A Poem about my friend Renny
There’s a bee on the doorstep
its been there for days
next to the bottle that was put out last night
for the milkman.
But it’s not really a doorstep
it’s just the place outside the front door.
I thought it was alive
when I said to my girlfriend
look! there’s a bee on the doorstep!
She said ‘I know.
It’s been there for days
The evening cools as the big twin coughs and spits through town. My nostrils flare as I sense
derestricted dry tarmac ahead climbing to unsuspecting bends.
builds with my pulse.
The tail-light in front disappears on the line
I focus beyond where the road disappears
and hedgerows blur on the speed limit sign.
A bend to assess,
an impending ess.
Front end skip.
on the limits
of sense and sanity.
A billion individual cells aspire for portions
I need my head seeing to. My condition worsens
pumped full of chemicals and poor advice
he really can’t care; he’s seen how many lives?
school playground, in the bogs or by the gate
Another kid who just wants to be like his mate,
Fight competition as they age and cancer catches,
Spread through urban populations by schools and matches.
Individual success breeds collective sorrow
Will this sound like nonsense tomorrow?
I’ll brush up on the grammar and the rhyming
But the human being will still be sliding
He reminds me of my cat
he acts aloof at times,
He has good manners,
basks in the sun,
and at night when all is calm,
curls up intimately with me.
Everything here is a constant reminder of you.
You have shared this settee, this bed, this bath,
you have held that knife, fork and spoon,
you have trod these boards, stripped these walls,
you have stirred this pan and me.
Every room here carries a poignant echo of you.
You have sat here, lain there, stood everywhere,
you once touched this, that and the other.
You have climbed these stairs, closed this door,
you have drawn these curtains and me.
Every blade of grass has been touched by you.
You have cut this lawn, this hedge, this bush.
You have smelt that shrub, flower and bloom.
You have mended this fence, erected this shed,
you have left this tree to die and me.
Every dream I have is consumed by you.
You touch my every thought, every wish, every hope.
You hold me, touch and smell me.
You walk with me, climb with me, mend me.
You stir me, draw me and let me live.
Stuffed full, glutton
detest you moderates
no kitsch grub
Ingest in excess!
BIG is best!
convert to fats,
fast as a tractor -
Next Day Delivery
bangers and mash
a strategic stash
inflate to flatulence,
stuff the tyre,
and in ripe old age
make the pallbearers perspire!
I saunter past it every day,
yet still I can’t recall the way
it sits there on the grey footpath,
until once more I wander past.
I wish they’d move it out of sight,
as every morning, every night,
it’s caught the corner of my eye
and made me turn as I walk by.
And then I realise too late,
as soon as gesticulate,
that someone at the window pane
has seen me looking once again.
I must admit adulterous thoughts;
sub-conscious curious imports.
But one night soon I’ll steal around
and exorcise my troubled ground...
Her shyness belies her presence
like a wraith or a beast of prey
invisible yet overwhelming
'neath swathes of spume and grey
Thousands defiled by hundreds’
base instinct to mark their way
drawn by the call of the dead
that dared to tempt affray
high up in the sparce yellow ceiling
a canopy, way out of reach,
as intangible as a tumbleweed,
the hemps creak and groan without speech.
The smell of the freshly cut grass,
the warmth of light on my limbs,
the smell of a bourgeoning summer,
the light fresh scent of the soothing winds
the seat and the limb of my comforting swing
stimulate subtle emotion.
Akin to relief from nefarious thought
as the speed of ascension caresses my skin
I rush through the light cooling air from the beech
but yield to the solace of trees
the peak of effortless flight azure summer,
drawn in to the welcoming breeze
Bouyant, quickening, infinite unconscious
enveloped by sensuous sense
away down below the vermillion lawn
disappearing to inconsequence.
Ode to Tim
Tim is slim
his legs are like a pin
his hair like string.
His brother is Kim
I like Kim and Tim
and tonic and gin
and vodka and Pimms.
His face can be grim
in the gym
or in a quim
he puts Vim
round the rim
of the toilet tin
on a whim.
My friend Tim.
A poem about my friend, Renny.
Renny long and strong,
Not Peter, no.
Peter, wet nose, fluffy feet,
Peter dong long,
Peter dong long pong,
Dong! Gong! What pong!
No not Renny,
He no dong pong,
Just dong long,
Wet feet, fluffy nose,
West Pier rose up, yet defiant, from the sea -
greater than its impending doom.
This proud glass crustacean supported by vast, decaying, skeletal legs,
broken windows staring out like sightless eyes above its tormented foe.
Ghosts of past lives move beyond its staccato railings,
ignorant of the rotting boards;
children gazing from upstairs windows...
Sometimes I watch the raindrops bumble along the bonnet
towards the windscreen
like liquid mercury.
When I slow they roll forward
to the precipice
and the wind blows them onto flailing wiper blades
I will never
'larf' in the 'barth'
get up in the morning with a dewy complexion
have kempt hair
have been to public school
be completely free from my past
give up on life
give up hope.
I will always
'laff' in the bath
look shite at 6.30am
have wiggy hair
drink lager and cheap red wine
be willing to learn
have skeletons in the cupboard
move on and learn
I start in the mountains
After falling from the sky,
I slowly slip down
Passing the mountains as I go by.
I start a little river
And the wind is blowing past
I go down a weir
After a while,
I reach Stannah at last. <
I'm getting a bit wider,
Now I'm starting to meander
I go into Fleetwood,
Reaching the sea.
I don't hurt
Or do any harm.
I am never angry
Just very calm.
But now you'll have to
Say goodbye to me.
For now I'm joining
The Irish sea.
The Legend of Xanathwaite.
In Slaidburn did Xanathwaite a pleasure stile erect
A bivouac inside, a greateth orange glow
The soul of man so brilliant shining
upwards of forty thousand through the earth
the cumulus above did glare angry
and he stood on the heaving ground
and in unrelinquished cry saith
'ECKERS LIKE! I NO MORE BOW TO THEE!
OH AY, MY RAT AND HOG AND TREE!
ARE MINE OWN AND EVER SHALL BE!
and with that he died, and windy it grew
'til herds of racing shetlands,
across the sky they flew.
His tree atop the naked hill it thrashed
as driving stinging rain horizontal lashed
a crack! report! a rifle shot,
a dying bark! it broke apart,
left not a single twig -
a gargantuan trunk atop a bleeding pig.
And now 'tis quiet, no sound breaks the water cloak
and nowt atop the calvous hill
shows seal or proof of Xanathwaite
'cept a single bard, and here I sit
neath the angry sky, with pen and spit.
Happy Birthday my sparkling Bro
I know to China you had to go
But for those of us you left behind
This is of the most terrible grind
The sun glints and we force a smile
And I know you’ve just been gone a while
I tell myself it’s by design
But the brightest things have lost their shine
And so your distance fills my gloom
For selfish reasons you can assume
But my happiness can fill the planet
That my brilliant Bro is made like granite
Great soft strength, selfless, catches the light…
How long have you got? This could take all night!
The older he gets
The taller he seems
I look up to him and all his schemes
I count my luck – one after another
I’m the luckiest sod to have you as a brother