Chaucer's Breakfast

CHAUCER’S

BREAKFAST

Preface

I doubt whether Chaucer would have had a full English for breakfast, but I couldn’t find a more appropriate illustration for the front cover of this collection – there are precious few photos of him in circulation, it seems, and even fewer, probably, of what he ate for breakfast (actually, that should be ‘what he would have eaten for breakfast’ – slight but significant difference!)

So this volume is dedicated to all those who, like me, enjoy a full English!

I have arranged these poems in alphabetical order (ignoring ‘The’) for no particular reason other than it was the easiest thing to do and each poem stands alone, unrelated to its immediate neighbours. I could have done it differently but that may have spoiled the ‘surprise’ element – if there is one!

Anyway, here goes:

 

Contents

                     Page

Almighty I.T.                                                                                                                                       4

A Sunday Morning Stroll                                                                                                                  5

A West Country Night’s Dream                                                                                                       6

Atishoo Of Lies                                                                                                                                  6

B &Q  (or Love Among The Shelving)                                                                                            7

Bad Language                                                                                                                                    9                                

Beside the Seaside                                                                                                                         10

Birds                                                                                                                                                  11

Blue Macaw                                                                                                                                     11               

The Cat                                                                                                                                              11

Cat Food                                                                                                                                           12 

Cat Salad                                                                                                                                           12

Chill In the Air                                                                                                                                  13

Christmas Shopping Blues                                                                                                             13

 

Christmas Tingles - haiku-style                                                                                                    15

 

City Noise                                                                                                                                         17               

Crow                                                                                                                                                  17               

Cycle Track                                                                                                                                       17

Dear Mr Pepys                                                                                                                                18               

Richard the Third Part 1                                                                                                                18               

Dental Floss                                                                                                                                      19               

Flower                                                                                                                                               21               

Forgotten Words                                                                                                                            21

Harbour                                                                                                                                            22               

Have A Good Evening                                                                                                                     22               

Heavy Boots                                                                                                                                     23               

Hi, I’m Julie                                                                                                                                       24                               

How to Assemble Your Thort                                                                                                        25

Hungry Caterpillar                                                                                                                          25                               

I Wandered Lonely                                                                                                                         26               

If I Was A Whale                                                                                                                              26

I-Pods                                                                                                                                                27

Ironing                                                                                                                                              27                               

Richard the Third Part 2                                                                                                                27

Jack                                                                                                                                                    28               

The Key                                                                                                                                             28

Legend of Barbecue Bill                                                                                                                29               

Lunar Eclipsed                                                                                                                                30

Mess at M&S                                                                                                                                    31               

Neighbours                                                                                                                                      32                               

Not an Old Fart                                                                                                                                32                               

Off My Trolley                                                                                                                                 34

On The National Health                                                                                                                  34               

The Orchard                                                                                                                                    35               

Paramedic Pete                                                                                                                               36               

Released                                                                                                                                           36

Retail Therapy                                                                                                                                 36

The Steps of the Walker                                                                                                                37

Scav                                                                                                                                                   37

Sea Ice                                                                                                                                              38

Seaweed                                                                                                                                           38

Shooting Star                                                                                                                                   39

Slug                                                                                                                                                    40

The Smoker’s Tale                                                                                                                           40               

Snoring                                                                                                                                             41

Snowman                                                                                                                                          41               

Spider                                                                                                                                               41

Stories                                                                                                                                               41

Stuff Boxing Day                                                                                                                              42               

Tax Return                                                                                                                                        42               

Tea                                                                                                                                                     43

This Table’s Reserved                                                                                                                     44

Timidity Creeps                                                                                                                               45

Undertaking                                                                                                                                     45                               

Unknown Soldier                                                                                                                            45

Vest                                                                                                                                                   45

Waiting Time                                                                                                                                    46

Whatsaname                                                                                                                                    47

Wheelie Bin                                                                                                                                     48

Witch Phone                                                                                                                                    49

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chaucer’s Breakfast

 

 

 

 

 

 

ALMIGHTY  I.T.

 

I.T. is here to stay, they say,               and many are enthused –

opportunities for worrrk and pla

thuough sometimes IT’s ……               abused;

 

some say we’ll forget IT – just a phase for no w

others say “ we’d regret IT  and should get a grip somehow.

 

FOR MANY it ‘s picking the tasty bits,

the rest be side your pl ate

with all the other hi-teCH TH INGS THAT VEX AND IRRRRITATE

 

BUT this is no real answer – IT’ll just he served a  again

as a new and warmed up techno-threat, an other ment als train.

 

andSo I curse the inventor, IT seems that we are ssssssssstuck;

your  faith  ’s been tarred and feathered and your confidence been pppppplucked!

 

IT may be that your job’s been C U T and NOTHIN GELSE Been Pasted

all your expertise – D E L E T E D and your working life been wwwwwwwwasted.

 

No more room for privacy, some damn machine will CCCCOOOPPPYYYY

and WIRE You to the outsized world and store you on a floppy,

 

anxieite’s electric fingers click icons in the brain

a whole day’s work has n ot been SAVEd,

goodwill lbegins to D

                                          R

                                         A

                                            I

                                               N;

 

you’re feeling rather clammy, Brea k  out in beads of sweat,

you reach for the nearest hamMMMer to fxi your lazer jet;

the hard Drive’s unresponsive to the clicking of your muose

your anger hits the limits, ricochets round the house.

 

You’re soul’s been confiscated by an alien VDU

that’s pally with the millenniumium bug

and they take it out on you.

 

It’S safe to say you’re not impressed with the potential of I.T.;

better if it ironed your shirt or helped you make the tea!

 

You f eel your file is closing down, so ENTER the crash team

with all the latest icons to resususitate you dream

 

of some enchanted heaven ,which mayor not deplore you.

Where God has got it all set up –

the I.T.’s ALL DONE FOR YOU!!!!!                                                                                                                       1999

 

SUNDAY MORNING STROLL

 

Rugby underway - in a distant clearing,

that wholesome Sunday sound - the drift of cheering

rising to the sandstone heath,

the shouts and whistles

mingling with the pops and bristles

of gorse and fern,

the lockets of ancient pine in death

the curls and swirls of needles

at our feet releasing a final breath.

 

The heath - a snuffle of owners with snuffling dogs

out in the sun in their waterproof togs

making the most of a break in the weather

both making the most of the trees and the heather

stopping at intervals on the dewy ground

to leave that unfortunate message profound –

that different scent which gets stuck to your shoes;

it was a very big dog spoiled that morning walk  –  but whose?                                                  2009

 

 

 

 

 

A WEST COUNTRY NIGHT’S DREAM

 

A merrie dream me crossed in slepe,

west man caught in tangly clumps,

while pistle down on tidly hill

too quarley from beer too deep

 

A-sway, ’e trips on fugglestones,

cusses gorse catches foot in gobley hole,

and chute cadley down through tufton warren,

kettlethornes of mogshade

then wallop, knockwood flinty knapp,

all scratchbury, creech bottom

tattery coat and soarley breeches.

 

Out the scrubbity burrows ‘e clambers,

buzbury head and wivelrod cap all ubley

treburley moans, whatley  rubbin’ ‘is bruisin’ bones.

 

Then dottery lopen back all furleigh cross,

chettles down cockroad  yondover Piddle

at dibberford slips and ‘wooth’….. you smile,

shute with a yawl, over walditch and gribb,

melplash in dunkeswell.

 

Cutty stubbs, now more critchel ,

through wyke of hogstock and chickengrove,

droop into Puddletown collapse  in applestraw

while folke larkwhistle at ‘is cripplestyle.

 

Crawley down brag street

 ‘e do sit more wylye now

rests on toyd clump in summerleaze

pondering upton folly,

a-rubbin’ crooked withies, silly twit.                                                                                      1976

 

An attempt to use the sounds of place names in Dorset to suggest an amusing  anecdote that might have been told and enjoyed by a local audience.

 

 

 

 

 

ATISHOO OF LIES

 

First it was a tickle, she said,

at the back of her throat

now become this annoying cough

so to her school I wrote.

 

With all this hulabaloo

and her sneezing really starting-

frequent dashings to the loo

and elephantine farting –

 

quite odd I thought  in pitch and range,

then her eyes began to water

in volumes I felt really strange

as if an onion wind had caught her.

 

Next some dreadful snivelling

and spluttering I believe

for which she had no tissues -

now there’s streaks all down her sleeve.

 

But the doctor saw straight through her -

certainly no fool:

‘Your daughter’s feigned these symptoms

to gain this day off school.’

 

shee looked at me from beneath her fringe

and started smiling coyly

reached across to the sideboard

and wiped her nose upon a doily.

 

‘Well I’m glad you think it funny, my girl,

cause it’s time for your birthday surprise:

a packet of man-sized hankies

to absorb your atishoo of lies!’                                                                                                               2003

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

B & Q  (or  LOVE AMONG THE SHELVING)

 

It was in the queue I first met you

In the queue at B&Q.

You looked like you’d had a gutful too

at the back of the queue in B&Q.

 

I said this weather’s long overdue -

you said that you thought so too

but hadn’t expected to be spending it

in a queue at B&Q.

 

You looked rather sad.

