1060 - Music and musing

I’ve got a sore left eye. Resting tonight
Getting up early tomorrow morning
To look after Josie. Losing the fight
To write tonight, even though I’m feeling
Both bored and guilty. Once again fleeing
Responsibility. Consolation
In the Proms live on TV. This screening
Contains works by Berlioz and Mendelssohn
With such musical treasure, being alone
Is not such a big thing; rather, a flight
Through history, emotion, suffering…
I must mention the weather. Evening sun
After terrible downpours that have quite
Drenched July, and are still continuing
Thur 30 July 2009

997 - What I've got

I've got a sore throat, it's hurting me so
I thought I'd recovered a week ago
But now it's uncomfortable to swallow
It's a pain in the neck. Why won't it go?

I've got writer's block, poems will not come
I need to attend workshops, so hold some
Give me ideas, for my brain is numb
Help me write something that will raise a thumb

I've got lots of work to do, but that's good
Without work, you can get stuck in the mud
Retirement is a dirty word, you could
Find yourself bored to death, boxed up in wood

I've got to finish now and get on home
That's passed time happily, writing this poem

Thur 27 May 2009

933 - Hole in my shoe

A hole in my shoe's letting in water
But my new shoes cannot be worn because
When I last wore them, I got a blister
And that's why I'm still wearing my old shoes
The weather forecast's given me the blues
More rainfall coming than on plains in Spain
But what is to be done? I cannot choose
Between wet socks or this severe foot pain
Oh cobblers! I can’t hobble on, it's plain
Planning's afoot - already a plaster
Is fixed on my blister, so don't accuse
Me of dragging my feet. My sole complaint
Is I'm sick of wet socks. Oh, reporter
Please bring me sunshine for my soaking toes
Wed 25 Mar 2009

924 - Blood on the strings

Last night I cleaned the blood off my guitar
From Friday's gig. I'd not dared use my pick
In case I dropped it way down on the floor
From my high stool, making me look a prick
I'd strummed for hours at home, but at the gig
My fingers bled by the third song, maybe
Because the guitar fell down flat, I flicked
The strings too hard, I don't know. It shocked me
After I finished singing, hands gory
And that's when fingers started to feel sore:
Only when I saw blood; that cartoon trick
When the character flew till he saw he
Had gone off a cliff, and then he fell far
Down into the sea, legs, arms, flailing quick
Mon 16 Mar 2009

881 - Music to my ears

Been quite a good day at home by myself
Though, as ever, something’s gone wrong again
Slowly, surely, I’m getting back to health
Just ate sausages and mash with no pain
First, on the TV, highlights of the game
Yesterday, when Derby beat Coventry
Then, getting fed up of hearing the same
Music walking to work, changed MP3
Selection, ate soup, then wrote comedy,
Nine pages in all, but with all this wealth
Of time still left, my speakers packed in then
So now I can’t record music properly
Because I can’t play it back. But by stealth
I’m getting there; through this pain there’ll be gain
Sun 1 Feb 2009

876 - Not so mighty mouth

My mouth remained bloody all this morning
Again, couldn’t take day off, had to go
Into the office to do some printing
Of hotel locations up in Glasgow
That’s where I am now - Jury’s Inn, you know -
Eighth floor (good view of building opposite)
Bought four CDs from Fopps, then ate real slow
In McDonalds (fries n shake); coped with it
Mouth must be on the mend: might even sit
For my free breakfast tomorrow morning
Help myself to fried egg and beans, although
I may give toast a miss, just in case it
Opens my gum up once again, hurting
My chances of a good speech tomorrow…
Tue 27 Jan 2009

875 - Spooky tooth

Went to the dentist, now I’ve one tooth less
It was dead anyway, grey and painful
Because above it was trapped an abscess
The dentist used all of his strength to pull
My dead tooth out that with filling was full
And therefore brittle. Spittle, metal, blood
Filled my mouth, till the loose tooth popped, to roll
Down to my throat, choking me if it could
But I coughed it up, praised the dentist’s good
Work, then went to work myself (be impressed!)
Spitting blood on the way; maybe a fool
To do so, but guilt couldn’t be withstood
After three days off last week. Mouth’s a mess,
All dried blood and a clot that just won’t heal
Mon 26 Jan 2009

