994 - The death of romance (again)

Weather Report are playing in my flat
And flat is how things look now: sky is grey
What a contrast with the warm sunshine that
Greeted us when we met earlier today
We went to Yorkshire, the Halifax way
Turned back to Hebden Bridge and wandered round
I bought stuff as usual, gave cash away
But nice things for the flat were what I found
Along with freedom. She also cooled down
Like today’s weather, she started off hot
Now we both want to explore separate ways
I’m pleased it ended quietly, no sound
Of arguing in the car, no spits or spats
Romance is dead, but freedom wins the day!
Mon 25 May 2009

982 - Weather report

Please do not rain, I have not brought my coat
Please do not rain, I don't want to get soaked
Come back, dear sun, to you we give our vote
Come back, prodigal sun, or have you croaked?

Saw morning sunshine, left my coat at home
Saw morning sunshine, thought summer had come
Unfaithful sun, you always have to roam
Deceitful sun, without you there's no fun

The dark clouds linger, and the trees blow wild
The dark clouds linger, how long since we smiled?
Will summer be like this, gloomy and mild?
Must summer be like this, is our fate sealed?

The English weather keeps us all busy
The English weather keeps us all gloomy

Wed 13 May 2009

969 - Hotel bed

I’m writing this here on my hotel bed
So that I can go out and drink my fill
And, when I get back, can empty my head
And bladder, hop in bed, exit the real
Scenic train ride to York, hill after hill
Until, after Leeds, Yorkshire land turns flat
A pleasant spring walk, Minster’s clanging bell
Celebrating or warning, but of what?
Our meeting, as expected, filled with chat
Big mouths that mustn’t be interrupted
Big and small thoughts, it all made John feel ill
But still, that long agenda has been brought
Close to the end, and that’s what we wanted
Tomorrow’s session all gently downhill
Thur 30 Apr 2009

962 - Obscure poetry and sound

St George’s Day has come and gone again
Been swallowed up by work, heard no mention
Of the old dragon slayer all day, but, well, when
Do the English make a fuss? Forbidden!
I worked hard at the office, forgotten
Was our national day, conferences
To organise, plus my girl, she was on
My mind… By half four, made my excuses
And left, to prepare for activities
Poetic, musical, Old Abbey Inn
Quickly rewrote a poem emailed on
To me by the master of ceremonies
Read it out and I was more than pleased when
It went down well. We must do this again!
Wed 23 Apr 2009

917 - Sage and Tyne

The sky darkens from Darlington to York
The headscarfed woman opposite sleeps on
Head buried in pink, pudgy hands, while talk
Drifts into my left ear. Returning from
Newcastle, recalling my walk along
Four bridges, Grainger and Grey Streets, crossing
Bigg Market to the Monument, the sun
Smiling weakly, the north-east wind breathing
Gently today at ground level, rising
To gusty bluster on Tyne Bridge. I walked
From the Gateshead side; the Millennium
Was my next crossing: slender, white, curving…
Into the Sage Centre, for this was work:
Three Civil Service seminars to come…
Mon 9 Mar 2009

849 - Not looking back or forward

A mainly cold, dark, wet, depressing year
Is dying at last. Die, you cur, die, die!
I am talking about the weather, here
What else? Well I’m an Englishman, aren’t I?
Newspaper article prints some new lie
About how next summer will be all sun
To go with all the other crap you buy
If you waste money ever buying one
Well this past year has been both shit and fun
The cherry bowl has a hint of manure
But without shit the fruit wouldn’t grow high
It’s nature’s way, the way it’s always done
So next year won’t be better. Also, fear
The reaper: twelve more months for him to try!
Wed 31 Dec 2008

801 - Old York, Old York

This is a swell hotel room here in York
Honey, although you ain’t in here with me
Aw shucks, I’ll tell you ’bout it when we talk
Which we’ll be doin’ Friday, Saturday
But back to what’s bin happenin’ today
As you’ll recall, there’s bin a big meetin’
’Bout work n’ stuff, an’ so far, gotta say
It’s gone okay, if a tad worryin’
For lil ol’ me. Did the organisin’
An’ chairin,’ an’ by rights, hon, I could chalk
It up as a success, well hopefully
Proof of leadership skills… but will it bring
Recognition from managers? My work
May be fine, hon, but have they eyes to see?
Thur 13 Nov 2008