I asked ‘What’s to do?

Not just here in the queue

A queue at B&Q?’

You  replied ‘What’s it to you?

Then told me your bloke just met an old flame –

didn’t say who,

near the front of the queue at B&Q,

 

‘Told me straight he’d be back late -

took her and her kids to the zoo -

left me standing at the back of the queue,

dying for the effing loo too -

I’m sure they’ve got one at B&Q -

all the time we spend in the effin’ queue ’.

 

I said ‘That’s a bit unfair on you,

leave you here in a long long queue

next to the shelving, the screws and the glue,

but I’ll look after your trolley for you

while you pop to the effin’ loo -

it’s right by the cafe here in B&Q’.

 

When you got back to the back of the queue

you said this day he was gonna rue,

you said you could play that game too, you said

here’s one effing mess he can’t undo, you said

the next bloody night he can spend in his shed, you said -

the one he bought new from B&Q.

 

‘Put up wrong when he’d had a few

and between me and you he hadn’t a clue –

that’s my view -

put together with nails and glue -

bit off more than he could chew -

called me an effin’ silly moo!

Wouldn’t be told that’s not what you do

with sheds you buy from B&Q.

 

So now the walls don’t quite meet

and the door is askew -

like the door in the loo at B&Q  -

which you can just about view

from the back of the queue.

 

To him I’m of so little value -

we’d argue from here to Timbuctu

and especially here in B&Q.

So for a day or two I’ll just let him stew

and then I’ll say,

toodle-oo me buckaroo’-

leaving me here talking to you

still at the back of the bloody queue in B&Q’.

 

‘That’s OK’, I said, ‘Nowt else to do’, I said

‘Like you I’m stuck in a queue’.

‘Like me? Really? And I quite like you’, you said.

Perhaps when we’re through we could go for a brew, you said

bacon butty or two from the man in the van

the one with the tan and the dragon tattoo,

just out of view in the car park ,you said,

when we’re through with the queue at B&Q.

 

We could go back to my place to hammer and screw

‘cause my shelving is wobbly and my headboard is too.

I’d like that’ you said, ‘Oh and my name is Sue -

short for ‘soon to be single’, that much is true and so,

who are you, stood with me here in the queue at B&Q?’

 

‘Customer Service Man, Hugh, how do you do!

Here just to look after you

massaging the queue here at B&Q

though in quieter moments I maintain the loo,

a boring job that attracts so few.

But hey look, no longer at the back of the queue

And only ten or so more in front of you.

 

And yes, some time for a break I’m due

so we can go for that brew and a butty or two,

back to your place for a hammer and screw

when you’re through with the queue at B&Q.’

 

So that is how I first met you

handling your trolley with your shelves and glue

I was glad the queue had stretched so far,

as I loaded the shelving into your car

about to join the effin’ queue

leaving the car park at B & Q.                                                                                                                   2011

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BAD LANGUAGE

 

You don’t hear her Majesty cussing and swearing –

at least not in public - used to be a late night airing

on the bus you’d hear someone drunk,

of assorted spiritual beverages stunk.

You’d ignore it all or look away cringing

their language out of tune with your upbringing.

 

Now it seems we’ve to be immune

to everyday profanity, accept the tune

let folk take the Lord’s name in vain

while effing and jeffing – it’s all the same

as daily conversation or opinion airing,

can’t express themselves clearly so resort to swearing.

 

To youngsters it might seem daring

but it comes over uncultured and vile

especially when used by parents while

in company of kids, never seeming to care

their offspring are being taught to badmouth and swear.

As a public offence it is really quite glaring

unrelated to age, sex or the clothes they are wearing.

 

Expletives from the mouths of professionals are heard

who can’t find the vocab, the appropriate word

and on TV accepted and used,

our language continuously degraded, abused.

 

You hear it at a match, in a shop or down the docks

but you don’t expect it from celebs on the box.

Sometimes politicians make you feel like blaspheming

coming out with inanities, you feel like screaming.

 

On the telly a watershed’s supposed to exist

and warnings of vulgarities from the sober and pissed

but the F word is heard nearly every night

and the C word  is used to the evident delight

of the public who seem to just let it soak in

or laugh it all off as a venial sin.

 

One day soon, if TV gets its way

you’ll hear the F word on Match of the Day

and I bet it would not set the switchboards ablaze

if the C word was uttered on Songs of Praise.

 

I know people have sworn since time immemorial

and popular humour was quite lavatorial

but its got out of hand, seems anything goes

and with youngsters involved it just gets up my nose.

 

And I’m not alone, having a dig or a whinge;

I know times are a-changing but it still makes me cringe,

hearing a mother yell swear words in the face of her child

I can’t help but get upset, disgusted and riled.

 

Perhaps it’s my fault – I ought to speak out

risk that torrent of abuse, the curse or a clout.

I suppose you think I’m old fashioned or a prude,

that I regard it antisocial, grotesque and crude.

 

So what can we do as it causes dismay,

a campaign to speak proper to be started today?

In the workplace, in the street, and in all of our schools

sweep away bad language should be one of the rules

of decent behaviour – a standard to be set

and if any bleedin’ sod breaks them

a fucking good bollocking they’ll get.                                                                                                    2009

 

 

 

 

 

BESIDE THE SEASIDE

 

Washed up, splayed out, sun-baked

with the tang of pre-history

where we all go to die.

A bit of relaxation, that’s today’s task,

warm and sheltered by the sea,

a chance to rest, read a book, redefine  me.

 

But when I’m making my sun-kissed nest

hoping to turn nice and brown,

spikes of grass in your arms and ass

won’t let you sit down.

 

Sea holly prickles, wavy grass tickles

dogs sniffing all over the place -

you can’t lie down in case they snuffle around

and wee all over your face.

 

I must be nutty - there’s sand in my butty,

now I’ve got sand in my hair;

but it gets on your tits - all your private bits

then you’ll be wishing you weren’t really there.

 

The agony lasts, a radio blasts -

some tubthumping rubbish quite near,

and though your abhor it you just can’t ignore it

cause its echoing loud in your ear.

 

Kids flying kites - like I haven’t got rights

just to catch me a few little rays.

Would I like an ice cone?

“Sod off! Leave me alone!

Sorry - just having one of those days!

                                                                                                   

.                                                                                                                               2010

 

 

 

 

 

BIRDS

 

Where have all the birds gone

frightened by some dog?

No, they’re a bit put out by climate change

so they’re hiding in the fog.                                                                                                                      2012

 

 

 

 

 

BLUE MACAW

 

Solitary Blue Macaw

alone and feeling rotten

shrieks our guilt from the treetops

until he dies -

all forgotten.                                                                                                                                               1981

 

 

 

 

 

THE CAT

 

When I was a youngster I really wanted a pet

‘You’ll never look after it’ my folks would say,

so a pet I did not get.

 

Many years passed and a younger brother later,

he was given a dog – not a newt or a frog -

by a doting mater and pater.

 

He was the runt of the litter – the dog I mean, not my brother;

nevertheless, not resentful or bitter

I asked if we could get another, for me.

 

But it wasn’t to be, I was fated to be pet-less

but relieved he’d not been given a fat

scratching, fur-puking

poo-dropping, carpet shredding

uber-meowing cat.

 

For cats and I don’t see eye to eye -

antipathy caught from my mum -

useless selfish feline fiend

with a pencil sharpener stuck up its bum.

(the cat, I mean, not my mum!).                                                                                                             2001

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CAT FOOD

 

Don’t meow like that!

Get off my leg!

I’ve given you a bowl of food.

If that’s the feline way to beg

believe me I’m not in the mood

to placate your irritating faddy ways

that’s costing me good money

that gets thrown away day after day -

well I don’t think its funny.

It’s not as if you earn your keep -

killing garden birds,

plucking them on the kitchen floor;

and at 5 I’m aroused from sleep,

your interminable whining heard,

and your claw marks down door.

 

So what’s wrong with chicken

in gravy with duck and rabbit -

when you’ve quite finished lickin’

I gotta tell you, I’m unimpressed by your cattitude:

these died to feed your habit -

at least show some gratitude!                                                                                                                 1990

 

 

 

 

 

CAT SALAD

 

I see you’ve grown lettuce where I buried the cat –

two foot down, no harm in that!

Growing right where its head would have been

now a skull, a few bones

with some teeth in between,

enriching the soil as its body decays –

good news for the lettuce perhaps, some would say.

 

But I’d quite like to know any difference you feel,

if you’re quite the same after a few salad meals;

or do you now  claw at curtains or go chasing birds

or pawing the flower beds concealing your turds.

 

If, after time you start arching your back,

spitting at dogs or chasing a rat,

there’s a fairly strong chance that you are in fact,

through the lettuce you eat, becoming your cat.                                                                                1987

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 CHILL IN THE AIR

 

When you were a child

did you pull the wings off insects

hiss at the cat to make him flee

taunt the dog next door with glee

to trap his yapping head in the railings

failing to get it free?

 

I watch you stroll in confident

anticipation, alive tonight

to stand before your magic screen –

your chromakey brilliance crackling bright,

forecasting our dismal week together -

we may as well stay in bed, you grin

because of the weather, better stay in

 

for a cold occlusion will pull an armada

of hail clouds across our sky

in wait out at sea – disappointing for July,

a dragon’s claw of cumulus, an approaching curse,

as corners of your mouth shift north -

were you hoping for worse?

