1059 - Up early

So short of sleep, I went to work today
The guy below was singing, half-seven
Before that I’d been woken up by… Hey!
Wheelie bins being dragged at 7.15?
What gives? Got up and went in. Yes, went in
But not much done, well, unsurprisingly
A works do, with beer and a meal looming
Blokes at one end, the girls all separately
But later, managed to talk to Tracey
While eyeing up the girls in the bar; they
Had legs to die for. Wasted, wasted on
Whoever they were with, temporarily
The rain eased off, the sun came out to play
And in the end it was a nice evening
Wed 29 July 2009

1054 - Siren

An endless siren calls through the night air
An ambulance? A police car? No, neither
It’s someone’s house or car alarm I hear
Maybe they’re on holiday, unaware
That their property’s causing such a stir
How fortunate that I’m not next door. Hey!
It’s stopped, and there is peace on earth once more
It’s just as well, for just about to play
Is Akiko Suwanai, backed by the
Orchestre National de Lyon: they’re
This evening’s Prom… Oh, not again! I hear
An ambulance or police car on its way
To some Salford emergency; despair
Somewhere, but who cares? There’s the orchestra!
Fri 24 July 2009

1019 - Spiteful Turkish delight

The Turkish woman’s been quiet lately
I used to hear her come most every night
And sometimes in the afternoon, loudly
But lately this loud woman’s been so quiet
Occasionally I hear sounds of a fight
But only using words, and then silence
Her days of fun and sex gone, now polite
As neighbour could be, now all reticence
The benefits for me have been immense
Because, unlike before, I sleep easy
Mind you, I still wake up when it gets light
Noise from the flat below invades my sense
The Turkish woman’s got a friend round, see
Their female laughter may just contain spite
Fri 19 June 2009

937 - Late sonnet

Later than 25 or 6 to 4
I write this on my sofa smooth and black
Not long since I came in through my front door
Not long either now till I must go back
Through it again to work, alas, alack!
Here I’ve spent many a sleep-deprived night
But this time, if slumber amounts to jack
I won’t be upset; no, I’ll be all right
I’ll whistle along to the birdsong, might
Even conduct them from my window, for
I’ve just got back from seeing you, a stack
Of memories to which I can cling tight
We need each other, that is nature’s law
And who am I to argue with plain fact?
Sun 29 Mar 2009

910 - Come all ye builders

I woke at six thirty to an air raid!
Crazy? Maybe, but a siren sure wailed
Maybe no bombs were dropping on Salford
But siren sounds still rose and fell, prevailed
Over my other-worldly visions, sailed
Through my open window, filled up my head
With such surreal reality, I failed
To relax till it ended. Then, the thud
Of rubble and metal landing on mud
‘Yes, rise and shine, folks! We don’t just get paid
For building work, you know! We’ve been detailed
To scare the shit out of you all! You could
Not possibly be late for work now!’ Stayed
In bed, window closed now, senses assailed.
Mon 2 March 2009

851 - From dusk 'til dawn

Are the folks in the flat below human?
They go to bed late, make love about 3
But strangest of all, get up at seven
Or even earlier. It puzzles me
(And disturbs my sleep…) The tension can be
So bad sometimes that even when I’m whacked
I lie there, eyes aching, clock-watching. He
Makes no noise when they shag. Has he awaked
Her or is she asleep? The mattress creaked
But nothing else. On other nights you can
Hear her a mile off, moaning, ecstasy
For peeping toms, maybe, but it’s a fact
I’d far rather have peaceful slumbers than
These rings under my eyes, this lethargy
Fri 2 Jan 2009

788 - Halloween fireworks

It’s scary, Mary. It’s H-Halloween!
W-What the devil’s going on round here?
There’s fireworks p-p-popping, have you seen?
And after Guy’s been burnt, the close of year
Is h-h-hurrying with glittery cheer
To wipe away our fear of dark and cold
To buy some nice things, drink an extra beer
And best of all, find someone there to hold
Someone to keep warm, there on your shoulder
Holding them tight as flames flicker, s-scream
Of rockets in a flowery stratosphere
I hope all the w-witches’ hats weren’t sold
And at the party, those g-ghosts aren’t mean
Have a ‘wicked’ time, ’til I next see ya…
Fri 31 Oct 2008

