We are the grey haired army,
Abroad and on the lash again.
Walking sticks and lagers ready,
We wobble off ships and planes.
We’ve got our kids inheritance,
We’ve cashed in our pensions.
We’re getting obscene tattoos,
In places you shouldn’t mention.
Hopping in and out of hotel beds,
Laughing as we trash cruise ships.
Playing naked oily Twister,
Ignoring our dodgy arthritic hips.
Bill has only got one kidney,
Doris has a new glass eye.
But there’s no stopping us,
If some cheap sangria we spy.
We’ll riot as we drink the lot,
Pogo dance all through the night.
Shovel down kebab and chips,
Vomit it up, then have a fight.
Then when the holiday’s over,
We stagger home a little slower.
Our only holiday souvenirs,
Sunburn and hangovers.
I think I want to be a Saga Lout when I retire.
This Friday – January 22nd – Walsall Poetry Society are holding a free poetry workshop at Pelsall Library.
The workshop starts at 10:15 am and is expected to run for around two hours. The theme of the event is about enjoying, writing and performing poetry with attendees getting the chance to write their own poems during the morning.
Details on where to find Pelsall Library can be found by clicking this link
So if that sounds like fun contact Pelsall Library to book a place, their phone number can be found in the link above. I’ll be one of the organisers so hope to see you there.
If you are a local poet why not submit work to Walsall Poetry Society’s forthcoming book, click here to learn more.
It’s cold on the bus this morning,
Frost coats the inside of the window.
Making my morning commute,
A chilly mystery tour.
Cold breath escapes mouths,
Rising slovenly into the air.
As hands huddle in pockets
While collars are all turned up.
I scratch at the glass,
Wondering where we are.
Cars shoot by, cosy wombs of warmth,
Sparking jealously as I shiver.
My iPod plays summer songs,
Fake warmth into my ears
While my toes cringe
As winter bites hard.
I contemplate getting my pen out
To commit my cold to paper
Thinking better of it
My hands remain in my pocket’s toasty nests.
Cold doesn’t inspire, or does it?
Does nature’s chill not slow synapses
But instead produce
A hot spark of creativity?
Surely without the inspiration of cold,
We’d never have discovered fire?
Lucky ancestors I think
As I wonder when I’ll arrive and feel warm again.
UPDATE This project has closed but click here to find out how to submit to our new book
CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK
Today sees the launch of a new Walsall poetry project which is seeking to publish the works of local poets in a book to be released later this year.
The project is the work of the Walsall Poetry Society, a local group of poets from Walsall and the West Midlands and it’s very easy to get involved.
If you are a local poet or Walsall ex-pat and want to contribute it couldn’t be simpler, just email three of your poems to firstname.lastname@example.org . The length, style and subject of what you choose to send are left to the poet’s discretion, the society welcomes all types of poetry. Please be aware that the copyright of all published works will remain with the author.Once available the book will be sold for a modest amount of money which will be donated to a local charity.
So please get writing, the society looks forward to hearing from you, the deadline for submissions is the end of February 2016, with the book looking to be launched the following month at the earliest.
This announcement was bought to you by the site’s owner Richard Archer, a member of the Walsall Poetry Society and editor of the forthcoming book.
Poetry’s the new rock and roll,
Can’t you feel it in your soul?
It’s the new craze for boys and girls,
Poetry’s going to take over the world.
Pop stars are yesterdays news,
It’s poets people now choose.
They want words that aren’t dumbed down,
Simon Cowell’s had to leave town.
Now everyone has a goatee beard,
Even the girls which is cute not weird.
Everyone reads poetry all day,
“The world’s rhyme crazy,” the papers say.
Statues of poets are being raised,
Their birthdays are now holidays.
National Poetry day’s all the time,
Other stars frequent dole lines.
Sadly as this poems speaks to you,
You know it’s words aren’t true.
You have a thought that leaves you cold,
Poetry really isn’t the new rock and roll.
Although we know that we don’t care,
Because our words we will still share.
Poetry may not be the new rock and roll,
But I prefer it if the truth be told.