872 - What time is it? Tooth hurty

A quick sonnet before the toothache burns
The paracetamol’s still working now
But fiery waves of pain will soon return
The tides of hell from point of chin to brow
Started in bed but cold juice made it grow
Followed by cold milk on my cereal
These inflamed the upper left gum, and how
Had no choice but to give dentist a call
In person, but with appointment book full
I’ll have to hang on till Monday. I’ll learn
To visit the mouth torturer, allow
Regular charges for his pain and bull
Shit, but not yet. He doesn’t need to earn
Much more, does he? I don’t need him! Ow! Ow!
Fri 23 Jan 2009

803 - Chillin' in ma crib

Not feeling too good, Saturday morning
Headache, but not after a long session
Just some sort of bug, sickening, dizzying
Tense nervous headache? Here’s your medicine
And meanwhile I have got the ironing done
While watching videos on TMF
They’ve played the charts, now the oldies are on
Oh no, not Boyzone again - what a laugh!
Take That, Girls Aloud, my old friends Westlife
And now the Sugababes are back singing
Last night we stayed up till round half past one
Children in Need was on, and photographs
From York were uploaded for your viewing
Forgot to put them on Facebook. Hang on…
Sat 15 Nov 2008

774 - Splitting our sides, literally

You've gotta laugh. It comes from pain and hurt
And puzzlement and mystification
Things that don't seem right; the need to alert
Others to some suppressed recognition
That soon our residential location
Will be warm, circular, visited by
Dante, Virgil (not supermarionation)
And shared with ne'er-do-wells, all in mid-fry
Their arses stuck out of the mud, their cry
A universal one, the film X-cert
But sold-out, 'cause suffering is elation,
Even erection, both for you and I
So bring it on, and wallow in the dirt
It's a divine comedy sensation
Fri 17 Oct 2008

685 - Barbecue blues

Been to a barbecue, now I’m so full
I’ve actually had to undo my belt
My bloated belly hurts; so regretful
About my gluttony. This sin was spelt
Out long ago, but resistance can melt
When faced with plates of burgers and chicken
And for the last few hours I have felt
The punishment with this pain that I’m in
Still, I suppose it’s not the worst such sin
I only hurt myself, not the people
Around me. As the rain began to pelt
We all had to shelter in the kitchen
Then, back outside, we shivered in each lull
Between brief sunny spells. But oh, this guilt…
Sun 20 July 2008

635 - The cloud garden

The cloud garden forbodes a thunderstorm
A reckoning for afternoon of sun
The birdsong quiets, a sense of alarm
And disappointment marks an end to fun
Four blackbirds suddenly fly formation
While solo magpie spies from aerial
Signalling that there’s nothing to be done
As dandelion seeds float by, wish well
An unseen thorn deflates the paddling pool
As I trim overgrowth that must be shorn
Through sheer necessity cut back Eden
Even my leg is cut, see my blood spill
It’s cooled further now; inside where it’s warm
We’re hedgehogs hibernating, TV on
Sat 31 May 2008

282 - I lay there all alone in bed, thinking

I lay there all alone in bed, thinking
About what love is, and if it is real,
Deciding quickly I wasn’t counting
Self-love as being a part of the deal.
Everyone loves themselves: there’s no appeal
In that issue, I thought, and so I stuck
To lust, romance and partnerships that we’ll
All have experienced, with differing luck.
We trusted, roamed, then parted, with a ‘Fuck
You!’ if selfish, but, if we are caring,
We hope our ex-love’s disappointments heal,
And new love’s found, as fishes find their hook.
Whatever it is, we swim on, seeking
Pleasure and pain at the end of that reel.
Wed 13 June 2007

277 - We know something when we judge that it's right

We know something when we judge that it’s right
But judgement’s really only a feeling
Our feelings amount to desire for flight
From pain, while to the pleasure gods kneeling.
What gives pleasure or pain starts revealing
Before we’re born, from ancestors passed on
Through moments of pleasure before sealing
Of tombs, those quiet rooms for everyone.
We don’t choose ancestors or what gives fun;
We just discover it, and what gives fright,
And what we hate, and what is appealing,
And hope we fit in with the convention.
And if we do, then we can judge alright,
But if we don’t, they’ll say we need healing.
Fri 8 June 2007

