Friday, 6 April 2012


Dead Pop Stars

It has come to my attention that the calibre of dead pop stars,
And their deaths,
Is not what it once was.
I just thought that I should mention
That it is my intention to point out that
Whitney was not the greatest
Or rather that her greatest was in fact Dolly Parton’s.
If greatness is measured by a capacity to consume alcohol, crystal meth, cocaine and downers – then she is of course up there
Yet that is overlooked by record company execs, who expect
To increase product prices,
And ignore all the vices ,
Of the deceased
To keep them in alcohol, crystal meth, downers and cocaine
Just the same – ironic isn’t it?
Or was that Alanis Morrissette?

Taking waiting to exhale just a little too seriously,
A life slipped by as it sank beneath the cooling bath waters of a Beverley hills suite
As if being baptised into a holy sect for those for whom a premature death is the ultimate encore

Amy Winehouse lived her surname , rather than the dream and just two albums into a career,
Dusty Springfield would have turned that out in a year,
She is now feted because she has been “lated”
Why? Because of her great output? No
Because she did it, the rock n roll suicide which we love to watch,
But not participate in, or die of, we stop short
For celebrity death is a spectator sport

Michael Jackson’s doctor is now in jail just for giving his fans what they wanted, fifty shows in London from a body too frail to cope, too riddled with dope
The greatest black dancer ever, apart from Sammy Davis Jnr, the greatest black singer apart from Marvin Gaye, the greatest performer apart from James Brown, the greatest entertainer, apart from Nat king Cole ,even in death they cannot live up to the standards we set them in life. More -Is That It? Than This is it

Because rock n roll death is not what it used to be,
When it came, Buddy Holly had to be brought down in a plane,
John Lennon gunned down, to stop them,
But hey both won fame, for what they had achieved

Jim Morrison completed a life’s work in a summer,
Three decades it took Joe Strummer
Before checking out
Jimi Hendrix defined an instrument, no doubt,
Before saying “beat that” not “beat it” – forty years on no-one has

We expect too much, and accept too little
From departed lips coated with drying spittle
Not a purple coloured haze, just a purple coloured hearse
An ignominious demise which confirms the worst
Aspects of dead pop stars bad taste
Proof beyond the grave of talent laid waste
And that in your quest for immortality
You’ll need more than your funeral played on MTV.

Undeleted Texts

They scroll, falling as tears
There is no GPS tag
But I can remember the location
Each time my phone pulsed

Tantalising snippets
Of what once was
My replies remembered
But unrecorded

Saved to my soul
Not just my memory
I reread, searching
For a nuance, unnoticed

Neatly date ordered
They can be summoned
At the press of a key
In perpetuity

You can edit them
If you want
Reconsider a reply
Be wise after the event

And abbreviation
Can mislead

You can press send
But never recall
You can read
Or just delete

But never again
Will my heart
Miss a beat
At that bleep

Please Prove You Are Not a Robot

I make mistakes
I rarely do as I am told
I am unreliable
Circuit training is done in the gym
Not the workshop
I need a mechanic for my car
Not my body
I hate repetitive tasks
I only wear silver
On Abba tribute nights
When I see a robot
I don’t need to ask
For verification
I know
But I wonder what it would be like
All the same

The Captain’s Column

I ‘d just like to say on behalf of the lads how gutted we were about last week
And the week before that, I suppose, heaven knows
The manager could not even talk to us at the interval- he said we were that bad.
I can count on the fingers of one hand ten games where we’ve caused our own downfall
But despite all that our league position is awful
The game is about goals
And scoring early on is important, especially when the opposition has scored even earlier,
And their forwards are bigger and better and burlier

The big man has been producing too little and the little man hasn’t been making himself big
But I suppose that is something you can tell
As you yell, from the stands close racked
Where every single seat is packed
If you were a mole on the wall of the dressing room
You will hear me say just one thing to the lads before today’s game, concentrate and focus.
We will have to start the way we mean to begin

Some of you have questioned whether I should still be captain
But I tell you this , I will walk away when my legs go
I need to be on the pitch, but you will get you goals from me whether I am on the pitch. or the bench.
I almost laid on a goal last week, it was only a yard away from being an inch perfect pass
Some have asked why I didn’t play as well for England as I do for the club, well its tricky, I know its irrational but when you play for your country, you’re playing against eleven internationals .

But football isn’t just about scoring goals it’s about winning
The two M’s, movement and positioning
Some people were unhappy with last week’s goal less draw, but there are goalless draws, and goalless draws, and this was a goalless draw, as you saw
I woke up having sleepless nights about that one
Six inches either side of the post and it would have gone in
Sometimes you win
And sometimes you lose
But the tide is very much in our court now,
And before the opposition we will never bow.

"You can't do better than go away from home and getting a draw."
Our new forward needs a break, he is a good goal scorer, not a natural born one - not yet. That takes time.
A game, or two, or maybe nine
It's nice for us to have a fresh face in the camp to bounce things off.
He dribbles a lot and the opposition don't like that - you can see it all over their faces
When we play at their places

But back to today, I would just like to say that If history is going to repeat itself
I should think we can expect the same thing again.
If it stays as it is I can't see it altering

It can be tough out there, I swear
You're on your own , with ten mates , awaiting the fickle finger of fate
We don't underestimate them - they might just be better than we think.
And win lose or draw I want you to know you will not be hoodwinked, that the shirts hang together, we win together, and we lose together ,I don’t blame individuals, I blame myself.

Thank you and enjoy the game.

The Launderette

Spinning ,whirring muck and grime
Rotates in sequenced synchronised time
Hypnotising and mesmerising
Drum beat thud, falling rising

Amidst a steamy warm fug
Muttered murmuring momentarily rises
Over the incessant hubbub drone
From those from washing machine-less homes
The drama of the cleansing of stains spots and blotches
Whilst the ghost of Dot Cotton sharply watches

Spinning ,whirring muck and grime
Rotates in sequenced synchronised time
Hypnotising and mesmerising
Drum beat thud, falling rising

And souls too come to expiate
Pound coins proffered to striated slots
As complete strangers lean over and tell the lot
Strange stories far too wild to be true
That matter to them but not to you
A life played out in a wash rinse cycle
Of bold strategies hung out to dry
Recounted with a wistful sigh

Spinning ,whirring muck and grime
Rotates in sequenced synchronised time
Hypnotising and mesmerising
Drum beat thud, falling rising

Bags sit in rows carefully prepared
By colour and fabric from disaster spared
Abandoned to the service wash, whilst those with time
Stare transfixed ,in perfect lines
And middle aged ladies close their eyes and dream
Of Nick Kamen coming in and removing his jeans

Spinning ,whirring muck and grime
Rotates in sequenced synchronised time
Hypnotising and mesmerising
Drum beat thud, falling rising

This is Not a Love Poem

Sometimes love resists fate;
The new boy on the adjacent aisle,
Sits on a distant far off isle,
Too far to swim.

Joint studies converge eager minds,
Poring over school essays,
May not help cupid’s assays,
To prevail, this time.

Living in college,
Above and downstairs,
Yet blankness still stares,
Between them,

Till alone,
Both well read,
Sink a bottle of red,
And love ripens.

On the eve of Valentine’s Day,
As passion heavily weighs,
He suggested a parting of ways,
To see his mother.

Chantelle- (Composed for the Dome Limericks charity initiative)

Chantelle was a talented stripper
Whose fine act strained many a zipper
But she experienced hassle
With flying loose tassles
Though gents continued to tip her.