740 - Plymouth don't rock

We drove right down to Plymouth with its Hoe
Almost the toe of Britain, Mayflower port
The reason? Plymouth v Norwich, no-show
In skill terms, but a comedy of sorts
Poor old Sturrock, the Plymouth boss, was caught
Like a rabbit in headlights; his team booed
Off at half-time, unusually. He brought
On Emile Mpenza, perhaps a shrewd
Buy, but he missed his header, and the rude
Prospect of relegation looms. He’ll go,
Will their boss, unless he’s very soon thought
Up how to make The Greens pass better. Who’d
Have thought we could drive that far, and that slow
But still get there and back in time that short!
Sat 13 Sep 2008

722 - Battle of the red stripes

Enjoyed the weekend, writing lots of stuff
And also reading out my poetry
Although, if I’m honest, it would be tough
To call it poetry. It’s comedy
More often than not, and so it might be
That that is my direction. Time will tell.
Right now, my direction is southerly
Heading to the Georgian facades of Chel-
tenham, not for the horses but the thrill
Of Carling Cup action, more than enough
Goals likely, since visitors Stoke City
Beat Villa, and Cheltenham lost 4-0
To Oldham at the weekend. Stoke should stuff
The smalltown boys. And it won’t be pretty
Tue 26 Aug 2008

709 - Giant washout

Yesterday, sunshine, showers, sea and surf
Splashed in the open-air pool in the rain
Then Durdle Door and the cove at Lulworth
Stood on toe-splitting stones - Oh God, the pain! -
My daughter on my back, we played again
We waded into waves of deep blue-green
And drove and wove down dense green country lane
What a contrast to how today has been!
The driving rain meant we drove ourselves clean
Around the bend, our dreams brought down to earth
The rain from Dorset to Devon’s to blame
Cerne Abbas Giant, too wet to be seen
Likewise ‘white’ horse at Osmington, the turf
Green, the horse brown, its course drowned. Down the drain…
Wed 13 Aug 2008

707 - I want to go in the pool

Today we hardly got out of the car
Driving through Poole, through Sandbanks and Bournemouth
Then ever eastwards, motoring as far
As Lymington and Milford, a mere breath
Of sea breeze from those white cliffs out of reach
But as I see the Needles with lighthouse
I get needled and wheedled; that will teach
Me to drive so far. Quiet as a mouse
I took the ear-bashing, and just like Faust
Made a pact with the devil: the outdoor
Pool is tomorrow’s treat… I’ll catch my death
Of cold to keep li’l un happy. Showers
May fall on our heads as we splash, but our
Girl’s ambition will be met, sure enough!
Mon 11 Aug 2008

706 - Camps, coasts and castles

We drove out of the caravan park fast
Or else I’d have to swim with my daughter
In the open-air pool, drowned out by blasts
Of cheesy pop from very loudspeakers
Hi-de-hi campers, hi-de-ho chavvers
Took the steam train to Swanage by the sea
But no cruise round the cliffs; the strong breezes
Meant boat rides cancelled. Try again Monday
Corfe Castle and its village, so pretty
The hilltop view lit by the sun at last
The green landscape, drunk on daily downpours
Stretched out, an endless quilt in front of me
The broken castle’s echoes of the past
Where now lies peace, once knee-deep in slaughter
Sun 10 Aug 2008

704 - Bad weather confirmed

This caravan park in Dorset’s not too good
It’s full of sunburned chavs with pierced ears
Descendants of pirates, they chill the blood
As they splodge in their chairs with chips and beers
Their spawn race round on bikes, teens smoke with peers
The swimming pools look okay when empty
But when they’re full of violent boys, my fear’s
That it won’t be safe. Might sail to Jersey
When weather picks up, Sunday or Monday
Tomorrow’s forecast? It looks like a flood
Tutankhamun’s in Dorchester, I hear
We could pop over for a chat and tea
Let’s tramp to Hardy’s cottage in the mud
Hoping this cloudy dampness disappears
Fri 8 Aug 2008