262 - Both Terry Bull and girlfriend Mad Donna

Both Terry Bull and girlfriend Mad Donna
Feel very full to nerve ends of great love.
This miracle I certainly honour,
By bellyfuls of hurtful punches proved.
He hits her in the morning, his first move.
He hits her while he’s yawning, late at night.
He hates violence, but warns he won’t approve
Her taste in friends. Her unborn child feels fright.
Her son, but not his, recently turned eight,
Lonesome, forgotten, frequently on a
Mission to rot upstairs, sent with a shove,
Listens to rock, indecent words of hate.
Headphones on full blast, he starts to answer
Questions. He’ll kill them fast. They’ll be removed.
Thur 24 May 2007

254 - When rain, and pain, and strain again goes on

When rain, and pain, and strain again goes on,
The tonic is demonic sonic joy:
Enthusiastic plastic music spun;
Some fine ole vinyl finally employed.
Discs, decades displayed, dissuaded, annoyed,
By CDs, DVDs, developing
Machines; that means, by any means, destroyed
Must be our records, I reckon, wrecking
Those long lost listens, misty, glistening
In memory, ephemeral, then gone,
Like miles of smiles at each child’s wild new toy,
Besotted, now forgot, fetid, rotting.
Oh no, I own a phono, so no-one
Must take or break my discs. Mistake, old boy!
Wed 16 May 2007

227 - Come to the freak show nightly on TV

Come to the freak show nightly on TV
And on YouTube and in the newspapers.
Tonight, kill time with chilling Cho Seung-Hui,
Or Saddam’s hanging, Baghdad massacres.
Hey, sado-masochists, you’ll get a buzz
From Abu Ghraib or from Guantanamo.
A filmed assault by young happy slappers,
Look! Someone kicked to death! Come see the show.
The Shoah (black and white) from long ago
Sure nuff’s shocking; so’s child pornography,
And snuff on DVD. So much stuff. There’s
Cho’s lead. Don’t just kill - make a video!
A thinly veiled gross immorality
Prevails as we watch executioners.
Thur 19 Apr 2007

219 - Fair lady, though my love, unrequited

Fair lady, though my love, unrequited,
Returns to smite me and, though your fickle
Hand seems unfated to be united
With mine, might we meet nightly by trickle
Of stream, in shady wooded dream? Little
I’ve known your silver-sweet moonbeamed caress;
Each new-grown corn of hope by horned sickle
Cut down around me, mown and shorn. Address
My lonely plea: surround me with your dress
Of white. Alight from your high horse, sighted
As steam that streamed from behind each prickle
Of thick-leaved burning bush. Turn back; unless
You drop in my arms, my crop’s black-blighted,
Like farms in famine. Ma‘am, my heart’s brittle.
Wed 11 Apr 2007

199 - True love can never die, not even when

True love can never die, not even when
Your partner tells you they’ve been unfaithful,
They’ve lost your money in a gambling den
And lost a limb or two in some awful
Mishap. Perhaps your love would collapse? Full
Of dashed ambition, rash derision’s flung
At your ex-love. Excellent sex life? Skull-
Like. Dead. Sacked: abject failure, nailed or hung
Out to dry, though subject of love songs sung
Yesterday. Pestered, scorned, vilified; then
Replaced, officially forgotten. Mull
This over. If your ‘love’ was ever strung
From the lamp-post of imagination,
Then you were just as (or more) untruthful.
Thur 22 Mar 2007

122 - Four hours of sleep and I'm back writing rhyme

Four hours of sleep and I’m back writing rhyme;
My eyes are aching and my mind’s swimming
In a dark whirlpool. Glance up at the time…
In fifteen minutes I must stop writing.
I have to leave at six thirty a.m.
On this cold dark wet January morn
To test painkillers, to reassure them
That they are not harmful. My skin is torn
By needles injecting chili pepper
Substance into arms - ouch! - then two tablets
Of cannabis or placebo. Leper
You feel for a moment; then you think, ‘Let’s
Read a book of stories, or poetry,
Or hear some music on the MP3.
Thur 4 Jan 2007