 

You paint a picture of the thundersnow

its chill factor and lightning bursts

before we toddle off to bed

to await a dawn of shattered slates

and battered garden shed.

 

Your rosy lips curl to a smile

with your cheery sweet goodnight.

Did you always want a job

with a sharp, frosty bite?                                                                                                                          2011

 

 

 

 

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING BLUES

 

I’ve HATED Christmas shopping ever since I were a lad

sent to M&S to buy undies for my dad;

 

I fought through waves of shoppers round the father’s undies stall

and when I got home all mum could say was ‘Well, they’re far too small!’

 

And now the High Street carnival is with us once again -

the annual obsession with frustration, wind and rain;

 

a marathon experience set to drive you crazy,

unless you pay a mate to do it -  effective, but pretty lazy!

 

Chaos time at Christmas with the world completely mad,

I thought it was a season of great joy and tidings glad.

 

Seated on the bus to town by a girl who’s popping gum

looking really well pissed off ‘cause she’s shopping with her mum.

 

And next to her is Wayne who’s just a little tot;

but continually whinging with a nose that’s dripping snot.

 

Eventually we get to town; I prepare to brave the queues;

bloody pigeons everywhere, crapping on your shoes.

 

Why can’t all these people keep in straighter lines?

For walking right in front of you there should be massive fines.

 

I’m jammed inside a lift between a poodle and a pram

If either of them nips my leg I’ll kick it shouting ‘Damn!’

 

Dragged through Marks Expensive, Littlewood’s, T J Hughes

we search in vain for those essential green fluorescent shoes.

 

Meanwhile in the food hall the queues are getting longer,

carrier bags are splitting ‘No, we haven’t any stronger!’

 

The jangling of cash registers is getting on my nerves

and I’m forced to hang round lingerie racks feeling like a perv.

Thinking of the pennies I am having pangs of guilt

‘cause Gran apparently really wants an expensive floral quilt.

 

To look for cool designer clothes we’ve gone all round the houses

trying on co-ordinated knickers, socks and blouses.

 

Some little kids are playing tick around the clothing racks;

they dart out at you shrieking from the newly crumpled slacks

 

while mother stands by gossiping clearly in their view

but she’s just about past caring -  she’s had a gutful too.

 

Tracy’s at the checkout and she’s in no mood to hurry;

I’m in the queue behind this bloke who smells of fags and curry.

 

He’s only buying a magazine and sweets but flipping heck

he’s only got no cash and insists on paying by cheque!

 

And when you’ve purchased everything, about to head for home

mum says, ’Oh! there’s Aunty Flo – she’d love a garden gnome.’

 

With Christmas not the best time to look for garden things -

‘We’ll try next door’. ‘My feet are sore’ - if only I had wings!

 

An old man on a bike is trying to muscle through the crowd

ringing quite insistently to pass, for crying out loud.

 

It’s clear to all there isn’t room for a sodding bike to pass -

I hope he falls and cuts himself with bruises on his ass!

 

There’s this poor guy, cold and sneezing, selling the ‘Big Issue’

so I buy a copy off him and offer him a tissue;

 

He says to me ‘Now you take care’ and I say the same to him

and I’m wishing him Happy Christmas as Sally Army plays a hymn

 

and suddenly I realise it’s not about what please us -

It’s about the warmth that we can share through the  love of baby Jesus.

 

But when I go up to the Issue man saying ‘Wanna come home for tea?’

mum gives me a solid clip round the ear : ‘We’ve nothing in!’ says she.

 

Fighting to the bus stop, where skateboarder thinks he’s cool

trips into the gutter and looks a proper fool.

 

The bus home is foul and steamy with smoke and body heat.

‘Get up young man and let this dear old lady have your seat’.

 

We stagger in at half past six well and truly wacked

But now I’ve got to make the tea so off, I’m really hacked!

 

Next it’ll be the New Year Sales – Oh, it’s not all over yet!  

When I grow up I’m going to order everything on the Net.                                                                 1989

 

 

 

 

CHRISTMAS TINGLES

 

 

the day draws its curtains

flashing Christmas lights

children look to the skies

sledging on a sheet of iron

scraping down the ice

to certain injury

two shivering boys

drip  tunelessly at my door

‘Jingle Bells’?        

  Sally Army band

Christmas lights on Lord Street

 Silent Night

frozen to the spot

in the icy grip of winter

yet the fear of falling

red pillar box set in snow

awaiting orders

frozen to the spot

soft yellow winter sun

trying to make up for

this freezing day

a hush lies across the land

for a few sweet hours

a silent night

no peace for the wicked

early morning wake-up call

the sound of ripping paper

delightful cries

drag you from your bed

he’s been!

 

steamy windows

kitchen ablaze with action

boiling over

carols on the radio

to go or not to go

that is the question

Away in a Manger

beaming smiles and hand shakes

good will to all

even brighter

the holly berries shine

this Christmas morning

grand children for dinner

shrieks and cries, spills and commotion

then, the silence

shrill wind rising

a flourish to end the year

or warning of the next

dressed up in newness

an aisle parade of hats and coats

nothing’s really changed

millions of turkeys

cut down in their prime

have died for this day

sliding into 40 winks

dinners gravy-coated

leave half the nation bloated

high expectations

a moral for the day

silence for the Queen

this raindrop started falling

last year to splash down

this new year’s day

the rain

tapping my window all day

has found a way in through the roof

dark and dreary day

but the hearth is glowing

tuning in to the outside world

flickering flame

dancing nervously

with the shifting coals

never mind the hangover

or your dicky tum

the fairy has a fir tree stuck up her bum

trying to compose

but the fug in my head keeps

 the sun from my thoughts

I  stood in the doorway

she never turned back

the rain just washed her away

 

 

 

 

 

 

CITY NOISE

 

Screeching brakes tear my eardrums

drawing aluminium foil between the teeth;

savage engine pounding my walls

laying siege to my senses

beating out the air I breathe

drumming, drumming, drumming

my head at the solid ground.                                                                                                                 1975

 

 

 

 

 

CROW

 

Dodging traffic

crow negotiates with death

to peck a ready meal

or become one.                                                                                                                                        1977

 

 

 

 

 

CYCLE TRACK

 

Our long neglected fair resort

is rising from its grave;

with self-respect it beckons

and breaks into a wave.

 

Pavillioned new in splendour

they come from near and far

some take a day to cycle this way

but for most it’s bus or car.

 

The former take full advantage

of a painted cycle lane

and turn out with the grandkids

in spite of wind and rain

 

but often must contend

with dog-walkers, buggies and hikers

who ignore the space between the lines

especially reserved for bikers.

 

Their ambling all over the place

is one great big pain in the ass -

there’s acres of room on either side

for regiments to pass.

 

So, to those who ignore the markings,

perhaps absorbed in your ices,

have no fear, we welcome you here

whatever your habits or vices –

 

providing its legal and causes no stress

you can do what you have in mind,

but in our cycle way if you casually stray

please ,  move over, if you’d be so kind.

 

 

 

 

 

DEAR MR PEPYS

 

Dear Mr Pepys,

I never thought when I took this job with the council

I’d be putting myself at risk,

hauling bodies with open sores and buboes

and the stench something chronic, Sir,

carting them through the shit-filled streets at all hours.

And then out to the fields for a country burial en masse –

not a job for the faint-hearted, you might say, Sir,

not to be undertaken lightly, so to speak, sir.

 

Some would say we deserves danger money, Sir.

Imagine if we all came out on strike, Sir –

whole country in a fine mess, and no mistake!

And as you know Sir, we got mouths to feed –

all right for those with money –

but wouldn’t give us the drippings from their nose, Sir, some of ‘em.

Us poor sods, got little choice

but take whatever work we can get .

 

So it falls to me as spokesman for the team, Sir, to say

we deserve a decent living wage,

as a gent such as yourself  will recognise –

or I reckon we down shovels, so to speak.

And if you want my advice, Sir,

only way to get rid of this plague

is  burn the whole effin’ place down and start again –

put it in your diary –

blame it on some nincompoop in a kitchen.

Who knows, Sir,

they may even erect  a monument to them,

and to you!                                                                                                                                                 2013

 

 

 

 

 

RICHARD THE THIRD PART 1

 

In the hall of Richard   the Third

An Irishman’s voice was once heard

In court life embedded but shortly beheaded

For hailing King Richard the turd.

 

 

 

 

DENTAL FLOSS

 

Across an anxious landscape

with Spring arriving late,

Danny the driller is waiting

and I’m walking to my fate.

 

I try to take my mind off things

by counting all the cars,

wishing an alien visitor

would whisk me off to Mars.

 

One of many brave young children

forced to bear the pain.

I bet if it were up to them

they’d not come here again!

 

I question what I’m doing here

what I’m missing on TV;

I wonder if with any luck

I’ll be home in time for tea.

 

And will it be my favourite

of steak and chips and peas?

And will my jaws be up to it

in spite of gum disease?

 

Or will I have to mash it up

and so for ever more

liquidize each morsel

and suck it through a straw?

