off the road with a smash.

But Brady’s a cool driver
Those goons should have tried harder.
As a shunt turns their car into a fireball with a crash.

And at the British embassy Brady arrives
Hoping he will be just in time
And knocks the door at the top of the embassy path.

And the surprised guards and doormen
Eagerly snatch the documents from Brady’s hands.
And offer him a cash reward and thanks.

Brady takes the cash and quietly walks away
To his favorite bar just down the way.
Before the cops and loan sharks catch up with him at long last.

 

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Pulp Noir – Chapter 2.


For those of you enjoying my Pulp poetry story here is the next chapter, all will be wrapped up tomorrow with a special extra length finale. If you want to read the introduction click here and chapter one can be found here.

My thanks to all those who have left comments and sent their appreciation.

Chapter 2: The Game is Afoot.

So with the dame watched by a friend
Brady walks the mean streets again.
Looking for people on who he can be leaning.

He leaves one informant with fewer teeth
And the next with a broken knee.
But vital information he is gathering.

Seems the chap without his head
With the Brady’s client shared a bed.
And someone’s sending someone a warning.

But Brady’s disturbed a hornet’s nest
And little does he suspect.
That the dame’s enemies are growing.

And Brady bumps into two of them
Who say they want to be his friends.
And then proceed to give him a friendly beating.

Brady responds back in kind
Gratuitous violence is his business line.
Aware now of the danger on him creeping.

 

Pulp Noir Chapter One


Inspired by this poem by Marcy Rockwell I have dug out and polished up my old unfinished noir poem.

Skaggy note :- I am determined to write more of this poem now I have discovered it and finished this introduction.

Chapter 1: Introductions.

There’s a story going round
On the seedier side of town.
That a headless corpse has been washed up in the bay.

And all the pimps and their whores
And all the junkies see the law.
And suddenly they’ve got nothing to say.

The cops are trying to pin the crime
On a dame past her prime.
A well-known lush from round this way.

But she’s avoided them it’s said
And she’s going to head.
Straight to the office of P.I. Brady.

And though some say Brady’s a drunk
A sacked cop or no good punk.
He’s going to solve the crime and save the day.

Cos Brady’s a very desperate man
Who owes a loan shark five grand.
So he’s needs to solve this mess without delay.

 

Embracing on an Autum Day


Hold me tight as the wind blows,
As the leaves gather round our feet.
So you’ll think of me next Autumn,
When you’re walking down this street.

Hold me close as the clouds gather,
And raindrops begin to land.
So you’ll remember me next Autumn,
When you hold another’s hand.

Then let me go as the sky darkens,
Free me like an Autumn leaf.
No longer attached too what I loved,
Our time together sadly too brief.

 

Pork Scratchings day 2 – a haiku.


Ok this is probably the worst theme ever but I have had a small bit of positive feedback for my pork scratching poem so I have decided to inflict another on you, this time in haiku. While I am semi aware of the rules of haiku poetry this one might not follow them to the letter.

If after all this blathering you are interested in making pork scratchings click here.

Salted cubed pork skin
Tenderly oven roasted.

Perfect with cold beer.

An Over the Top Ode to Pork Scratchings.


Pork scratchings are to me the best pub snack in the world there is something about their over salted crunchiness that makes them perfect with beer.

As a long time lover of this food I decided I would today use my blog page to shout their praises from the roof tops, if after reading you would like to know more about pork scratchings please click  here.

Oh you salty beauty hiding in your crinkly shell,
Opened as eagerly as the oyster catcher tackles his prize.
But unlike your cousin of the briny deep,
You always hold porcine pearls of perfection.

Like the unexpected splash of a wilful wave,
Your sodium tang hits my mouth and taste buds.
Before my teeth encounter with rapture,
Your crunchy crust of corrugated chewiness.

Egg Mayo and Bacon Bits in a White Baguette.


An ode to my favourite hangover cure.

Egg mayo and bacon bits
Hungry lips are licked.
Egg mayo and bacon bits
Perfect accompanied by chips.
Egg mayo and bacon bits
A moment in the mouth, a lifetime on the hips.

An old proverb updated


I was always bought up that when the sky dawned red to say the old proverb,

Red sky at night, shepherds delight,

Red sky in morning, shepherds’ warning.

The origins of this saying can be found here. But as usual my brain went into overdrive and came up with an updated version of the proverb which I feel reflects the world we live in better.

Red sky at night , nuclear fright !

Red sky in the morning, fallout warning.

or

Red sky at night, shepherds delight,

Red sky in the morning, shepherd on fire !

The long lost art of making anything interesting appear boring.


A sort of late bonfire night poem which also explores why I hated school so much !

The teacher held up a bright tube of cardboard,
“Do you know what this is class he said?”
The students answered,”Sir that’s easy,
It’s a firework of course, we’re not brain-dead!”
“Incorrect pupils I hold up a chemical machine,
Full of chemical binders and agents that oxidize.
You will learn to appreciate this before it’s lit,
So you understand the chemical reaction inside.”
“Boring,” the classroom all grumbled,
“Why can’t we take the firework outside?
Then set it off, stand back and watch
As it lights up the whole of the sky.”
“Be quiet class,” said the teacher, ”and note,
The oxidising agents that help the firework burn.
Some agents are more volatile than others,
Now wasn’t that a fun fact to learn?
Examine the reducing agents, the next fun part,
They burn the oxygen to produce hot gas.
The finer the powder the faster the reaction.
Another amazing firework fact!
So now your lesson is over,
Go out, but remember my words.
So next time you see a firework,
You will appreciate what you’ve just learned.”
But after the lesson had ended,
A student distracted the teacher by the board.
While the others stole the firework,
And stuck it in the teacher’s car exhaust.
“Enjoy the complex chemical machine sir,”
The kids joked. “As you go home tonight,
Enjoy your fancy binders and oxidisers,
As you drive home with your car all alight!”

My Hangover is a W.M.D.


 

 

My hangover is a W.M.D.
Threatening my bowels
And my stomach
With a chemical attack.

The United Nations of coffee
Fail to defuse the threat.
Despite the sacrifice of
A brave granola flapjack.

Operation Dr Pepper is launched
A sugar counter attack.
While a bacon sandwich
Leads a diversionary raid.

This gets off to a slow start
Until a red sauce sachet
Arrives to reinforce
The brave bacon battalion.

Fighting is fierce but brief
The W.M.D. is neutralized
And final resistance quelled
With an alka-seltzer carpet bombing.