703 - Bad weather warning

George Bush, you are a comedy genius
Thanks for that human rights speech in Thailand
But now you’re in China, there’ll be more fuss
About the pollution that’s out of hand
Handkerchief over mouth when in the stand
Watching the games, while in the marathon
Poor Paula Radcliffe’s run won’t go as planned
Because before that long long race is run
She’ll be choking, worse even than Athens
I’ll miss much of the games, but it’s no loss
Because I’ll be on holiday, the sand
And country scenery scene of my fun
And games, down in Dorset. All set; now just
Need to wave my old magic weather wand
Thur 7 Aug 2008

582 - No sporting chance

The English teams are doing well this year
In Europe: there’s Liverpool and Chelsea,
Arsenal too, Man U of course, but where
Are the English players, and who are the
Managers? (Not forgetting overseas
Owners.) I’m afraid that, like Wimbledon,
It’s clear that our sportsmen lack quality,
And so, like plumbers, we import a ton
Of foreign talent with the discipline
And skill to make up for our lack of flair.
Oh well, at least as sports fans it seems we
Are still passionate; appreciation
Is shown for excellence. We are quite fair-
Minded. But then it seems we have to be.
Tue 8 Apr 2008

502 - Misty moor-top misery

The daftest place to live would be the farm
In the midst of the motorway to Leeds
(Or to Manchester) where it’s never calm
Or rural, the roar all day, all night; speeds
Of up to a hundred. While your flock feeds
On wet grass with carbon dioxide taste,
The misty moor-top motorway impedes
Your free movement and health, with all that waste
Floating around, added to damp encased
Deeply within your walls. You’d come to harm,
Or, more likely, top yourself first. The deeds
Would indeed be unsaleable. You’d paste
It up as a mistake, try to wake from
The nightmare of the motorway to Leeds.
Sat 19 Jan 2008

437 - Tea and poetry

Sam and Dave you all know as sixties soul
Superstars, but there's another of them
This Sam's a lady and this Dave's not. Stroll
Into a poetry night in Rotherham
Or Huddersfield or Oswaldtwistle, an'
The chances are they may be there, with me
Tonight, f'rinstance, we chanced to be in Man-
chester, at the Green Room, and poetry
With a war theme was served up with coffee
And choccy cake. Make no mistake, the whole
Night was a good 'un. Suddenly, 'leven
O' clock (how suitably northern!) came. Ee,
'Twas time for uz to buzz off 'ome. 'Put coal
On t' fire, lass, an' brew up!' said Dave to Sam

Thur 15 Nov 2007

408 - From Moscow to Hebden Bridge

As England, like Napoleon before
Capitulate in Moscow, on the field
Of football, thankfully, and not of war
I type this, feeling that their fate is sealed
I can't wait, you see. I've not even mealed!
But the thing is, I'm going out tonight
To Stubbing Wharf in Hebden. I've appealed
To your sympathy for this hurried write
I hope you grant it, for I'm in a plight
It's poetry night behind the old pub door
The ghosts of Hughes and Plath barely concealed
In listeners' and readers' shared excite
Ment. I also need to get a mirror
For my car, and cash. All will be revealed...
Wed 17 Oct 07

383 - Another trip to London town water

Another trip to London town today.
First stop Tesco to buy the crisps and coke;
Then onto that fine M6 motorway:
Just me and Louis heading for the smoke.
The M40 near Coventry’s the spoke
Of the road network that we’ll take, and then
M25 to Hounslow, where this bloke
Once showed me a great parking space, and when
We’re there, a short walk to the tube system,
Return to Putney Bridge, climb steps to day-
Light, walk through Bishops Park, avoid the choke
Of heavy traffic, by the Thames. Fulham
FC’s stadium is just there. They play
Man City, who, under Sven, are no joke.
Sat 22 Sep 2007

382 - The English can be orderly, polite

The English can be orderly, polite;
As you know, they queue though there’s no need to.
At the same time, they don’t half love a fight;
Weekend pavements spread thick with blood and spew.
They feel guilt for invading, but still do;
Brilliant at inventing, organising,
They thought up sports but can’t say ‘I love you;’
They’re pants at dancing, muddling at cuddling,
But sex, drugs, rock n roll, all are their thing,
Even if just on the TV each night!
Marmite and cheese on toast; fancy a brew?
They love their freedom, save their queen or king.
Each windy beach that features dog and kite
Attests to western Europe’s island crew.
Fri 21 Sep 2007