743 - Turkish delight denied tonight

Two nights ago I thought, That's it! No More!
Again, just as my heavy eyelids closed
The bed below me obviously bore
The randy couple, with bodies opposed
But meeting in the middle as his rose
And fell upon his rose, fair Turkish maid
As my walls shook again, I then proposed
To myself, for the first time, to parade
About my room, stomp and bang doors. I made
My displeasure clear, let them hear. I swore
And furthermore, swore to bring to a close
This era of 2 a.m. shags that's played
Out every night. They heard me, and forbore
To carry on up the Bosporus. They froze!
Tue 16 Sep 2008

741 - No escape

It’s mid-September; the year’s running out
Even the decade’s running out of steam
Or is it me I’m really on about?
Is it me who’s becoming a has-been?
Can’t be, because I haven’t really been
Anything yet, and that’s why I can’t rest
Can’t tend a garden, contentedly lean
On my front gate, sun sinking in the west
I can’t relax, only escape at best
In the late evening, and when lights go out
Consoling visions turn drought into streams
In dreams that drown out shouts and screams, unrest
Upstairs and down, outside and inside out
That within minutes pulls me from each dream
Sun 14 Sep 2008

736 - Dream lover

If I stop drinking completely I find
The noisy neighbours deprive me of sleep
I become super-sensitive; they wind
Me up as I lie listening; they creep
Around, bang things and each other; they keep
Me from the point of drifting down the stream
Away from this dull, marshy plain to steep
And heady slopes where success is no dream
Gold nuggets just for me reflect the gleam
Of the still-rising sun, caressing wind
Undressing beauties, clothing in a heap
I lie at the top, position supreme
Then a bang in the night and I unwind
Unreeling, rolling through the real snow
Tue 9 Sep 2008

729 - Upstairs, downstairs

I woke last night thinking, ‘It’s an earthquake!’
But then I relaxed momentarily
Realising the reason. ‘Ah, my bed shakes
Because of nocturnal activity
In the bedroom below. Though quietly
They go about their business; no moaning
Or yelping; conscious that all sounds can be
Heard above or below, and complaining
Would occur if they were both exclaiming;
Nevertheless, this couple’s great mistake,’
I continued to muse, most shakenly,
‘Is in their absent-minded neglecting
To shift their bed away from the wall. Make
A gap, and we can all sleep peacefully!’
Tue 2 Sep 2008

684 - Good day

I feel great, top of the world mama, yeah
This life can be good if you are selfish
Have had a really nice day; went to a
Chinese buffet with friends and filled my dish
And since then did some ironing, got pissed
And played electric guitar and keyboard
Undertones, Sweet, Sparks, Sabbath, Jim Webb. Missed
The chance to play much Brel; couldn’t afford
To risk playing after eleven, sword
Of Damocles stuff if you do that. The
Rules state you must be quiet then. I wish
I was in a detached house; then I could
Do what I like and play on. But, whinger
You can watch a DVD if you wish…
Sat 19 July 2008

677 - Noises from above

Singing and clapping in her bed upstairs
My daughter, five, too excited for sleep
I think she's happy - I can hear the airs
From Mary Poppins, not counting of sheep
Hush! All is quiet now. Will slumber creep
Into her room to claim her soon? Surely
As darkness keeps falling from space so steep
Her shadowed face, her eyelids so heavy
Will slink like a black cat in jungle tree
Into the silence, into lofty lairs
Above the soil and grass, where night birds cheep
And gravity can't spoil, lovely and free
Necklaces strung with pearly moons, and stars
Sprinkled on cornflakes. Now it's safe to peep
Sat 12 July 2008

