1053 - Extended childhood

My life feels like an extended childhood
That’s now almost a half-century long
Tenacious innocence, belief in good
And that there’ll soon be an end to what’s wrong
A silly sense of humour, love of song
Some things have changed, it’s true; I eat less sweets
I’ve more experience since I’ve moved among
Adults, disguised as one of them; my feats
Have really been quite something, and my treats
The best times, something else, and sometimes rude
My very own musical, and I’ve sung
The lead role (rather badly) all these nights
My acting skills resemble that of wood
And audience reactions often stung
Thur 23 July 2009

1047 - Blue Boar Blues

I’m sitting in the Blue Boar in Bolton
I’ve read a few short poems, drunk a few
I came by train, don’t worry: drink drivin’
Ain’t my scene. Now I’m free to drink a brew
Or two or three or four. Now what are you
Doin’ this Friday night? The rain’s fallin’
My hair’s flattened, constantly need the loo
And every few seconds, seems I’m smokin’
The piss-stained pavements, not so appealin’
I’m sittin’ here alone… Where are you, hun?
I miss our times together. I miss you
I hate goin’ out by myself, thinkin’
Everyone’s thinking’ ‘This guy’s all alone!’
Well yes, but at least I’m free, unlike you…
Fri 17 July 2009

1046 - Blur

It’s all a blur, you see - I can’t recall
It appears I forgot my diary
This isn’t acceptable, not at all
No - I’ve been writing diaries for three
Years now, and I’ve hardly missed a day. The
Daily Sonnet carries on its sweet way
And nothing must stop it; nothing must be
Allowed to obstruct this construction. They
Might not approve; they might stand in its way
But I don’t care. The sonnets go on, all
Oblivious to my pissedness or to the
Perception that I rely on one they
Think is my only friend. No - I stand tall!
Quality will triumph. Eventually
Thur 16 July 2009

964 - Munch of the day

Awoke with my brown-skinned girl by my side
Breakfast, and then with great skill she helped me
Sort out phone pictures, and then with some pride
Showed me her own pix of her family
And travels over the last year or three
Got cloudy, so I chose to go swimming
With Josie (too cold to go to the sea)
Roads packed with United fans, all driving
To the game against Spurs (seems they’re winning
The title once again, Ferguson’s side…!)
A fun time in Stockport pool with Josie
Followed by a late afternoon’s eating
And joking around. Back home, guitar played
Quick call to my girl, football on TV…
Sat 25 Apr 2009

954 - Hillsborough, twenty years on

Today the main news was from Liverpool
Today was twenty years from Hillsborough
The Sheffield stadium where fate was cruel
To football fans crushed in that disaster
I saw the pictures on the day after
Sick close-ups of the dying; some enjoyed
Them, but they were just lads from Manchester
Finding some fun in those Scouse lives destroyed
Hardly surprising then that there’s such pride
In Liverpool today for those football
Supporters they remember, year on year
And anger that the cover-up tried to hide
Mistakes by police. Today, Anfield full
Of mourners, the 96 remembered
Wed 15 Apr 2009

935 - You've gone to my head

I'm getting all excited sitting here
At office desk, having taken a call
Not from some civil servant, oh, no fear
But from someone who I fondly recall
There's something in the way she moved, I fall
Into a starry dream in which we play
Lead roles in a love story, her Bacall
To my Bogart: a drink, a smoke; we say
Amusing things, and everything's okay
As war rages on, no sign of all clear
We'll hide in her bunker beneath a pall
Of white smoke signalling surrender, grey
Walls falling, two states unified, pleasure
Intoxicates us. It would sure be cool…
Fri 27 Mar 2009

