Nobody had the time it seemed
as they strode purposefully by,
usually with averted gaze
so as not to meet my eye.
I could smell the booze on his breath,
On his body, his clothes, his hair.
He seemed to ooze a boozy sweat
but he didn't seem to care
as we sat on a bench in the street
that cold December day
amongst the thronging shoppers,
Christmas just hours way.
And he did that stupid survey,
ironically about drink,
just answering away,
never pausing to think,
apart from the two occasions
he had to run off for a pee;
But each time he returned
and sort of kept faith with me.
A life, to me, full of despair
ruled by the Offy special offers
for his daily beer ration
to eke out his restricted coffers.
And he thanked me for my interest,
and for listening to what he had to say
And he shook my hand carefully
then wandered off to face his day.
I found him a little inspiring really;
no whinging or complaining, just carrying on.
I wondered how much longer it would be
before this quiet dignity was gone,
knowing so easily that could have been me
but for the love and care of my wife.
So, I shut down my computer
To go home and get on with my life ...
Soft, strong and very, very long,
Now on offer, going for a song.
One-fifty-nine for my Andrex paper,
Trial price value for a toilet caper.
Can't wait to get it home and dream of pups,
Akimbo on the thrown whilst my arse erupts.
But I've no reading for my rest room wrestle,
Poetry Afterwards By Pamela Scobie
After this, I shall be old.
But not now, not yet.
I am not ready yet.
I have walked into an unexpected room,
In a part of the house I had thought closed up,
Dust-sheeted and done with.
A room without finite dimensions,
Poetry - This Is 'Ull By Laurenceaux.
The firm leatherette feel of well rolled tarmac
and its once warmed smell,
and the blackened knees and hands
are familiar prints in my galleried mind.
A grey playmate;
a giver of second-hand chewy
and ciggie ends,
Poetry Larkin 25 - Stayin' Alive By Kerry-Joe Pulford
Well you'd think by the way we whinge and moan,
We'd been rheumatoid since we were born.
Our bodies rocked but now they've locked,
Stiffs on the town with a botox frown.
But it's alright, it's ok,
A hip replacement's on the way,
Suck the fat - a brand new smile,
We've got our surgeon on speed dial.
Poetry - Convenience By Terry Ireland
That old Amsterdam Pissoir.
Not exactly a thing of beauty,
Standing whatever the day,
Bravely carrying out its duty,
To help relieve a burden,
Urgent wherever you are,
Nothing quite like that old
Amsterdam street Pissoir
Poetry Larkin 25 - Pole Position By John Fewings
Anya lives in Krakow:
Stanislav - Milton Keynes.
Anya, she has simple tastes:
He's 'a man of dreams'.
She says, 'You live in tiny flat!
Is nothing but a ghetto!'
Anya shops in Market Square:
Stanislav in Netto.
She braids her hair:
Poetry - Larkin 25 - England 2009 By Robert Swan
In a country stable,
Crumbling, but locked down.
Those that make-up the beast,
Benefit from its apparent confinement.
Well-groomed and watching all.
As those that serve the beast,
Take shelter below the jagged
Poetry - Toad on a Grecian Urn By Ashley Fisher
Why should I let the toad Larkin
squat on my verse? Like a cut-price Lourdes,
there is his image for sale, on a fridge
magnet or a disposable cigarette lighter or
perhaps some beer mats or
postcards or his unmistakable
amphibian visage. Read more...
Poetry Michaelmas Term By Pamela Scobie
Some bugger's been sick outside the front gate,
Prawn Tikka Masala's my guess,
(Well, it's pimply and pink) and I'm already late
And it's stuck to my shoe, so, yes -
The students are back. Queues of clueless cloned blondes
Clog up all the cashpoints, their hobbled young Johns
In perilous trousers, more saggy and creased
Than the bums of starved African tots. Three abreast, Read more...
Poetry - A Modern Christmas Carol By Terry Ireland
No Christmas at our house this year
Cos Santa's in the jug.
He got careless with his shopping
And they videoed his mug.
He explained it was just an impulse
And he was in a state of shock
He really had no idea of the time.
Early morning, really, four o'clock!
Poetry Juicier Than a Piece of Fruit By Adriana Fanigliulo
Juicer than a piece of fruit,
the plum-b-er comes to the flat
With copper pipes and cutters,
And thermostatic valves
He makes hot water run,
Changing the direction of buildings' circulatory systems Read more...
Poetry - Gospel Truths By Terry Ireland
I find no problem really
in the belief in a supreme god,
it's only the forms of its worship
that seem so rather odd.
Some preach love and understanding
and an adherence to its will,
but if others worship differently
there's such a readiness to kill.
Poetry Larkin25 - Plastic Bits (with Video) By Catherine Scott
I was walking down the street just the other day
When I met this woman who had something to say
She said, 'Look at me girl don't I look fantastic
I got high heeled shoes and they're made outta plastic'
I got a plastic bag and a plastic purse
I got my husband this plastic nurse
I got my son this plastic tank
Poetry Larkin25 - Growing Older Gracefully By Catherine Scott
As I grow older and I start to shrink
And my hearing and eye sight goes on the blink
Do you think there's any possibility?
That I might grow older gracefully?
Will my skin go all thin and papery?
Will I need a stick 'cos I walk shakily?
Will hairs start growing out of my ears?
But to be quite honest - that's the least
Poetry - Larkin25 - Dave The Evacuee By David Bannister
You'll have to go, my parents said,
Now eat your supper and go to bed.
The war had started, that awful day,
Tomorrow we'd be sent away.
My two sisters seemed unaware,
Of the trauma we'd about to bear.
Sent to school the next day,
And packed on buses, were on our way.
Poetry - Larkin 25 - A Phone Call to Philip Larkin By Liz Healey
Hello, is that Philip? I just want to say
That I LOVED your toads, and they've gone a long way
To give us Hull folk a great deal of fun,
My friend's made a book of them all, with her son.
The kids danced and climbed on them, hugged them to death
With grans, mums and dads all out of breath
Doing the trail, and enjoying the sun;
But Philip, just listen, I couldn't get one.
Poetry - Larkin 25 - Me Selfish? No! By Brian Cotton
Married? You want to get married?
Are you having a laugh?
Sorry for sounding snappy,
But why spoil what we have?
No, that's never going to happen,
I ain't moving in,
It's against my religion,
I aint living in sin.