 

To encourage further visits

my dentist gave me sweets.

I thought he was a nice old man

for giving me such treats.

 

But now I know the rot’s set in

and it was all his fault.

Trip to the dentist, good for you? -

Take that with a pinch of salt!

 

I summon up my courage

knock weakly at the door.

Please don’t be in! But I never win -

footsteps cross the floor.

 

I imagine that great tattooed man

with arms like trunks of trees,

but when the door is opened

my jaw drops to my knees,

 

for standing there, with silk blonde hair

is no great hulking brute,

but an angel in an overall

who’s really rather cute.

 

I follow in obediently

and climb the scary chair.

I wonder if she fancies me,

as I stare into the glare.

 

I open wide and try to answer questions

through the spray;

her eyes are wide and beautiful;

would she marry me one day?

 

I let her poke and prod and scratch

and touch my fragile nerves;

I can see right up her nostrils

but I’m imagining her curves.

 

And now she’s bending forward,

my heart begins to thrum.

Should I go and live at hers,

or shall we stay with mum?

 

Her eyes shine down like diamonds

and with a needle in my gum

I’m putty in her hands

though my tongue is feeling numb.

 

Somewhere in the distance

a dental drill is squealing,

but in my mind I see her form

outlined against the ceiling.

 

And now I catch her perfume

as she probes inside my tooth.

Does she think how brave I am,

and such a handsome youth?

 

When finally it’s over

and I’m told it’s time to leave

I say ‘Phank u vewy mush.

Can  a have  new pointment pleave?’

 

“Well, your filling’s done, young man!

All the rest are fine.

Brush them regularly twice a day

and you’ll have a set like mine”.

 

She flashed her straight and pearly teeth

a treasure to remember

“Unless there are any problems

I’ll see you in December.”

 

“Arrh! But it’f only end ob August!

Can’t I phee you in Pheptember?                                                                                                          1993

 

 

 

 

 

FLOWER

 

Someone’s put a flower in the toilets,

a single flower -  

not very big, not too showy

no great bouquet full of superstars,

just a humble single flower in a vase.

 

I don’t suppose it has a name –

doesn’t seem to get much attention,

its leaves forlorn, anaemic

could do with intervention

to feed its fragile roots 

and encourage pest prevention.

 

I’m sure it’d do much better

in a more salubrious space

but here it is, by the window

taking pride of place

for those who choose to see

a survivor smiling brightly –

I think I’ll call her Lucy.                                                                                                                       2002

 

 

 

 

 

FORGOTTEN WORDS

 

A thought, a moment,

small door in a prison wall

seeping with the scent of deliverance,

a  burst of creation,

a new ecology of being.

 

I knot the threads,

Place them between pages in my dog-eared book

only to forget them – to forget

as the small door closes

wind riffles the pages

and in vain I try to refind my place.

               

Then, on some future date I remember,

renew my search,

listen for the small door opening

but that early burst of sun and the scent of spring

have drifted away.

 

Oh, how I listen

but the spores of thought have blown

and the spoor of words gone cold.                                                                                                        2009

 

 

Have you ever had an idea for something to write or do but not had time to note it – hoping you will be able to resurrect the feeling and emotion at a later time? This poem tries to recapture the frustration of not being able to do so –  the Muse, the magical moment of promise gone AWOL!

 

HARBOUR

 

You are my sea wall, my harbour

wherein I may safely rest

your enclosing arms so strong and sure

though the water only comes to my chest.                                                                                          1985

 

 

 

 

 

HAVE A GOOD EVENING!

 

Good evening!

The map for tonight shows a lot of bad weather

heading our way so let’s huddle together.

The heaviest snowfalls since records began

will bring blizzard conditions to the Isle of Man.

 

And not far away on the coast of the Fylde

the seas will be rough cos the wind will be wild;

down south the weather’s not fit for a dog

with the darkest of nights and the densest of fog.

 

Twisters are likely along the east coast

so get in some plasters cos these hurt the most -

winds of ferocity that travel quite fast

so don’t venture out till the danger has passed.

 

Rivers everywhere will be liable to flood

and by the time you wake up you’ll be knee deep in mud.

A hurricane might possibly graze the south-west

so again, don’t go out unless wearing a vest.

 

Power will be cut for several hours

by electrical storms and some meteorite showers

with greenhouses smashed by the force of the hail

and from Cardiff to London there will be no rail

 

and delays to services from Euston or Crewe

so no change there, and I don’t blame you

if you board up your windows and fasten your gates

and batten the hatches – but beware falling slates.

 

The thunder and lightning will frighten your pets

and the damage to property will add to your debts.

Probably the Midlands will get it the worst

when all the blocked sewers and storm drains burst.

 

Yet up in the Shetlands it could be quite sunny

though at one in the morning this will seem rather funny

with mozzies and midges all out as well

so put cream on your bites or they’ll itch like hell.

 

In fact, if you live somewhere north-east of Ayr

well somebody has to – it’ll be bleak there;

 

with ice in the Trossachs they’ll be gritting the roads

but watch out for the HGVs shedding their loads.

 

And the south-east of England? Especially in Kent

rainfall like stair rods that will not relent.

You’ll soon find out if the conservatory leaks;

Firemen could be pumping your downstairs for weeks.

 

I’m sorry to be a harbinger of doom

but in this line of work there’s really no room

for avoiding the truth just to make you feel better

cos when the muck hits the fan you’ll be writing a letter.

 

And please don’t phone up in the middle of the night

to give me more grief if this forecast’s not right

cos a weather-girl’s lot is an unhappy one

stuck out in some field rain, hail or sun.

 

We have to look smart and seem really happy

when we know that the forecast is sure to be crappy.

In spite of the science our weather’s not licked

and with global warming it’s so hard to predict.

 

But the weather will be foul, of that I’ve no doubt

so if you really, really have to go out

be safe with your driving – take extra care

cos I’m going home soon ….  and I want to get there!                                                                        1998

 

 

 

 

 

HEAVY BOOTS

 

Heavy boots

tramp through shallow water

kicking up the soft silty bed,

muddy the puddles and riffles

where folk draw their lives.

Heavy boots,

even those born of woman

beloved of wives and daughters,

plunge victims into deeper water

extracting a final breath.

                                                                                                                     1993

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HI, I’M JULIE

 

Hi, I’m Julie, and I’d really like to say

it seems I’m sat here at my till

for thirteen hours a day,

and I’d really, really, really,

really like to let you know

as soon as I have checked you through,

then I’m allowed to go.

 

I’m going down the town tonight

with my new boyfriend, Eddy -

it’ll take an hour to get me home

and three more to get ready

so I thought that now you realise

the anxiety l felt,

you’d start to get your ass in gear

and stack things on the belt.

 

This bleeping bar code thing

has been wrecking my head all day,

and Postman Pat and his sodding black cat

have not improved my day!

“Do you have a Shopper Card?”

I’m supposed to ask.

I forgot about it yesterday

and they’ve taken me to task.

 

So I gotta be on my best behaviour –

no more chewing gum

or varnishing my fingernails,

or giving freebies to my mum!

But it’s not much fun, this checkout thing,

stuck here behind this till.

Still, it’s quite a hoot when their eyes pop out

with a God Almighty bill!

 

I hope that when you’re checking out

you’re going to pay by cash;

I can ring it up quite quickly, see,

and then I’ll do a dash.

But I’ve got this sinking feeling

you’ll he writing out a cheque,

your bank card will be out of date,

and my pen won’t work – Oh heck!

 

“Keep on going Julie.

Smile, just a little flicker?”

and looking up I notice

that the customer’s our vicar.

Oh no! This can’t be happening.

He’ll be here simply ages,

asking  how’s the family

and a donation from my wages.

 

 

 

But hang on girl! Oh, thank God!

He’s searching in his jacket,

His wallet bulging nicely –

vicars must earn a packet!

Then he has a senior moment:-

What…? An item you’ve forgotten?

“I’m afraid this till is closing, Sir -

pins and needles in my bottom!”                                           1981                 

 

 

 

 

 

HOW TO ASSEMBLE YOUR THORT

 

First check the contents of your blod

Flaskly plit them in a noop

Take the terquot from the pod

Thritch it nursely through the moop

Crick the worgape to the thrupple

Joggle the perscue till it wreeques

Sneep the arrospin to make it supple

Then quean it to the grascock’s teeks.

 

Throckle it well with vertiple quopes

And stand on end till the crudgeline is shows

Pature the zonchord with rodigal stopes

And make sure the slipickle skipplestick  glows.

Your new shiny thort assembled with ease,

May it throckle your twerks when you’ve got off your knees.                                                         2013

 

 

 

 

 

HUNGRY CATERPILLAR

 

I must be the hungriest caterpillar;

I live on a leaf and my name is Priscilla;

If I see something nice to eat I must try it

but if I don’t stop I’ll be needing to diet.

 

I just love nice cakes, some chockies or biscuits

but I’d put on more weight, so I really can’t risk it.

I crawled out for a meal with my bestest mate

and ate absolutely everything there on the plate.

 

Then when I got back to my little cocoon

I couldn’t fit in – there was simply no room!

