POEMS
Some of these poems are best read aloud, some are best just read and some of them have no rights to exist in the first place. Feedback is always welcome so if you have any ideas on what it all means or who it was stolen from or how to fix a broken soul when the pain floods in then be sure to let me know...I will be adding to these pages regularly in the coming months...I will also be linking to various poetry sites details to follow. If you hate poetry then you'll love these...
THESE POEMS
occour in no particular order
share no particular belief system
dont aspire to greatness
or seek any kind of approval
cant really do it by themselves
speak when they are spoken to
but only if the mood is indigo or crimson
play dead most of the time and
sing when they're losing
Bukowsi Again
Sit down
Write this
Slightly hung over
Too much peroni
Are we are going to the pictures today?
Or are we are leaving it for now I can’t remember can you?
Bought a new Bukowski collection yesterday
The work just keeps on coming
He died in 1994
But to his readers he will remain forever
Immortal
Invincible
God only wise
Meanwhile
I am still alive and yet
Unable to come close
To such ugly beautiful truths as he
The bloody misery and the pounding joy
I wonder if I ever will
Make any line count
Make any page dance
Some chance !
Oh
Vicious fate
Dear
Trembling sorrow
The day after today
Starts tomorrow
Fathers Pride
You’d never name a loaf of bread after a dad
You’d have to be mad to do that
Now wouldn’t you?
Working on Christmas Eve
I’m the only one here
Someone just rang in sick
Someone else took last minute leave
A dodgy ticker apparently
Silent phones
Unwashed coffee cups
Cluttered desks cards and streamers
A vistor…
From the office upstairs
Dropped in to see us
I say hello Sindy
Are you ready for Christmas
And she says
Just about but its so over rated
I prefer new year and I always have
Even when I was a child
I say
Well fancy that
Then she’s off back updtairs
To the photocopier
Leaving me to write this inconsequential poem
As the phone rings.
Cold Feet
I have always had cold feet
Poor circulation
What’s more
I can barely cross the street
On my own
Without bumping in to something
And I can’t tell you how much
I hurt
Cause you’d never believe me
And that would make it worse
Poetic Afternoon
It’s not been a poetic afternoon
I never once conspired to write
Beautiful lines upon the page
I never dreamed I was butterfly in a cage
I said to myself
It’s not been a very productive day
I couldn’t finish the lyric that has been bugging me
I didn’t make any plans or take any chances
I didn’t fix the things that remain broken
I wonder if I ever will
And should that poetic afternoon turn up
Out of blue and opportune
Looking for a reason and loaded with purpose
I hardly think I’ll even notice
If and when
When the days merge into one and the same
And the nights remain silent
And the thoughts you fought so hard to call your own
All turn out to be useless
When your broken heart sings like an ugly bird
And the windows on your soul mist over
When your heart wont stop beating you up
When never enough is never ever enough
When the drunk in your head
Shouts off his mouth
When your courage sinks
And your belief opts out
Whatever...
Bukowski Again part 2
I bought the new Bukowski poetry collection the other day and of course
It’s entirely in keeping with his greatness
He’s been dead fourteen years and still he keeps them coming
Poem after poem after poem...
I read a little to myself at my jobsworthy desk
A few people enquired, what are you reading?
Poetry I said
I don’t do poetry they said
That’ll be about right I thought and continued to read alone at my desk
Later on I went out for a walk and felt like a king in spite of myself…
Poem at the end of it’s tether
This poem
Gets lost
In everyday
Routines and
Responsibilities
Work
Chores
Leisure
This poem
Has nothing more to offer
Than
Endurance
And
Compromise
All the way
To
The
Grave
Its a poem about love.
The great escape
Reading books and
Eating donuts
In Cumbria
Trying to relax
With the woman
Of my dreams
Did I say dreams?
Going to farm shops
And walking
For pleasure
Noticing leaves and
Admiring water
There is no escape
We are in this together
Just bite the bullet
Let it happen
No
Sooner
Said
Than
Done.
Fashion Show
When she gets home from
TK MAX
She gives me one.
George Mills
I wanted to tell George Mills the truth
How we set off the fire extinguishers in the changing rooms
And trashed a few lockers
After a particularly embittered game of cricket which had involved a lot of time wasting from the home team
But I didn’t
He stopped me on the stairs after assembly and asked me
In his dramatic old school PG Woodehouse voice
Did anything go on after the match on Saturday?
I want the whole truth
and nothing but
I know I can trust you to be honest with me
No sir
I said
Nothing happened
Very well
Said George
I believe you
It was the hardest lie I ever told
We didn’t paint our nails when we fought the Germans
It was match day
Our school versus the public school
And I was captain of the cricket team
The night before the game
My parents were on holiday
I had a few friends to stay
And we had been to a party at Claire Harpers house
Her parents had gone out
And come back
So we walked all the way from Lickey End to Catshill at 1 am
And for some reason best left unsaid
I had painted my nails with my mother’s nail polish
A deep claret red
And put on lipstick
Like David Bowie said
In the song my cousin’s used to tease me about
And I was wearing Clearasil Skin Tone face Cream
Which was my
Make up for spots
When I turned up for the cricket match hung over and
I was told I had to present the headmasters wife with a bouquet of flowers and a photographer from the Bromsgrove Messenger was there
That’s when George Mills uttered his immortal lines
And sacked me on the spot
We didn’t paint our nails when we fought the Germans...