639 - Doing bird

This thinking is a blessing and a curse
We imagine a lot that isn’t there
It’s okay when you’re writing, but it’s worse
At 3am, doing the ceiling stare
Revisiting, exaggerating their
Concerted coordinated campaign
To keep you on the ground, while in the air
Above you they float, laughing at your pain
They circle the lampshade, drive you insane
Angry, unable to sleep, you’re immersed
In negativity; meanwhile out there
The dawn chorus, the aubade, the refrain
Of unthinking bird brains begins its terse
Reminder there’s another day to bear
Wed 4 June 2008

596 - Nightly nonsesne

The creaking house at night keeps me awake
Who is that creeping over the floorboards?
Or does the heating system simply make
Strange beatings to water and metal chords?
Such sleepless nights are when the time affords
Such thoughts repeating replayed fantasies
Defeating tiredness. Wives turn into bawds
Treating the mind to kindness and cruelties
Intertwined, meeting niceness with naughties.
But keeping up these pleasantries so fake
Is just like counting sheep in woolly hordes
As they leap over gates, over fences.
And so the night’s noises retreat, the quake
Of radiators receding backwards.
Tue 22 Apr 2008

565 - Cuckoo to you too

That cuckoo keeps on calling steadily
Presumably it has a secure place
It can’t have nested in the chopped-down tree
Or if it did it’s moved to a new base
The cuckoo heralds spring’s returning face
This year that face is cold with winds that whip
Yesterday, motorway driving at pace,
My car was buffeted. I felt it slip
Sideways. I rushed home and cancelled a trip
To see a film, to read some poetry
But the reading was cancelled too. A waste
Of time, like so much is. Now I must flip
Open my car and pour in oil, or the
Engine will die. It’s desperate for a taste.
Sat 22 Mar 2008

552 - Biscuit box blues

Today I’ve the tools needed to create:
Laptop (though printer’s broke), guitar and mike,
Keyboard, and despite the disordered state
Of this room, and being rudely sung awake
By Saint Paddy’s day songs (that takes the Mike)
A week early, and too early o’clock,
Making me tired; yes, despite this, I’d like
To write and then make music; maybe look
At some old sonnets for lyrics. A box
Of biscuits might work for a drum. I hate
The downstairs DIY guy; now to make
His life bad too. This man don’t give a fuck.
So first, off to the shops, mustn’t be late:
That box waits there for me to come and take.
Sun 9 Mar 2008

525 - Eine kleine Mozart

It’s Mozart’s Musical Masterpieces
I’m using to drown out the floor below.
They’re playing Turkish music: my thesis
Is that a party’s coming up. Its row
Will thankfully not be heard by me, though,
Because I’m out tonight. It’s half-term week
At Josephine’s school, and my chance to show
Her books and films and listen to her cheek,
Good-natured, usually. She isn’t meek
Or mild; a spirited child. Louis is
Being offered a scholarship: Harrow,
In West London. Their film course is unique:
The best in England to attend, he says.
Meanwhile, play on, Clarinet Concerto.
Mon 11 Feb 2008

522 - Just bad friends

Her tantalising tarantulas creep
Along my chest, back, legs, but circumvent
The centre; no, they won’t come near; they keep
Respectful distance till this dance is spent.
She’s fretful, hands open and then fists clenched;
She’s lying, sighing, crying in the night,
In the darkness looking magnificent,
Should have drunk less, lacking the will to fight.
The creaking peaking, fortunately slight,
The voices croaking, water sipped; might sleep
For an hour or two, time to both repent
The tender eyelids, torn from silent flight,
Remembering work’s call. And so we sweep
It all under the bed, act innocent.
Fri 8 Feb 2008

503 - Up all night

Too tired to be inspired; not enough sleep…
The downstairs neighbour in her high-heeled shoes
Kept clacking round her bedroom, and she’d keep
Turning the telly on too loud. J’accuse!
But still, she’s better than the Turk, who’d booze
And party nearly every night till four;
The loudest voice ever. Rest would refuse
The best of entreaties, retreating far.
The worst time for that to happen’s summer,
When light floods in and birds begin to cheep,
And work’s not far off. It’s the sleepless blues.
The radio played blues last night at four.
When ‘Up All Night’ ended, still counting sheep,
I felt like sleep’s detective seeking clues.
Sun 20 Jan 2008