But soon when I wake up I know I’ll have wings

And be able to fly about looking for things

 

nice to eat that caterpillars think ‘Yummy!’

and I can stuff in my mouth and fill up my tummy.

but if I do that I’ll get heavy again,

too heavy to fly if it’s starting to rain.

 

So I’ve got to be good and eat up my greens –

no chips or pizza or ASDA’s baked beans

then one day soon I’ll be a pretty butterfly

and I can fly in your classroom and come to say ‘Hi!’                                                                         1989

 

 

 

 

 

I WANDERED LONELY

 

I wandered lonely along the road

then through this gate where daffodils growed

and you was wiv me and for you I was goin’ to pick one

but decided not to bother - instead I just kicked one.

I said ‘seen one daffodil you seen ‘em all’.

So we walk on through the woods wiv me kickin me ball and

when we gets to the end of the field there’s this fence

and round about then I was feelin’ a bit tense

so I lit up a fag and said ‘lets go back

there’s a pub in the village - I could do wiv a snack.’

So we goes down the path wiv me kickin’ me ball

down to the road wiv the gate in the wall

and there’s this geezer wiv a dog havin a piss

not the dog I mean – the geezer – Brahms and Liszt

and I says that ain’t right mate, they’re special these  flowers -

old ladies come here and often spend hours

smellin’ them and for paintin’ or poetry being inspired

and then they goes ‘ome all dewy-eyed and tired.

But you come along and start cockin’ your leg

and your dog bloody copies you –  what d’you call her, Meg?

Nice dog but you oughta show some respect

and if you don’t leave now I will not neglect

my civic duty to inform the law

about this drunken old git wiv …..

And then ‘e ‘it me, yeronner!    And I ‘it the floor.                                                                                2011

 

 

 

 

 

IF I WAS A WHALE

 

My mum says I’ve the appetite

of a whale or a horse

but whales and horses don’t eat sausages

not even if they’re forced.

 

No, if I was a mighty whale

I’d be eating lots of krill

but I don’t think it looks too great -

it’s probably not a thrill.

 

My mum says don’t eat junk food

‘cause it’ll make your skin look pasty

but a burger, fries and onion rings

are very, very tasty.

I-PODS

 

I bury my i-pod in the ground

then water freely all around

hoping soon there will be for me

free downloads from an i-pod tree.                                                                                                        2008

 

 

 

 

 

IRONING

 

Often I‘d watch her

undocking

like a space ship sweeping down

on every crease till it surrenders,

nosing into every crevice

erasing protest with a wave of heat.

Seeking out where pleats and creases are authorized,

determined effort to sharpen their appeal,

a land of her own where fools rush in

and husbands fear the thread.

 

Disturbing this nugget of acknowledged skill

and rhythm to produce the perfect shirt and parallel seam.

In a dreamy parallel universe of Radio 2,

her crown never challenged,

monarch of the pointed board,

the bullet end like a church window,

workplace of righteous ritual every Sabbath

each landing glide ignoring the creaking complaint

the twisted knotted flex,

occasional blistered finger,

sending us into the world crisp,

creased and fresh as meadow grass.

 

When I was older I wanted to learn

accepting direction, only occasional scorch and melt.

‘No-one will see it’, she’d say as I left for school,

 a brown triangle like  Ailsa Craig

projecting from a blue waistband into a white sky.

‘No-one will see it’ I’d repeat to myself,

‘providing I keep my blazer on!’

 

 

 

 

RICHARD THE THIRD PART 2

 

A  legitimate king but not great

King Richard was lying in wait

For his bones to be found

beneath unhallowed ground

reinterred after lying in State.                         March 2015

 

 

JACK

(Get a Liverpudlian to read this out, preferably John Lennon – or adopt a Scouse accent!)

 

I’ve got a mate called Jack -

knew him since we were kids – ran with the pack;

sometimes played fullback

sometimes in attack

for Fazackerly.

He’s a good mate - we share some craic

as we run round the tarmac track on a Saturday.

 

He’s into paperbacks by Balzac and Kerouac 

and can quote passages exactly.

Anyway, to backtrack,                                                                                                                                                                 

last week at work he got the sack unjustly –

I reckon it’s because he’s black.

Our supervisor in the warehouse is a bit of a dick,

throw-back to the bad old times

and tells us work is slack and the bosses have got to cut back

and we’ve all got to have

a medical to prove we are up to the task.

Well if some quack starts ‘avin’ a go at me he’ll get a smack.

Then Jack makes a wisecrack and the foreman says

‘That’s enough from you,  natterjack,

 you can pick up yer knickknacks and yer haversack

and get’.

 

He pushes Jack back on a stack and a pack of mailsacks ' smacks ‘im in the back

and ‘e cracks a rib as ‘e falls with a whack.

Well I got the certificate and I got the knack

so I give Jack a piggyback to the first aid room – well the shack at the back.

I says to the foreman ‘You’re gonna get some flak for this. He could have had a cardiac’.

Anyway, ‘e’s been to the ‘ozzy and I think he’s on the right track,

making a comeback, so to speak,

‘cause he’s started reading again and listening to his Dvorak and Bacharach CDs.

Whatever pulls yer trigger, I reckon! - And that’s a fact.

 

 

 

 

THE KEY

 

Sleet spits in my face - on the attack

throwing its weight,

stealing my heat

grabbing my collar,

 icy water down my back;

pulling my hair, freezing my feet

it pricks my cheeks - won’t be beat;

moans in my ear, won’t let me be

while I shiver and wait

impatiently, helplessly,

cursing myself for

forgetting my key!

 

 

 

LEGEND OF BARBECUE BILL                   

(acknowledgement to Lennon and McCartney’s ‘Bungalow Bill’)

 

He lit the charcoal burner

then he turned the flames up high;

he let the cinders glow,

the smoke curled to the sky

and when it came to use his tongs

he’d sometimes let you try…..

Hey Barbecue Bill, what do you grill

Barbecue Bill?

 

He wore a fresh crisp apron

trimmed with purple stripes;

as grease spots hit his spectacles

Bill would give a wipe;

never cooks with dirty nails

 -he simply ain’t that type.

 

There’s chicken wings and burgers

but still, veggies have a ball.

There’s fish wrapped up in silver foil,

cos Bill, he grills it all.

With skill he’d turn things over

- none of ‘em would fall……

Hey Barbecue Bill, what do you grill

Barbecue Bill?

 

Sometimes he’d grill a ready meal

in its shiny foil tin

‘Not when it’s so hard to pierce’,

his momma butted in,

but make sure its defrosted well before you begin.

 

The lamb chops start to sizzle

and Bill gives ‘em a turn;

he gives all the kids a go

so that they will learn

just how to test the sausages and never let ‘em burn…….

Hey barbecue Bill, what do you grill

Barbecue Bill?

 

Succulent aromas drift

around the neighbourhood;

passers-by peep in to try

to see what smells so good.

Bill invites ‘em in a-while but

they ain’t gonna get no pud.

 

Relishes and sauces and mustard by the ton

just awaitin’  you to spread ‘em thick

upon your wholemeal bun,

returnin’ for a refill he fills each rumblin’ tum

Hey barbecue Bill, what do you grill

Barbecue Bill?

 

 

Now, one time Bill got distracted

by a person of desire.

Guess we’ll never know what it was

but something strange caught fire.

The way Bill doused those flames with beer

 was something to admire.

 

He’d time things to perfection

left nothing there as raw,

the hot end from the cooler

yeah, Bill sure knew the score

then dished it out quite fairly, but

 there was always plenty more….

 

Then one day Bill was summoned

to that barbie in the sky -

his beard caught fire one afternoon –

I recall it was late July.

Now he’s cookin’ for the angels

 - just hear them onions fry.

Hey barbecue Bill, what do you grill

Barbecue Bill?                                                                                                                                             1994

 

 

 

 

LUNAR ECLIPSED

 

July ’69 – thirty years to the day

when we first giant-stepped on the moon.

If Apollo had had more strings to his bow

we could have arrived in June

 

but Man in the Moon, delighted, said:

‘Good to see you …to see you, so nice!’

Then we flew home again, happy

to return not just once, but thrice

 

‘cause Man in the Moon had a sand-pit

and provided a bouncy castle,

he gave us some rock to take home to mom

and we flew off again, with no hassle.

 

But since then there’s only been silence -

we’re playing space stations instead.

Man in the Moon says,

‘Please  - come again soon!

Was it something I said?’                                                                                                                            1999

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MESS AT M&S

 

Dear Manageress of the cafe in M&S,

 

Heartfelt apologies I must express –

didn’t anticipate the degree of mess

left today in the cafe at M&S.

 

First time in your cafe, I have to confess,

though regular customers nonetheless,

but only there really, under duress

with my daughter in the cafe at M&S.

 

From pushchair to high chair is quite a process

with technical skills I just don’t possess

for collapsing a buggy while in M&S.

 

To butties and a meal I’m sure she said yes

forgetting she’s never had egg and cress,

And she won’t eat fish fingers from M&S

 

Unless in her hands they’ve been tightly compressed -

then smeared all over her face and dress

before plastering the floor here in M&S.

 

Major irritation I try to suppress

picking mess from the floor in M&S.

