Tough Guy By Mike Watts

It's just me tonight And I've Necked Half a bottle Of good Bourbon I'm rock And I'm ready To smash it Up I spar In The mirror Give myself A Fucking good pasting Straight Left Straight Left Right cross Left Uppercut Go on you ff....! COME ON! I make my Way Upstairs Fall backwards On to the Bed A spider has Settled On The ceiling Big bastard Legs like a Crab I watch it Oi! Spider! Do One! I do one Instead Back down Stairs Pour myself some More Two gulps... And gone! It's kicking-in Now The hunger And I'm Back In the freezer I brush Away The ice It's all good But it's just Too Much Messing About So I jab And move My way Into the Living room Flick a few Channels Shit Shit Seen it Shit I'm bored now I'm Tired I curl up On The couch Looks like I'm Dossing Down here Tonight I don't really Fancy it But sometimes We've got to Accept That there are some Situations We simply cannot Deal with On Our own Like That Spider!

Copyright Mike Watts 2010

thisisUll.com Featured Writer Mike Watts
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Poetry - My Heart Inside The Lines By Paul England

inspired by the dead man who writes my every line lost inside this life and the streets that hold my crime people wrote me off 'cos shit I've took some knocks hustlers left me dry 'cos I won't sell no rocks Read more...

Poetry - Larkin 25 - Museum Quarter High Street Hull (Inspired by the song Strange Fruits) By Julie Corbett

The display boards bored you all tell and no show. Orange panels ingested quickly in the first room. The story should have unsettled you, started uneasy questioning. You ask instead to go next door to the museum full of trams and cars. Read more...

Poetry - In The Loop By Andrea Longstaff

	Identity theft is all the rage turn the page If you want to know who you are Read more...

Poetry - Old Soldiers Never Die, They Merely Fade Away By Laurenceaux.

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. Read more...

Poetry - Sunday Bloody Sunday By Mark Walmsley
	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 Read more...

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 Read more...

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 Read more...

Poetry - Larkin 25 - The Suburbs By Gary Clark

What! Kingston-Upon-Hull! 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. Read more...

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, Read more...

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; Read more...

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 Read more...

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, Read more...

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 fishermen you blamed The grim face, head scarved wives I think you really admired You must have done, Read more...

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. Read more...

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