On weekend parole I slip the boss
For time and space and candyfloss.
Early, and all the sleeping streets are mine
Except for those on double time;
Sickly crews with post-pub shock
A drink damaged body clock,
As I pass the milk and paper rounds
Into rural sights and sounds.
Trees and tractors, fields and farms,
The Cock and Bell, the Poachers Arms,
A weathered vane, a neat straw roof,
A fleece, a feather, a horn, a hoof.
Tearing up the chewed East Coast
Making time to make the most,
As I park the debt with little hassle
Near to the Bronte grave and castle.
But this release I'm drinking from
Seems to be orgasm long,
As seconds suck the life from me
And the sun sinks without apology,
For leaving me this thunderstorm
This crippling chain that drags me home
To face my coldest darkest dream,
That wall-mounted clock machine.
Poetry - The Battle of Alderman Kneeshaw By Lee Cassanell
I attended Andrew Marvel school from 1990 to 1993 and I have
vague memories of gang fights on Alderman Kneeshaw Park with
Archbishop Thurstan which was a Catholic school on the other side of the hills.
The two schools had been scrapping for decades and in a bizarre way
it was a tradition of sorts.
Much of it was chest beating and bravado but occasionally
Poetry - Nagging Urge By Tom Gant
Would it be so wrong, to
dig me up once I've gone?
Just to steal another glance
of the idle days we passed,
rather than lamenting over
countless dusty photographs.
Poetry - The Rickshaw Termination By Patrick Henry
In Delhi ten years back, time stood still.
Cycles flourished. Cattle grazed the streets.
From morning mist temples loomed vast as heads of gods,
Carved in curves of sun and moon. The sky hot, ethereal.
In dawn's half-light a centaur-shape enters the bare street,
Stealthy as a cat, almost silent but
Poetry - Liquid Reflection By Steve Rudd
From the bottom of the Dead
Sea, to the top of Mount Everest
We go to extremes, only in our best interests...
From A, to B - to be a better person
Night falls too soon, and we're lost out of season
In a region that few tourists
Poetry - The Count of Earlsby By Shep
The shadow falls
Upon the wine glass in his hand
The stones in his throat
Cast no prejudice
Alone he sits
Cold but calm
Poetry - Where Did I Go? By Darren Sant
Shrinking from the light,
Away fleeing into the night,
Scared to get that toe wet,
Too much fear, no emergence yet.
Withdrawn from the race,
Pride only to save face,
Poetry - Tomorrow By A.J. Grant
Life's full of surprises,
Some good some bad, some you wish you never had,
Tomorrow's just another day,
Or so they say.
Tree's are green Grass is to,
Roads are open Shops are to,
Tomorrow's just another day,
Poetry - Ah! But Does Crime Pay? By Mike Watts
Of course crime pays silly twat
Ask the druggie in his luxury flat
With a ton of bling dripping from his skin
A new BM and a baseball bat.
Ask the murderer on day release
With his finger raised to the police
Stalking somebody's wife or daughter
Poetry - In the Kitchen By Maolsheachlann O' Ceallaigh.
Dawn chews her toast and gazes out
At snowflakes falling through the air.
The comb runs gently through her hair -
Her mother knows how much she hates
The roots pulled at. They think about
The very same thing, unaware,
I sat beneath the willow, and stepped through the looking glass
Long ages, eons passed, suns were born and flamed into supernova, galaxies wheeled at least one revolution around the cosmos, between one moment and the next, as the lake and I had a chat.
Poetry - Reality Shows By Patrick Henry
China is making uniforms for the British Army.
In Aldershot golf clPubs old Colonels go barmy.
Our image and defences gravely threatened.
The Chinks will stitch us up when they lose the thread-end.
Our regiments to look like aliens in the desert war,
And U.S allies to hit them with friendly fire.
When Royal Marines'
Poetry - Just The Way It Is By Joe Hakim
Scraping by on the
my life in a cage,
counting down the days
until I next get paid,
watch the money come in,
watch it fly out again
Poetry - Last No'ell At Scarborough By Patrick Henry
Christmas day comes. I've seen a wilder funeral.
Pubs open their eyes, their doors in morning mist a while;
Pull a free pint if they should remember you.
Then lunchtime's a bad moment if you are a turkey,
A vegetarian or a republican amid the carnage.
It gets no better for anyone by the TV stage.
The Monarch says today
Poetry - The Voyage By Andy Grant
I'm leaving now across the sea who knows to where,
Maybe to an island or distant coastline,
Never touched by man before, there to be explored,
Leaving behind a life so tired with faces missed,
Not knowing if they will be here when I return.
Out of the bay where friends grew up strong,
Passing barges laden with
Poetry - Stop Me And Buy One By Lee Cassanell
His gigantic cone
Caught the light of my eyes
I was five nearly six
When he parked up outside
And I knew from that day
That it's not a bad life
When the sun's on your face
Poetry - A Small Price To Pay By Daphne Liver
My friend said I'm naïve
Because I found it hard
To believe when she said that she'd
Give Gary a blowjob
In exchange for 10 grand.
Apparently, if he
Poetry - Geriatric Blues By Maurice Fairfield
Now all my fellow oldies I hope you're feeling well
Listen what I'm sayin' cause I got a tale to tell
I got the blues, I got the blues. I got the geriatric blues
Joints are creakin' bladder's leakin' teeth are missin'
Havin' trouble pissin,' got the blues, the geriatric blues.
Go spread the news about the blues,