930 - Flashback to last night

Had you on my mind all through the morning
Had you on my mind in the afternoon
Had you on my mind even this evening
I hope we see each other again soon
One thing’s for sure, you aren’t a big balloon
So fine and slim I know you’ll always be
So light, but teasingly dark, with a tune
That’s not out of tune with the tune in me
But different too, enigma, mystery
Experience too much for the telling
Of people, places, fun in sun and moon
A sunny disposition, a sexy
Position on the sofa, you stretching
Those legs and rubbing them. Too much too soon!
Sun 22 Mar 2009

911 - Rock and Roll Part One

It’s only ‘Rock and Roll,’ but we liked it
The Tom Stoppard play, Library Theatre
The audience looked like they were past it
But they were old enough to remember
The 60s: they’d been there, they weren’t all square
Ex-rockers, academics, TV stars
All crowded in to recall and to share
The golden age of rock and roll ideas
Ideals of Red Square, books they’d read, guitars
They’d strummed, joints smoked (fake joints and fags were lit)
Seen through a distant haze (I didn’t wear
My glasses, silly me). And now, the cause
Of socialism’s agreed to have bit
The dust, or has it? Might its ghost appear?
Tue 3 March 2009

908 - Thursday morning melody

Woke up Thursday with a tune in my head
I played it, and I played it once again
I tried to memorise you in my bed
Replaying you and again replaying

I hummed you but the humming was in vain
I washed and dressed in coat and shoes of black
I walked to work still humming your refrain
In my mind everything was still on track

At work your mem’ry came under attack
Till oh so slowly all your notes had fled
When I left work you’d gone; I tried, but strain

My mind hard as I could, I couldn’t crack
Your code. Saturday night, uninvited,
My Thursday morning melody came back

Sat 28 Feb 2009

903 - Impure memories

The man sat at his desk and nodded off
Literally nodding, his head rose and fell
In half a second, he had found enough
Memories, fantasies to cast a spell
And zoom back in time and space to a girl
That redhead with the long straight hair, she spoke
She touched his arm, and laughed, and with a twirl
Of her head, her hair rose and fell. This broke
Thirty years of regret, gone up in smoke
His shyness flew away, a smokey puff
Thirty years of experience served him well
Though both were still at school; mature and tough
But witty with it, now this man could bluff
His way into her heart, his teenage belle
Mon 23 Feb 2009

896 - Our first colour telly

When I were a short-sighted lad in shorts
Me dad brought ’ome our first colour telly
John Craven’s flowery shirts on news reports
And Pot Black’s snooker balls pocketed me
The Generation Game, wi’ ole Brucie
A feast o’ seventies orange an’ brown
Football were played on green instead o’ grey
Rolf’s pool so blue you could jump in an’ drown
King Edward the Seventh’s bright golden crown
The Goodies, Frank Spencer, Dick Emery brought
Colourful language and aching belly
While news o’ strikes an’ bombs brought us all down
Felt I were at the Crossroads, in Crown Court
How excitin’ can a small square box be?
Mon 16 Feb 2009

884 - To all the girls I haven't loved before

The first one was a tall girl called Tracey
Who called me up at home, Sunday evening
She had a dark-haired friend who looked racy
But about chatting up I knew nothing
I was too shy, nothing kept happening
What should I say to Debbie, Fiona
Or Jane, or some girl on a train going
Into Birmingham's old Bull Ring Centre?
The opportunities knocked, then went a-
Way, so I went to university
Again, too shy at parties, not knowing
What to say or do, but my character
Eventually emerged, a butterfly
Teased out with drink: more talking, less thinking
Wed 4 Feb 2009

869 - Bad back

My bad back is back, back to being bad
They run like noses in my family
My mum’s bad back is back, and once my dad
Slipped a disc, face frozen in agony
My brother can’t slack; fact is, his money
Grows from cleaning rows of windows, and so
When he goes up his ladder, mad is he
When his bad back gets badder, don’t you know?
But back to my bad back: in days of snow
Delivering papers, twice daily, I had
A big bag on my shoulder, holding the
Times supplements, uncoupling spine joints: no
Straight back till a year later. Just injured
My back running on park tracks. On sickie…
Tue 20 Jan 2009

