Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Somewhere in a parallel universe I am Brian Cox

I just realised, somewhere in a parallel universe I am Brian Cox
Replete with high tech camping gear and fluffy thermal socks
I stand astride a mountain range
and flick my luscious locks

Somewhere in a parallel universe I'm Jeremy Clarkson
Explaining how a Ferrari is the best car by none
I stand astride a tarmac road
till all the cars have gone

Somewhere, parallel, et cetera, I'm the bloody pope!
With original sin and charity and a smattering of hope
I stand astride a corrupted church
and rule science out of scope.

Draft version 1.0, 22/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.


Monday, 21 March 2011

My Life in Cars

Red mini, black roof, colours of a childish youth
Convertible Audi, bright red too
Reminds me of summers spent with you


Alfa Romeo, one-five-six, filled with wrappers from the pick-n-mix
And that white estate we bought
For carrying two travel cots.


VW Polo, my first car, no brakes, no lights, would not go far
But it had rear seatbelts and a rear wash wipe
But it wouldn't race without a go fast stripe


They sometimes crash, sometimes jackknife
and the form memories, they're a part of your life
Quick 15 minute little drive, revive the feelings be alive.


Draft version 1.0, 21/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

A season of Rugby

The season ends, the sport is done
Fourteen lost, a couple won
Broken limbs and dizzy heads
For the hooped up souped up white and reds

This is the year that the beer beckons
A pint at first then a jug for seconds.
Never enough food and not the right type
The beer's too flat or it smells too ripe.

The ref's a homer, the ref is blind.
The team's too dirty, they should all be fined
Never mind.
Next week hopefully it won't be raining
And don't forget your subs at midweek training

The season's over, the games are done.
A few games lost, a few games won.

Draft version 1.0, 20/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Sunday, 20 March 2011

Dusty West Coast fault line USA

I'll push out a note, it should reach
you straight away on a twitter of facebook
as it flies through the internet
Not till I can swim through the night underneath
the bigger moon will I consider it complete


The San Andreas fault may go any time
and the coast line will fall into the sea
No more Pacifica or Route one
all of these landmarks will have gone
to the sea, the sea, to fill the continental shelf.


West Coast USA is doomed one day
They reclaim and grow and will restore
And the have gained from the past
But it really won't last for the next hundred years.


Draft version 1.0, 20/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Friday, 18 March 2011

Managers over my shoulder

Do you need your manager at the meeting?
What does he bring? Experience or lack of clarity?
Deflection of criticism, weight of ages?
Not if he is as old as you.

How many managers do you take?
One for the money, two for the show
Three for the coffees, go boys go?!
Or do you let them know after it's over.

If there are three, how many of you will there be?
Two or one or none.  My preference, ah!
Has it all gone, is it important,
I'd probably take me plus one.

Draft version 1.0, 18/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Two task full weekend

It's the height of the sporting season in March
The last few football games, the six nations Rugby
The start of F1 and the Cricket World Cup
Enjoyment and revelry in the unpredictable

It is a busy time, it's getting lighter and time
can be spent on other pursuits, it's two task time
Can I watch and read, or watch and write, or
exercise and watch, or read and listen?

What does it take to enjoy these moments?
Stop. Sit back. Reflect. Do Nothing.
Pick out the rhythms of the sport and
disengage at that point from other activities.

Relax.
Enjoy.

Draft version 1.0, 18/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Monday, 14 March 2011

Tsunami Measures

I am sad at the destruction and weep at the faces
of the people affected by the tsunami
I wonder at the physical devastation and
can't begin to think of the pain of those who died

I think about the impact of the 8 foot move of Japan
Can someone calculate the Cee Oh Twos?
Have we gained or did we lose?
Can it be worked out, I'm sure somebody can

It's environmental, so use environmental measures
Rather than economic or political ones
And factor in the human loss
Before coming too judgemental

Draft version 1.0, 14/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Albino Mash

She was an albino lady with see through hair
I wore black to mourn for a dead friend.
It was only one journey in a life.
She looked like a faded strawberry blonde
In dark greens, with straight shoulder length hair
and I looked an aging angry goth, black hair red face.

