Old Soldiers Never Die, They Merely Fade Away
For many whole days I've likened to death,
shot in the arm, the leg and the chest;
and laying on mud there in a ditch,
I've prayed for an end - to toss in my pitch;
but no one's heard me - no one's seen;
as I fight for death - to forget what's been.
I fight for death but she's taking her rest;
so I merely exist in my time of pain;
and I'll never die, I'll just exist,
I'll never move and I'll never stir,
for as long as mankind - I'll be always there.
Out of bed as late as I dare, pick up my bag from the kitchen chair
Dash out to the street, sleep in my eyes, late again, no surprise.
Get to the ground and shabby hut, the changing rooms all locked up
Poetry - Job Description (The Confessional Poet) By Sandra Lester
The essential qualities required
- for this unique, Christ-like bard- are:
The ability to receive eccentric tutelage
twenty-four/seven from your muse.
You must ponder aloud for all to hear,
emotional abstractions, musings and fears.
Perceiving, feeling and thinking in ink - from a well-spring Read more...
Poetry - Larkin 25 - Who Do You Think You Are? By Catherine Scott
Many Hull people are aggrieved
At the way they feel that Hull's perceived
If Southern Softies are to be believed
Hull should never have been conceived.
Just who do they think they are?
We don't have Kew Gardens or the O2 Arena
St Paul's Cathedral or the tennis for Serena
Poetry - Larkin 25 - Declined Laureate By Mark Walmsley
Philip Arthur Larkin,
Rough diamond set in loose facet
As once described 'The saddest heart,
in post war supermarket'
A piquant mixture of discontent
And one of poetic lyricism.
Critiqued tides of modern jazz
He steeped his work in dour pessimism
Poetry - Larkin 25 - The Suburbs By Gary Clark
You don't want to live there.
Says the condescending old biddy at the end of the phone
With a tone in her voice that cuts to the bone.
Already I'm a loser and she hasn't seen my face
A feeling you get used to when you come from this place.
I feel as though I'm rubbish when I'm talked to like this
Drummed into me daily since I was a kid.
Poetry - Larkin 25 - One Straight Road By Julie Corbett
Holderness Road you stray
from edge to heart of my city.
Your miles once paced by
cream telephone boxes.
You pass over veins,
from the Wolds and Holderness Plain
Barmston and Marfleet Drains
the brackish water mixing with,
Poetry - The Boathouse By Michelle Dee
I recall this night with warm, inviting people,
huddled around fires, within and without.
I remember passing around wine and
losing all sense of time.
Faded news cut-outs fragmenting on bathroom walls. And
the dusty allure of an overcrowded kitchen.
I see pictures of fire-lit faces;
Poetry Larkin 25 - It Really Was!
(Inspired by Annus Mirabilis)
By Mike Watts
Sexual intercourse began
In nineteen eighty three
(Which was brilliant for me) -
Between the end of Tennessee Williams
And Madonna's first LP
Up till then they'd only been
A sort of wanking
A secret stash of porn
Poetry - Larkin 25 - This Be The Curse (Inspired by This Be The Verse) By Joe Hakim
They fucked us over, our mums and dads.
They didn't mean to but they did.
They took free education, cheap housing and jobs
And left nothing for us, their kids.
Because they inherited the future,
Opportunity, optimism and hope,
While we got disappointment,
Poetry - Larkin 25 - Larkin With Us By Gary Clark
The Hull you knew has long since gone
How could it remain the same?
The deep sea port you wrote about
The town you wouldn't name
The grim faced, head scarved northern wives,
With Kathy Kirby lips.
Dusty Springfield peroxide blondes,
Poetry - Kowalski's OGM - With audio download By Brindley Hallam Dennis
So, ya got through to Kowlaski's number.
Well, Kowalski ain't 'ome.
Mildred, that's his old lady, she ain't 'ome either.
Ya see, that's what ya get.
That's what ya get fer callin' such a dumb-ass hour.
That means you Hank.
Ya wanna leave a message, talk to the machine when it beeps.
Poetry - The Gap By Chris Culshaw
He lives in a bedsit now,
in a house peopled by footfalls, piles
of junk mail on the mahogany hall-stand
where a broken umbrella hangs
like a snared crow beside the pocked mirror.
His room in the eaves looks out over
sooty privets, to a gap between
Poetry - Handing Down By Trevor Matthews
She was sitting at my kitchen table
looking at her hands.
These, she said, are my mother's hands.
She had big hands like these.
Every time I look at them now I see her,
and she held them up in front of me.
Bright sun pierced the thinning flesh.
Inside I saw the shadows of her bones
Poetry - Harrogate Bedrock, 1899 By Sarah Hymas
What I love about you
I have yet to quarry.
Your worn granite face
holds the promise of mica
and buttoned sandstone,
a cladding for our home.
As limestone is local diamond,
Poetry - Don't Know How To Put It In Words By Dayne Coyne
Don't know how to put it in words
But I'm wanting to thank you
For being so honest with me
And though it might sound absurd:
But, apart from myself,
It is you who most helps me to be
So excuse me if I seem pedantic
Poetry - I Don't Know What To Do By Zachary Brannon
I don't know what to say, what to do;
all I can ever think about is you!
Not sure what you think about me never have been;
But in the end it's your heart
I hope to win! I
Will always be around, always here;
My heart, I'm sure, even skips a beat
Whenever you come near.
Poetry - This Is Not A Love Poem By Mike Watts
A hole through
My breast bone
My still beating heart
And then volley it
Out of sight
Poetry - Since You Came By Bronwyn Ellis
Is it a chore?
And nothing more
A phase you killed off years before?
A painful bore?
An anger cure?
An 'I can't be bothered anymore?'
We're both so young
Love should be fun
As good as when we'd first begunRead more...
Poetry - Acres Wide By Terry Ireland
Come sleep with me she said
Bring some warmth to my bed
That seems to spread acres wide
Now that it's empty on his side
Just for a while hold me tight
Shorten just one endless night
So full of hours that I have wept
Until exhausted and finally slept
Poetry - Larkin 25 - It's Good Innit? By Catherine Scott
This is Hull - wot we got?
Unemployment, no motivation
Teenage mums, no inspiration
It's good innit?
This is Hull - wot we got?
Beggars on street
Coppers on beat
Poetry - The Last Great Adventure? By Laurenceaux.
An 'end-game' of addiction, the despair of a life only going one-way: some people are pre-disposed to drug abuse, as they are to alcohol abuse, quite possibly because they are 'bored', but more probably because they have lost essential feelings of self-worth or have become detached from mainstream society, a society with ever increasing demands for total conformity.