853 - Student studies

My daughter’s twenty-first has come and gone
Congrats to P for reaching that milestone
Today I took son L down to London
To start his second student term alone
Takes me back to my second term… I’d mown
Off most of my hair, a trendy new cut
Shaved back and sides. The next step was to own
A black raincoat, Echo-style, which I bought
From Affleck’s Palace, and some shirts I thought
Were suitably dazzling, from Withington
And Didsbury charity shops. L’s own
Approach seems to exclude clothes and haircut
He’s blogging rather than out having fun
P’s back to the Sorbonne. I’ll visit soon!
Sun 4 Jan 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

840 - Guitar love story

I'm very close right now to my guitar
A love that I've neglected thru the years
Me and my acoustic met in the far-
Off year of '82 in Brum. But tears
Of frustration were to come. It appears
That all relationships are this rocky
Except in this case the rock stopped, the cause
Given as musical difficulty
(Not differences). The chords were too tricky
So dis-chord and finger fatigue were our
Coda. Then ten years' separation. Here's
The romantic part. In '98 we
Started seeing each other. Regular
Sessions followed, especially after beers
Mon 22 Dec 2008

827 - Travelogue

I’ve been to London, Birmingham and Leeds
I’ve been to Cardiff, Swansea, Llandudno
I’ve been to Glasgow, Perth, but not Dumfries
I’ve been to Dublin, Buncrana, Sligo
I’ve been to Paris, Rouen, not Bordeaux
I’ve been to Brussels but not Bruges or Ghent
I’ve been to Barcelona, not Vigo
I’ve been to Rome, to Milan never went
Of all the places that I’ve not been sent
I’d like to fly down to Los Angeles
And then drive up the coast road to Frisco
I’d like to nip to Nepal and Tashkent
Then row to Rio and Buenos Aires
And end up in Lapland’s crisp Christmas snow
Tue 9 Dec 2008

821 - Winter memoryland

My ears ache from the cold, and I love it
It’s like the winters of old, of boyhood
It’s fun being outside, a little bit
Nostalgic; takes me back to when I would
Slip newspapers in letterboxes; good
Winters with decent helpings of crisp snow
Earning enough to buy records that should
Be worth something now, and enough to go
To gigs by the Jam, the Banshees; you know
The sort of groups I liked. They had a hit
Or two in the late 70s. All good
Guitar-based stuff. Made us want to pogo
I remember when the fans all used to spit
On the singers. Punk rock was not yet dead.
Wed 3 Dec 2008

820 - Walking away from the fairy lights

Snowfall. God thinks it’s already Christmas
In truth, I wish Christmas would come and go
But I’ll be sad to see the old year pass
Another year melting just like the snow
Tread carefully on your dreamy way; so
Easy to slip. God knows I’ve ended flat
A couple of times, but it seems as though
I brush off the slush and then that is that.
Snowflakes or hailstones on umbrella. Rat
Tat tat. I’m sheltered, all is well. I cast
My flaky sight into night. Chill wind blows
Till hands and nose grow numb. Suppose when sat
Back home in the flat, with a harmless glass
Of milk, I’ll chill out, then hug the pillow
Tue 2 Dec 2008

818 - Thinking of drinking again

It seems like I can still taste last night’s beer
(Despite brushing my teeth, a lasagne
And one or two coffees) and this last year
Has also left a funny taste: a new
Experience or two’s always fun, yeah?
Well I dunno, there’s always ups and downs
Economy’s been mainly down and the
Flat remains unsold. Interest rate and pound’s
Come down to earth like me. Was lost, now found
Like some high-flying TV character
In a plane crash, being a survivor
But now I’m sussed, yeah, sorted, mate, well sound
Like some shamelessly clichéd northerner
Being so hard but crying in my beer
Sun 30 Nov 2008