To your staff I signalled a late SOS

explaining my daughter had little finesse

when it came to fine dining in M&S.

 

Some old folk said ‘Ahh!’; others said ‘Bless!’

though most, quite frankly couldn’t care less

but it was causing me considerable stress -

what would she do next? - I shuddered to guess.

 

Then right on cue she spills drink down her dress -

more on the floor in M&S.

The carton says ‘pull’ but she has to press

adding fruit juice to the growing volume of mess

sticking to the floor of the cafe in M&S.

 

We go to the ladies – I help her undress,

my utter embarrassment trying to repress

as I put her into her new princess dress –

bought for her birthday but nevertheless

the one we’d just bought from M&S

where I’m down on my knees trying to clean up the mess.

 

I hope you don’t feel the need for redress

She is only three and loves her new dress –

now that we’ve scraped off the bulk of the mess.

I don’t think our visit was a roaring success.

so please thank the cleaners at M&S.

 

 

.

NEIGHBOURS

 

He’s parked right outside my house,

the louse,

when he has a driveway of his own

I moan

to my front room and the cat.

 

The rat,

only been here a week and acting big,

the pig,

while I’ve been here near twenty years

and fear he’s taking over the road

the toad:

 

three cars, one a ‘Volvo’, four kids, six bikes, a caravan and two dogs,

the hogs

that dig under our fence, and crap on our grass,

the ass.

 

They think we think they’re uncouth and pushy;

well if the cap fits,

you gits!

 

 

 

 

 

NOT AN OLD FART

 

I am not one to wear my cap backwards

or train my hair, all gelled up and spikey

I don’t say ‘yo!’  and call you ’bro’

or slap you fives – whether high or low.

 

I don’t wear my shirt outside my pants

a shirt that would perhaps fit if

I gorged on take-outs for the next month –

which I won’t.

 

I don’t sit on buses plugged in to

sounds by bands called Spew

or Deathsnot

blotting out the world.

 

I don’t discuss personal stuff on a mobile

for all the world to hear

or get rat-arsed at the week-end

or party on till dawn

or get chucked out of nightclubs

or puke in a taxi on the way home

to crash out all day in an airless pit.

 

You won’t catch me in Halkidiki or Benidorm

on a diet of sangria and chips

regretting some time later

the increase in my hips.

Or toasting on a nudist beach

peeping as she strips,

becoming a leathery tone of red

with Vaseline on my lips.

 

You won’t see me arriving late for work

with a mouthful of lame excuses

then spending company time tweeting my mates

and various other abuses.

 

I don’t get the words to rap songs

or appreciate the boom on your macho stereo

as you cruise the ‘hood’ at a crawl

pleadin’ respeck – man!

Or parade my ORV  in the burbs

bull bars gleaming like armour

while collecting my kids from school.

 

I don’t pronounce the glottal in bottle

and rattle and shut up!

I refrain from using the moronic interrogative

completely OK in OZ but not in UK.

And I never get so tired

I can’t pronounce three syllables in a row                                                                                                      

and say ‘whatev’ whenev poss.

I don’t call sunglasses ‘shades’ and cars ‘mow-oz’

and every other word is ‘innit’.

I don’t watch Big Brother and discuss it on Facebook

for the next three days, or whatev.

 

I don’t wear flares that carry you like sails down the high street

or thongs that threaten to split you like a peach

or have multiple piercings in places unmentionable.

 

I don’t possess an i-phone or DS,

no desire to be on the web or X Factor

or wired for sound or

plumbed in for any other sensation or appliance.

 

I don’t txt even when I text

or wear designer labels on the outside

or go shopping in my pyjamas

or wear my clothes inside out –

not intentionally anyway.

 

I don’t rumble through crowded malls on a skateboard

trying to look cool

scattering the olds and the tots like skittles.

 

I don’t go about ‘tooled up’

looking for a rush or a fix, or a gun or a knife,

or a tax loophole to jump through

or an innocent client or bystander to accost.

 

 And if all this and more makes me an old fart – ‘Whatev!’

I am what I am - and what the hell is a ‘Jedward’ anyway?                                                                  2012

 

OFF MY TROLLEY

 

Soya yoghurt is cheaper in ASDA

Tesco’s got a deal on sausage rolls

Morrison’s -  a fine deli counter but it’s

Sainsbury’s for roast pheasant and profiteroles.

 

Cashiers always ask if I need help with my packing.

No thanks, I acquired the skill years before,

though I would really appreciate your backing

if my shopping should end up strewn over the floor -

your plastic bags look fairly strong but... I’m not so sure.

 

And I’m right fed up your trolley wheels all wonky

a strain on my knees and my wrists -

easier to use packhorse or donkey

and go online for things I’ve missed.

 

And if you ask customers I’m betting

every time they come into the store

the narrower your aisles seem to be getting

with pallet-loads piled on the floor.

 

Furthermore there’s this constant bleeping -

surely drives your staff up the wall;

to stop them nodding off or sleeping

I assume is the reason for it all.

 

In the car park trolleys abandoned,

one way system totally ignored.

You need an officer to catch ‘em red-handed

and fine ‘em what they cannot afford.

 

So, now I’ve got that off my chest

I’ll go and hunt my roasted pheasant

confident your stackers and those on the tills

will be as ever, exceptionally pleasant.                                                                                                   2013

 

 

 

 

 

ON THE NATIONAL HEALTH

 

A bloke in our street has peculiar feet

and is now getting specially treated.

Put up with them all his life

but he don’t feel neglected or cheated,

just thankful that the service is here

with qualified doctors and nursing,

patience and care meted out to us all

and hardly ever do you hear them cursing.

 

He believes in guardian angels so

far from feeling rejection,

is ready to beat his condition

with just one little injection.

So this bloke in our street with peculiar feet

could soon swim in the sea like a dolphin.

He can walk, he can run –

and he’s is having such fun;

he has even taken up golfin’,

 

so proud of our institution, our beloved NHS -

the envy of the world some say

though now in a bit of a mess

with politicians throwing their spanners,

systems cut back to the bone,

the future in the hands of corporate planners

who insist that the budget is blown.

 

But the bloke in our street’s not downhearted -

his own target to raise a million

from jumble sales, craft fairs and sponsored events

to be held in the cricket pavilion

 

so he knows at the end of the day, come what may

the health service our needs will meet

whether you’re in for an op or caught MRSA

or just got peculiar feet.                                                                                                                            2013

 

 

THE ORCHARD

 

I am the orchard man

first planting when at school

on sunny southern banks,

near the summer pool;

the fruit, twisting and turning

under peach ripe sun,

full and luscious

soft cream of the morning

cool with breezes rising

gently falling

never bruising

bending to the orchard’s rule.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PARAMEDIC PETE (A Day in the Life of)

 

If you trip over in the street, bang your head or hurt your feet

there’s a man you’d like to meet -

Paramedic Pete.

 

Call him up and he’ll come round, on his van a siren sounds,

patch you up then it’s A&E bound with

Paramedic Pete.

 

In his van his partner Kate driving fast ‘cause she won’t wait.

He couldn’t have a better mate,

Paramedic Pete.

 

If you’ve had a painful blow, twisted ankle, knee or toe

off to hozzy you should go

with Paramedic Pete.

 

Checks your pulse and breathing too – he cares for me and cares for you,

knows exactly what to do

does Paramedic Pete.

 

Hypothermia  in the hills or in the home from not paying bills,

feeling sick from taking pills

call Paramedic Pete.

 

Drivers too fast in the fog, those who swerve to avoid a dog

drunken drivers cause a crash -

chancing that red light was highly rash

but he and Kate there in a flash –

Paramedic Pete.

 

Cat got stuck up in a tree, called to the palace for an OBE

but he can’t stop now – he needs a wee

does Paramedic Pete.                                                                                                                                 2010

 

 

 

 

 

RELEASED

 

An ex-con, a Scouser called Mark,

is supposed to abide by a curfew.

Going home after dark dodges into the park

to the bushes – he’s had a fair few.                                                                                                          2009

 

 

 

 

RETAIL THERAPY

 

Do you look to retail therapy

To salve your personal ills

or does it send you to the shopping mall

for a dose of headache pills?                                                                                                                     2001

 

THE STEPS OF THE WALKER

 

I heard that earlier this year he had painted the steps of the Walker Art Gallery. I had my doubts so decided to nip across to see using my new travel pass courtesy of Merseyrail.

When I got there someone was sitting on the bottom step, looking cold, depressed and completely oblivious to the risk of wet paint. I needn’t have worried – the artist must have used watercolours as not a trace of paint remained; it must all have been washed away by all the rain we have had this year.

Anyway, I was here now so went inside to renew my acquaintance with some of my favourite works of art. Skirting the clatter and scraping coming from the ground floor cafe, I climbed the staircase  to the first floor and there, amazingly was an exhibition of some marvellous works by – you’ve guessed it – that same artist. Well, coincidence upon coincidence, when I went inside there was a painting done by the artist himself of....the steps of the Walker,  showing how they must have looked right after he had finished painting them and before the worst of the rains; it even showed the person sitting on the bottom step, though not looking quite so cold and depressed. Someone should have told him that the painting was finished now and he was free to go!