Then the Duke of Wellington in the Swedish
quarter of that there London for food
More blondes being served by more black haired waitresses
I had bangers and mash that she just called mash
She says it to all the Northern boys
and the Irish of course.

Black: clothes, my hair, the waitresses uniform
White: the albino, the Swedes and the mash

Draft version 1.0, 14/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Hail storms, buses and shouty men

The solemn majesty of a grey Northern sky
is ripped apart by an explosion of hail stones
and the washed out light appears to
scintillate the rain drops on the bonnets of the cars
It is March, and the weather is changeable, 
charging and discharging, unsettled.


He sits and drinks and thinks and sits
talks to himself with embarrassing pauses
shouts loudly at bus stops and buses and cars
is banned from a number of the popular bars
technically mad but released on the world
expletives are thrown, blasphemies hurled


Then his ride arrives and he steps on to the platform
It shudders away, leaving silence, relief.


Draft version 1.0, 14/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Senses overcome by the smell of chips

Tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap.
It's rhythm and form you need to raise the soul
percussive sounds punctuate soft silk sonic backgrounds
turning to gongs, going to taps.

I refuse to be depressed, I chase moments to enjoy.
They are broadly, football, friends, music and beer
Or theatres, or performance, yes human excellence
movement of exaggerated glory, glorious to behold

The smell of old men is replaced by chips at Wigan North Western
It consume, I smell nothing else but there are other senses
I hear the Dublin voice reciting James Joyce, I see
the spring light catch the window frames
I express these observations and I feel joy.

Draft version 1.0, 14/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Monday, 7 March 2011

Wigan is full of love

And then on the train back
I met Dave and his mates
And they told me where to drink in Wigan


John Bull's Chop House from the 1500s
and one or two other like the Officers Club
and of course the Orwell at Wigan Pier


Is this the same town from the morning
whence came the thugs?  Can I escape
clause my own support, not stereotype


I feel in the midst of a political time bomb
best to walk away, to close it off
and have another beer


Draft version 1.0, 7/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Wigan is full of hate

I want to write about casual race hate
Alive and well in the Northern shires
But you know what? It was just hate hate
Nothing of love, or life, or friendship

Hatred of train seats, of fellow travellers
Hatred of Bolton, but mainly the railway station
Hatred of a football team, who weren't even there
Hatred of Asians and love for the EDL
Hatred of Allah, hatred of Manchester
Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.

But love for Lee McCulloch 'cos
We are little Wigan and we live in mud huts.

Draft version 1.0, 7/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Without art we are animals

bluster, irony, flippancy, invective
how do you escape embarrassing situations?
alabaster, ivory, amethyst, platinum
aesthetic materials to escape reality.


Cobalt blue, teal green, Moroccan red
vibrant colours to escape the humdrum
new mown lawn, suntan oil, lemon-scented perfume
fresh scents to rise above the mundane


we have to escape, we have to dream
we have to beautify and improve
we are the progressive species
and we manufacture beauty.


Draft version 1.0, 7/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Losing a deal on a Friday Afternoon

If you lose, and you have done your best
And you are asked to compete again
What do you do?

If you're behind and don't quite understand
but it's your job anyway
What do you do?

If you have much to do but can delegate
which leaves you free to contemplate
What do you do?

If you can avoid exercise and blame
the work load, even though it's not true
to behold, 'cos you do not spend time
but you rather waste time on pointless
other mechanical exercises and too much reading
What do you do?

Draft version 1.0, 7/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.

Free the dog by the River Bank

The river-stream is running fast
the banks have burst, the stagnant pool
has muddy liquid oozing roun its ditch
The dog hits the mud, then the stream, then the leaves
it springs and runs up and down the bank,
enjoying the freedom that the park can bring


For us, it's hard work waling the slippy path
the high field releasing streams through the trees
the elm, the birch, the stately oak, the republican ash
but the springer jumps, claws gripping never failing
It is sheer enjoyment, the best use of energy
Then the park is gone, it's back on to the pavement
Pass the shops, the cars, the people, the noise, the bars


Finally back home to a well-earned treat.


Draft version 1.0, 7/3/2011. Please do not copy or cite without author's permission.