Vauxhall, Keep Off, Gridiron Lady.

Vauxhall

Repeatedly
Scotsman Politics
Apathy Tube
Loves London.
Hates Celtic
Likes my Shoes
Ska-man! He calls me
Repeatedly
Biggots, The Sour Sturgeon,
Over we chew
Shows me his Partick Thistle tattoo.
Repeatedly


Keep off

Don't punch
The bees
Don't feed
The pigeons
Save the
Foxes
Hate religion
Don't
Hate the
Religious


Gridiron Lady

As successful as
The Cleveland Browns:
Unity projects
In England's smallest towns.
That's what they want you
To swallow down.

Kingston Train Station Observational

Hot pants and tears
At the suburban
Railway;
S’alright he’s
Got a comforting
Suit on.
Not comforting really.
As right and
Proper as the pigeon
Spikes
In his investment,
His Chicago bears
Play the bulls
“No, love
What I meant to say
Is” not
That.
Paying the bills.
S’alright though,
He's got a suit on.
Over the shoulder
Mascara drips,
Behind previous I
Afternoon
Text message tiffs,
Waiting room doorway
A tear-drops hits,
Price drops,
Rain drips,
Time slows, ticks
By an obscene
Amount.
The necessary
Train guard waves.
They both
Separate
Their
Never ways.

A Couple or Three Down The Compton Arms

A Couple or Three
Down The Compton Arms

You always push it
An hour, see.
I don't care for Dave
I don't care for Kev
I don't care for Billy.
I care like you
Should.
For an hour.
For me.

A couple of 4 short ones

A Haiku

Fifteen point, nine point,
Five point plan. By! Each day ticks
Tips hat to You, Gov.

A Tanka

The Art of Being Straight

Straight lines straight lines you
Straight call lines these straight lines call
Straight these call you lines
Straight you call line straight these you
Straight up lines you call these lines?


A Haiku

Feeding season,
May Stable bolts, not strong to keep
Hungry mice at bay


A Tanka

One shows oneself, up
One shows what's behind blue eyes
One shows neck of brass
One commits to maintain one’s
Personality bypass

For Manchester, a poem

I wrote this in an hour,
Which was not an act of flippancy
Or braggery, just an an emotional response.
I'm not from there, but close enough.
It's a city I worked in and had some of the
Best nights of my life in.
This is a city I know and love
And if you spend any time there
It becomes a bit of you and
You become a bit of it.

For Manchester

Throw that shit at us?
Take it on the chin, mate
You ideological blagger.
Chest it down,
Volley it in t' top corner,
Celebrate with swagger.
More soul in these
Dancing shoes, mate
Than your empty, selfish jabber,
'Cos we're spreading
Love not hate,
Singing unity songs,
Casual, yet dapper.
'Cos defiance flows,
Like lager in the rain,
So, sort yer neck out,
You ignorance projector,
You pointless Beswick Bag Collector.
Whatever shit you throw at us,
This City is United.
With industrious creativity
With balls, with soul, with chivalry
As Tony Wilson said:
"This is Manchester,
We do things differently."



Peace.

Ess

(For a bit, at school, ‘ess’ was shorthand for ‘essence’,
meaning 'brilliant’, i.e. ‘It were ‘ess' = 'it was brilliant')

Blokes debate
The necessity
Of the
‘-Ess’ suffix.
Actor,
Actress.
Manager,
Manageress.
To excessive
Excess.
It's important
To them, it seems.
In, the barperson leans.

These cerebrally
Impotent bloke-esses,
Discusses,
The unnecessary-ness
Of lack of success
To homestead press
Such Jurassic parquess
Suffixes,
There’s a
Verbal express-ness
Of the unequivocal-essness
Of the mandatorial-essness
Of the quintessential 'esses'.
The barperson expresses
Some distresses
Without successes,
'Cos the bloke-esses
Have myopic deafness.

Repressiveness,
Is the assertives' assetess,
Manifesting in this
Manesses’ congress,
Putting to press
This malevolentess
Incompetentress's
Seethers' digest
Of incomprehensibleness.

These imbalanced genderists
In the bars' breasts
Nest and coalesce
And request:
No more outspokenness!
Or balance upsets!
'Cos lest we forgets:
That's just
The way
It is
Bruv.
(Ess.)

Trees, School Dinners and The Daftest Thing I've Erver Written

Haiku

Yew trees hear you, oh?
Yew turns season's tree you coat
Yew turn away, u-turn.

Tanka

You child! Yes, you there!
Give us your dinner money!
There's a fault line in
Our faulty fiscal figures
And it's all your fucking fault!