Built on some land on the wrong side of town
A sweetener for the people whose houses they pulled down
Provided by money from the Queens Jubilee
A gift from the council for the new community
The mud, the dog mess, and overgrown rose beds
Where once it was new and pristine and clean
A place to admired, a place to be seen
A rusty red car that the local kids had dumped
Torched like a bonfire
Their idea of fun
Discarded tyres hang from the trees
With plastic carriers
Flapping in the breeze.
The slide doesn't slide
The swings they don't swing
The councillor says its nowt to do with him.
An air of despair, neglect and run down
Now that the budget is spent in another part of town
Where the newly painted framework had started to rust
Someone sprayed a poem about Sharon getting shagged on the bus.
Phone numbers, messages and Rob Roy was here
Left by people who are empty and kids with no fear.
The place is forgotten, the place stinks of pee
Discarded beer cans and the broken glass
The council cannot be bothered to even cut the grass.
Flea bitten pigeons feeding on last nights cold chips
And dusty old sparrows fight for the bits
The latchkey children still laughed and they cried
This was the place they used to come and hide
A place of adventure, a place of fun, a good place to go
while you wait for your mum
Just behind the toilets where the kids used to play
They found the old tramp dead where he lay
Hunched up and bedraggled he lay in his own piss
Whoever thought it would come to this?
The old guy we all knew who was always so proud
He lay there stinking like a bag of rubbish someone has found.
Old Bill was the keeper when the park was brand new
Proud and efficient and he looked after you.
A man to rely on, he was always around,
older kids said he was as sound as a pound.
Bill was discarded when the money ran out
Hit the bottle when the wife kicked him out
Old Bill had been broken it was easy to see.
Thrown on the scrap heap by some faceless committee.
His dreams had been stamped on, his money all spent
Poor Bill got worse and never worked again
A place in the dole queue was all he had left
The giros soon stopped when he had no address.
Sleeping in the bushes, a bottle for a friend
This is a sad day for a mans life to end.
Now that the councillors say the moneys all been spent
Why spend on parks when people cannot pay the rent?
They all kept their cars, and expense sheets, holidays in France
And stopping in gites.
Old Bill Berry's memorial is just in the peoples memory
A fitting reminder to the Queens Jubilee.
The park's now a shambles, falling to bits,
Until the next council election when it will be high on the list.
"What's on the box tonight?" No hopes hold high.
From The News at tea-time, I switch off to digest.
The threats and lunacies chalked up today.
A Martian landing here would take this planet for
A mental asylum for the damaged Universe:
This screen its monitor, or CCTV for a crime scene;
Where slick producers, robbed of their senses,
Poetry - City of The Moon By Tom Rooks
The magpies surveyed,
Through symmetrical eyes
With footsteps on an empty street
With symmetrical stride
Poetry - As Good As It Gets By Mike Watts
Sometimes I think
My life is fantastic
I've actually got everything
I could ever need
It would be obscene
To want anything more
This morning for example:
Poetry - Did You See By Joe Hakim
did you see
fell flat on its face
got up and
Poetry - Tending My Rose and Fallen Angel By Laurenceaux
Wandering the garden of life
I longed for a flower.
I needed a flower,
for looking about
people tended theirs
large and small,
short and tall;
and I tended nothing.
Poetry - Post Cod War Blues, November 1991 By Terry Ireland
St Andrews fish dock has been long closed down
for there's barely a fleet to sail from the town
the old lock gates where the trawlers queued
to land for the markets are no longer used
a metalled road runs over the lock
and no water runs between river and dock
buildings are tumbled or razed to the ground
and its quiet and eerie with only the sounds
Poetry - To Us Poor Debtors By Tim Roux
To us poor debtors,
The visit of the mailman
Is a daily call to shame
For having lived
For having loved
For having hoped
For having dreamed.
Poetry - Summer and Winter By Scott Rorrison
Her eyes penetrate
The clear climes of heaven.
Cheeks of flower flushed purity;
The morning dew crawls
At her feet
Poetry - Captivation? By Danny James Archer
Light breaks on your face and a shimmer of dust crosses your eye.
A moment passes when there is nothing but the light of your encapsulating beauty.
I feel the moment drop from the sky, a blessing from the gods?
A blessing for me?
Poetry - The Ballad of Dave the Rave By Joe Hakim
John Wayne on his horse,
John Wayne on half his horse, he says, holding his carrier-bag
up to his chin as he loops the
handles around his ears -
he'll have you in tears,
it's Dave the Rave,
Poetry - Turning Green By Del Abe Jones.
The wearing of the green
And the drinking of green beer
Even a river dyed to green
To signify this day is here.
Looking for the Blarney Stone
To give it a big kiss
But watch it for those Blarney Stones
Poetry - Past Form and Nonsense By Laurenceaux
The wide mouthed speaker
swallowed my soul
as the light spoke to the wall,
casting shadows from a chair
that spoke in raindrops,
and wept for the mythical king
who lost his throat and his farting
Poetry - Recycle By Jenny Halliday
The time has now come for enlightenment
Just look at the junk in your bin
Think of what we dispose of,
The waste we produce is a sin.
"Reuse and recycle" they tell us
In such an encouraging voice
Reduce all the waste in the landfill
Poetry - Dead Legends By Joe Hakim
Making the ultimate career move -
when you've got nothing left to prove
it can seem like the only choice -
become a disembodied voice
emanating from a speaker,
a strong signal that will never get weaker.