 

 

 

Someone told me he’d painted

the steps of the Walker this year

so I go along for a viewing

but no wondrous changes appear.

Not a spot nor a smidge

no trickle, speck or smear

to say with any certainty that the artist was ever here.

They look just as they’ve always looked

in sandy rustic hues

if they’d been painted blue or pink

it would have made the national news -

unless he was using watercolour

and  with all the summer rain

his multicoloured masterpiece

washed completely down the drain.

 

 

 

 

 

SCAV

 

We’re perched on this railin’

backs to the floodin’ tide

lookin’  well pissed off

‘cause of ‘unger pangs inside.

 

There’s a cold wind on the river

that ruffles up our bums

and we feel a bit neglected,

abandoned by our mums

 

who taught us to scav off visitors

like you who come  in cars

and munch your lunch in comfort

so, hey up! Where’s ours?

 

We can see you through your windscreens

with your egg and bacon baps.

You can’t have eaten everythin’

surely you’ve got scraps.

 

I know the sign says take your litter

home – don’t drop it ‘ere

but I don’t mind recyclin’ it

if you drop it on the pier.

 

Some folk chuck a bit o’ crust

others a greasy chip.

We don’t mind a drop of gravy

but curry gives us jip.

 

We can easy rip through wrappin’

peck through trays of plastic

and to dispose of some organic waste

that would be fantastic.

 

So were sittin’ on this railin’

numb of bum and feathers wet

‘opin’ you’re the generous type

and not some stingy get.                                                                                                                                     2003

 

 

 

 

 

SEA ICE

 

Children of the Arctic,

when the sea ice is gone,

I wonder,

what will you do?

What will our children do,

I wonder,

when the sea ice is gone?                                                                                                                                  2011

 

 

 

 

SEAWEED

 

Like seaweed washed up on the high tide,

watching the horizon for more,

although we have all gone our own ways,

we inevitably meet on the shore                                                       2010

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHOOTING STAR

 

My kind of attack is to put on a spurt,

get into the box and pull the odd shirt.

The media always accuse me of diving

when it’s often a defender late in arriving

 

who catches an ankle or treads on my foot

or comes in hard showing the studs of his boot.

But I’ve not broken a leg, just a bitten limb

wound up ‘cause I wasn’t as speedy as him.

 

I know it’s not fair and strictly not legal

and the officials not gifted with the sight of an eagle.

So do unto others what they do unto you -

riding my luck and hope to get through.

 

Look at the goals I’ve been scoring all season –

a bit of rule bending is part of the reason.

It’s not good to look at but in my defence

hundreds each week commit an offence

but don’t attract the same attention as me

and the media stoke it up – naturally!

 

Blind ,deaf and dumb I once called the ref

so he booked me for dissent without wasting his breath.

The red mist descended - I thought, what the heck

so I crashed to the deck like I’d broken my neck.

 

I thought we would sure get a penalty

but when he blew his whistle, he was beckoning to me.

He said, ‘Son, You gotta be havin’ a laugh’

and sent me off for an early bath.

 

This time I was fined – several thousand quid

which was fair, I suppose, for what I did.

I shouldn’t have bit him –  bad example to set;

my juvenile actions I really regret.

 

Biting an arm is just crazy and silly

but it was only his arm – it wasn’t his willy!

I know I deserved another red card

but a ten match ban is really hard.

 

I’ll not play again now till the end of September

And by then, what I did I’ll never remember.

So I soon could be off to play pastures new –

somewhere I can get my teeth into,

like Real  or Barca where I could still go far –

or I  might just shoot through, a passing shooting star.

 

 

(Luis Suarez, one of the most talented strikers of his generation, caught on camera by a world audience, biting the arm of a Chelsea defender in an end of season match in April 2013. It was the hot topic of conversation locally and brought people to comment on the state of the modern game.)

SLUG

 

There is a slug upon my back

black and heavy as lead.

Days go by as it slimes towards my neck,

slithers and slips inside my ear

to lay eggs

black and heavy as lead

that swell and ripple

then feed on my brain,

as a fog descends,

black and heavy as lead.                                                                                                                             2002                    

 

 

 

 

 

THE SMOKER’S TALE

 

Night seeps like a stain,  

macabre vision of

smoker creaking through time

sensing the nearness

of bone-licking tongues

beneath the ground

that whip like tortured steel.

Glass sand rasps the throat

mucus tars the lung

exposing coronary sinews’ fear.

 

Smoke devils beguiling, tormenting

with hoarse hollow wheezing,

streak the long tunnel of night -

no solace in their leather skin

or dead-dog eyes.

 

Spectral voices prey on feverish minds

congealed in owlish fear,

deranged by rumour

beating out threats on walls of deafness

till all light and sound disappears.

 

You may never believe

nor hear of such a night

till the warning’s retold around warm tables

or your own cold tablet.                                                                                             1992

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SNORING

 

Making a big mistake

Burger and beer at lunchtime

Should have had a cup of tea

And a sliver of carrot cake.

For now with sunlight streaming

Through open windows and doors

The office is listening intently

At the intensity of my snores.

 

 

 

 

SNOWMAN

 

beneath moonlit sky

fresh deep snow, unruffled sheet

hiding the scarred earth

 

forgotten field

in some small corner stands

a snowman smiling -

 

watched me walk away -

never saw him again

dissolving in the rain

 

 

(The idea for these haiku came in the winter of 1970 when heavy overnight snow blotted out great swathes of urban dereliction. I did a lot of exploratory walks around Manchester and Salford. It was nice to discover the odd corner where nature had managed to cling on in spite of the ravages of industry.)

 

 

 

 

 

SPIDER

 

A spider lives in my side mirror,

spins a web while I’m parked somewhere -

has she figured to feed on the windblown bugs,

caught in a slipstream of rushing air?

 

But little she gleans

from the little ensnared

are the filaments so In his mirrored cell hides away

stares at himself, gives up on the day -

just waits out his eternity

or his hell. 

 

 

 

 

 

STORIES

(or things you would never hear a journalist say!)

 

I can’t say exactly how it was  -  

you see, I wasn’t really aware...

I can only tell you how some told the story

and leave the matter there

for you to arrive at your own conclusions

but whatever shape you see

or choose to colour as you will

may not reflect reality.

 

 

 

 

 

STUFF BOXING DAY

 

Boxing Day – hip hip hooray,

the end of the Christmas slog,

need some fresh air for our wear and tear -

we’ve drunk a bit too much grog.

There’s nowt on the telly,

I’ve a grumbling belly

and can’t be far from the bog.

The stockings were stuffed,

the turkey was stuffed

now all of us stuffed as a hog.

Most of us snoring

Leftovers ignoring like

having a dead horse to flog

and I am bereft

there’s so much left

but chuffed will be the dog.

 

 

 

 

 

TAX RETURN

 

You ask me so many questions

on my last tax form

I have to ask is such intrusion

fast becoming the norm?

The answers you must surely know,

for since my alma mater

I seem to have maintained a steady flow

of interesting but useless data:

 

Full name and address, my next of kin,

the institution I was born in.

Where baptised, colour of my eyes,

my inside leg and collar size.

Name of my mother before she was wed,

reared on a bottle or was I breast fed.

Which school as a youth did I attend

and how often did I offend.

Was I ever ever a truant,

ever learn Latin - and am I fluent?

How many O Levels did I pass,

did I find other kids a pain in the ass.

Was I confirmed, a cub or a  scout

swear my duty to the Queen

and did I have doubts?

When in new company find it hard to mingle

so am now married, divorced or single.

How many children – do I join in  their games,

did I choose for them ridiculous names.

Surely you know when my TV licence is due,

whether I’m a red or whether a blue.

Have an enhanced CRB –

whether valid and yes I know it’s not free!

National Health and passport number,

my email address then cool as cucumber,

medical records –  confidential of course,

websites I frequent,

the cleaning products I endorse.

Mobile phone, the make of my car,

internet provider, what my hobbies are.

In which religion do I really believe -

have I other strategies up my sleeve.

Do I feel spied constantly on

can I be utterly relied on;

Am I whistle blower or a spy

one of the baddies or a regular guy.

Ever smoked pot, what degree have I got.

Ever had a job, do I think I’m a snob?

Know my alcohol limit

Have a beard? – do I trim it?

Put my faith in banks or corporate bonds

Believe in fairies and magic wands.

 

 With my profile presumably complete

I can surely with confidence compete

for your very fullest devoted attention -

and you’ll relaxfrom next May

the tax I need pay

so I can maximise my income retention.

 

 

 

 

 

TEA!

 

I really love my cup of tea

made freshly in a pot;

I like it with a splash of milk;

I like it really hot.

I especially like to have a cup

when I’ve just been out.

I love that gentle gurgling sound

Pouring richly from the spout.

I watch the rich brown colours

swirl and mingle in the cup

Then trap its warmth between my palms

and slowly lift it up.

 

The flavour of Sri Lanka, of Kenya or Assam

Rescues me from where I’ve been

And reminds me who I am!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIS TABLE’S RESERVED!         (staffroom politics!)

 

This table’s reserved  - as a home for old fogies

to bemoan and berate who we choose;

from here we survey the new teachers

and thank God we are not in their shoes!

 

Our careers may be waning – cellulite gaining,

trying to keep up with the rules,

yet can’t help but smirk as you plan next year’s work

while we sit round discussing our jewels!

 

But graft isn’t something we ever could shirk -

we hoped it would keep us all slimmer

but its hard with retirement the only perk –

and the thought skills to manage a zimmer!

 

Sometimes we’re accused of slagging off kids

who won’t give their homework priority –

Troublesome pests who won’t toe the line -

not a few – indeed, the majority!

 

But…. Who is that man?  Behind the closed door

when he’s not in Shanghai or Koblenz?

Some say it’s the Head – he’s been seen once before

from his office en route to the gents.

 

The sub lists are up – from ceiling to floor

each new day a carpet of green.

We pray we’re forgotten, but for others it’s rotten,

Their names on the new plasma screen.

 

Isn’t it odd – in fact decidedly weird

we forget where we’ve just put our glasses;

and why those projectors just disappeared

and where on earth my next class is!

 

Last day of term’s on the horizon

each holiday to-ing and fro-ing

no more AOB or matters arisin’ -

escapism is what keeps us going!

 

Lying back on a sunbed, enjoying a read

on a cruise or high Alpine chalet,

a week-end in Goa is just what we need

to stop us from going do-lally!

 

So, if you’re hoping to sit at this table

you must show the traits of a cynic

for that’s what you need to teach the more-or-less able

- and Prozac and a room in a clinic!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TIMIDITY CREEPS

 

A timid dawn creeps,

nudges daylight over the brink.

Sunrise slowly pokes her sunbeams

into ribs where the gloaming cowers

and a shrivelled heart beats faster

leaden with fear

wishing the Earth would stop.

 

 

 

 

 

UNDERTAKING

 

Jump the lights,

speeding on a slow bend,

nip in the closing gap,

pushing the limits of a second

just a second,

and a lack of indication

to friend or close relation

could be the price of your undertaking.

 

 

 

 

 

UNKNOWN SOLDIER

 

Unknown soldier

one year on,

still lying where he fell

and his face is gone.

 

 

 

 

 

VEST

 

I’m sorry the weather

has doused your sacred flame

and in the ground you rest,

but you only have yourself to blame –

you never wore a vest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WAITING TIME

 

12.00hrs                                                              

Doctor’s running late -

his car has broken down;

stuck somewhere on M53

in cap and theatre gown.

 

13.00hrs

Doctor’s been delayed -

still in surgery.                                                 

To apologise for waiting

we’ve made a pot of tea.

 

14.00hrs                                                                     

Doctor’s still in theatre -

been some kind of crisis.

You’ll be informed of progress,

meanwhile, have some vanilla slices.

 

 

15.00hrs

Still no sign of Doctor -

just been one of those blips.

A consultant’s job is never done,

anyway, here’s some chips.

 

16.00hrs

You’ve been hanging round for hours, I know    

but it’s an acute case, not a whim,

so we’ve opened a bar on OPD

and the drinks are all on him.

 

17.00hrs

Why not rearrange the chairs

if you’re feeling hale and hearty,

fetch some music, put up lights

and have yourselves a party!

 

18.00hrs                                                            

You’ve all been very patient!

I hope you enjoyed your beers;

We could make up names to call him                      

if ever he appears?

 

19.00hrs                                                                   

Doctor’s very tired –

been in theatre many hours;

not sure how much longer he’ll be

but he’s sent a bunch of flowers.

 

20.00hrs

Ladies and gentlemen I’ve been informed              

he’s sewing final sutures

but from standing so long in theatre

he’ll be arriving here on crutches.

 

21.00hrs

We’re really very sorry

for such a long delay.

If you like he’ll pay for a taxi

to come back another day.

 

22.00hrs

But, wait, Doctor’s finished

And is really on his way……………

on his way to Spain to play some golf -

so clinic’s over for today.                                                                                                                        1985

 

 

 

 

 

WHATSANAME

 

So, twelve hours in labour, eh!

Quite a performance I think.

and where is the star of the show?

Let’s have a look at him – sorry, her.

So what will you call her?

You’re joking! Oscar?

No, no reason. Oscar’s a good name – for a boy.

 

There have been many famous Oscars.

Well, there’s Schindler, and Romero, Niemeyer and Peterson,

and Oscar from Sesame Street -

all male, and all Jewish, I think, except for the priest.

 

No, I realise you are not – I was just saying.

Quite! I’ve got a lot of respect for them – apart from Judas, obviously,

and Fagin, and Shylock.

No, lets not get political – or religious.

 

Well, I guess you will be glad to get out of here

back to your own home, with Oscar.

Yes, and your partner too – I didn’t mean....

What does he think of....?

 

I just wanted to congratulate you both

and wish Oscar a long life of happiness and prosperity.

Well of course, I know money isn’t everything

but it would be nice, wouldn’t it?

OK, replace prosperous with healthy.

Yes, I am well aware of the worries over MMR vaccine,

Whooping cough, vomiting virus, meningitis, measles and so on.

And no, I don’t think my good wishes are tactless!

 

It’s not like I’m saying ‘Best of British’ or anything!

Thank God for the NHS, that’s what I say.

And don’t forget there is the terrible two’s,

ADHD and the teenage years to look forward to.

Ha! Ha!

No, I suppose it wasn’t very funny really.

Sorry – I’d forgotten you were...

 

She’s definitely got her daddy’s eyes.

What do you mean I’ve never met him – he’s my brother!

What? Then how sure are you?

He needs to know – there are tests, you know.

He has a right to know.

What do you need a solicitor for?

 

Perhaps it can be sorted out without involving Jeremy Kyle either.

I know it’s entertaining, arguably, if you are in the audience, but..

Well, you do what you think best.

 

She’s certainly got your mouth.

Did they really! – a good mouth for cooling soup?

Children can be so cruel, can’t they?

Yes, I can see why you dropped out of school early.

 Twelve! That is early and perhaps explains.... never mind.

 

Grandma’s nose?

I’ve never thought of it being particularly large.

Maiden name Picket – that’s unfortunate.

Well I guess her daddy will be wetting the baby’s head tonight.

I know you can’t use shampoo on a newborn child – not even Head and Shoulders

I meant he’ll be down at the pub.

I think I need to join him.

 

Right, I’ll be off now. See you soon. Take care.

Bye bye Oscar –

Oscar eh! Wild!

 

 

 

 

 

WHEELIE BIN

 

My wheelie bin is overflowing

like others in the street

gaping at the passing cars

it spews at people’s feet.

Mouldy food and nappies

all the whiffy, sloppy stuff,

mail we never asked for

of which we’ve had enough.

 

I am trying to declutter

and finish all my jobs

with no left over dribbles

and no congealing blobs

that simply won’t be shifted;

there – just another chore!

- My wheelie bin stays full -

they just don’t call here anymore.

 

 

 

 

WITCH PHONE

 

Hello

Welcome to the Witch Phone Operating System Help Desk.

Listen carefully to the following options.

If you select an option in error, this will incur a charge which will appear on your next itemised bill:

If you are feeling a bit low and just want someone to talk to,

replace the handset and give your mum a  call.

Alternatively,  you may wish to call back later to use up more of your credit and speak to someone who may care.

If you are pissed off with the person you last spoke to in our call centre,

probably someone in Mumbai, I’ll reconnect you as soon as possible.

If you would like to speak to a human being, press 1 now

and adopt a prayerful stance for the next ten minutes while we play you some Celine Dion after which you will be past caring and probably have lost the will to live.

In any case your call will now be superfluous.

In this event press 2 if you would like a Christian burial

and would like to avail yourself of our WitchPhone funeral services, discounted for sados.

 

 

Press 9 if you feel daring and would like to experience something new as usually it doesn’t go up to nine – you won’t be disappointed!  And there is only a slight risk of legal proceedings.

Press 3 if you don’t speak or want to speak English,

if you are Glaswegian and would like the services of a translator – from Mumbai.

Press 4 if you’re feeling peckish and would like to order a pizza while waiting to be connected with any other service – actually this doesn’t work

but seems like a worthwhile business opportunity which the Japanese are working on at this very moment

and would welcome your input with regard to toppings.

If you have no objection to this call being recorded and used for training purposes,

put this in writing and engage the services of a solicitor just in case of malpractice.

If you really would like to speak to someone from Mumbai,

press the star button and buy yourself a Mars Bar, or a ProBoitic yogurt  as appropriate –

you will have made one person on the planet very happy today.

 

You may also wish to avail yourself of our optional therapy service, currently operating out of New Delhi.

Press ! if you can’t remember any of the previous options

and would like me to run through them again more slowly,

using shorter sentences designed for simple people.

If you are under nine years old and wish to stress your parents out considerably –

perhaps they have told you off today or not bought you  something  to which you feel fully entitled,

press 999 now and pretend you are in pain - don’t hang up – you should see some results in a few minutes.

If you are phoning to cancel your contract with WitchPhone, think again –

we have your bank details and we know where you live.

 

If you want to make a complaint about this or any other service offered by WitchPhone,

please replace your hand set immediately.

 

This call has just cost you half a day’s pay.

This account information update has just cost you another fiver.

 

And so did that one.

Goodbye.