The preservation of legacy,
Poetry - Hanuman's Disciples By Steve Rudd
The scenery is changing
It's more putrid than in paintings
The fields of corn are turning, yet
Nothing's as it seems.
The hitcher on the highway
Has plunged into the bushes
He mocks the art of rushing
Poetry - Subject Matter By Mike Watts
She rolled down her
And lowered herself
Onto the pot
Her bleached denim skirt
That special pink
As she focused
Poetry - What did she look like? By Maurice Fairfield
What was she like?
I'm sure she was a she
Who saw, first, with understanding eyes,
The green shoots sprout in the brown earth
Where the basket burst last year
Spilling the ripe grain beyond recall
Finding the cracks and hollows, in
The waiting soil
Poetry - Winter Song By Joe Hakim
I've got a cold
so I get in bed with my clothes on,
my feet are frozen.
I hate this time of year -
hibernating with my eyes open,
medicine is chosen.
Wondering where the sun has gone;
Poetry - 'Ull By Jenny Halliday
Welcome to Kingston Upon 'Ull
The city once voted 'most dull'
But no better folk you'll meet on any British street
And the pubs always seem quite full!
The Ferens Gallery and Museums are free
(If you're local of course, like me)
There's 'umber Bridge and The Deep
Poetry - January Mornings By Gary Clark
If it wasn't for the football I think I'd go mad
Dark January mornings they make me so sad
If only I could win something on the national lottery
I'd be out of here so quickly that nobody would find me
Sat in my kitchen watching daytime TV
I never thought so little would happen to me
Poetry - The Sailor's Romance By Laurenceaux
Who she is I cannot say,
for she is the wind - calm or ruthless.
Where she comes from I cannot say
for she - is the wind.
The wrath of her I have incurred - with whistling voice and icy fingers.
Poetry - Resting In Peace By Chris Dawber 1947 - 2009
I lay here, beneath the soft, waved, silken soil,
Alive seeing nothing, now dead, seeing all.
I see air, it's blue, it really is,
Why now, for the first time, do I see this?
Contrasting, kaleidoscopic scene,
Only now, that I've gone, knowing where I've been.
Compacted mud and wood can't hide,
The wonders I've perceived, since I've died.
Poetry - Tagged By Joe Hakim
It's a corpse that won't stay buried,
an image that is ferried
across a sea of cables into the port
of my memory. Trapped in a monitor screen,
faces that I haven't seen for 2 decades
invade the present; a message sent
to remind me of a past I'd rather forget
Poetry - Valentine By Phil Pretheroe
My valentines a drunkard, a psychopathic mess,
like a schizophrenic's abstinence-ending wet dream,
he's 86 personalities and they're all hard to impress.
Sometimes he never really smiles, never laughs aloud,
never talks to people who want to be part of a crowd.
'Peacocks', 'wankers', 'scum of the earth!' -
Poetry - Questions By Chris Dawber
Who is the mother of the sun?
Who is the father of the tide?
Why must we promenade, walk, not run?
And where do redundant Saturday's hide?
Simple questions. Answer them.
Are we who, what where or when?
Poetry - From This Place By Tim Roux
The death of a murderer is not so sad,
It but takes away what he never had.
And if you find this a somber text,
I speak of this life, not the next.
Where he may recline on sun-kissed beaches,
Breathing hope and slurping peaches,
Knowing his worst life to be done,
Poetry - Ring By Laurenceaux
There's a ring of truth upon my finger
protecting me from the past.
A ring of contentment white with age
forever more to last.
A sign of fidelity
in a groove of mutated skin,
Poetry - Not One Of Us? By Chris Dawber
He tramps the streets of shadowed life,
The wrong side of the two edged knife.
No miscreant he, not understood,
No misericorde*, to kiss his blood.
We think we know him, but know him nought,
For can we know the man's distraught.
Past the local, lively chat,
Poetry - Insane and Crude But True By Tim Roux
I feel like championing rusty causes
In the dark, whispering recesses of the world.
I know that it makes no sense
And that bankruptcy and derision loom
But I still have an altar in my heart
And a wild desire to save the world.
Poetry - The Slot By Mike Watts
A beer would be fatal
And relaxing's out
I need to move about
Sip at a coffee
That I'll pour away
I'll take my third
Poetry - Should Time Stand Still By A J Grant
Should time stand still for just one day,
What would you do the people say,
Climb Mountains high swim oceans deep,
Ride rapid rivers a parachute leap,
Sleep with the girl you see each day,
Behind her desk never looks your way,
Or sit and stare out into space,
Poetry - The Kings Town By Tom Stratton
England, you tear me apart.
From your southern shores
To your northern, rotten streets
Bearing down on my groggy mind.
Your poles repel me
And I rebel with all I have
Against your loving charms
Poetry - My Angel Annie By Paul England
For now you sleep with angels
while the angels sleep with you
I forever hold that love you gave
in my heart it stays so true
Those little things you did for me
no words could now reveal
an angel sent from heaven
Poetry - The Ex (to See) By Phil Pretheroe
As she walked in he didn't know what to do,
should he be mad or happy or somewhere in between?
The love of the life so far greets him with a smile, a kiss and a hug.
It's been so long that all the resentment lies cold as a rare touch of happiness warmly returns and a smile is mirrored back.