Poetry - September 2006

The Miracle

For many a long year they've been the bogey team
We'd get heavily beaten at home and never win away
Getting a draw almost seemed like a victory obscene
But I sometimes was just waiting for one happy delirious day
A miracle might be what we need if were to win the game
And sure enough on August 26th everything was all set
An evening kick off and a team lagging from midweek - shame!
So it became ninety minutes of nerves and sweat
You'd normally expect their striker to score one on one
But Nicky Weaver wasn't letting anyone past him at all
And so the half drew to a close and the time had almost gone
We got a penalty and Joey Barton thundered the ball into the goal
The second half was horrible, the time just seemed to be slow
And no matter what I did or tried nothing would make time faster
As the other team drew nearer to scoring every time I would vow
That if we lost this miracle chance it'd be total disaster
But then it was all over, we'd finally achieved the impossible mission
Of beating Arsenal for the first time in a very long time
No longer playing them would mean howls of despair and derision
But instead just maybe this win isn't a one off this time.

(I was a nervous wreck waiting for that scoreline to come through, not least even more so watching the game at night afterwards - it was just so unreal. 1-0 to the City boys sounds much nicer than 1-0 the Arsenal though I have to say.)

I Am Me

I am me
And no one else
I'm just little me
Not so young anymore
Probably a little cynical
But in the end just me
I don't want to be anyone else
I quite like who I am
I don't care if that's being aloof
Because everyone is different
And we should be proud to be so
Because being me is about being me
So what if I have idiosyncracies?
Who doesn't?
So what if I hold my pen funny?
And why should that be a big deal?
And so what if I have moments of madness?
Rather have them than be boring, eh?
So what if people think I'm a geek
That's their look out, not mine
I know I'm not perfect either
But then who is?
And looking for perfection
Is just a road to nowhere
So I quite like being me
Because I know who I am
And that's just me
And that's the way I'll stay.

(Sometimes we forget to be ourselves, something I'm very self conscious of. Well, I quite like being me actually. I wouldn't have it any other way. So there.)

I'm Not You

I thank you for trusting me
With your inner secrets
I know you find it hard to trust people
I think we all do deep down there
B ut I'm not going to patronise
And say that I know how you feel
How can I know anyone else's feelings
If at times I don't even know my own?
I can't imagine anyone else's life
Because my own is being lived by me
I just want to be supportive
I only want to be caring for you
And I can only show my empathy
I'm not you
I can't know how you feel
But I want to understand from your point of view
So that I can share your feelings.

(An old one I recently found and re-wrote. I think it says a lot in that you can't pretend to say that you know how someone else feels, but at least by showing empathy and caring you can at least be there for someone when they need you.)

Loving Yourself

If you don't love yourself
Then who will love you?
And if you do love yourself
Is that a sign of being aloof?

(A rhetorical question maybe, but something we all have to ask ourselves. After all if you love yourself, it's easier to love others...)

2am Saturday Night

I've been walking in the rain
Just trying not to get wet on purpose
I see all sorts of strange sights
Like those women in the shortest skirt
Still desparate to cop for a shag
But some of them are so drunk
They fall into road works
And have to get the workers to rescue them
Unless that's part of their cunning plan
But I'm past caring about what they do
All I can see is more people more drunk
Getting violent and fighting each other
Ten pints more than they can handle
Battling over a woman who just isn't worth it
And yet they're so passionate about her
I just don't get it whatsoever
All I then see are people selling something
That shouldn't be sold after a certain time
Clutching the damp papers of a Big Issue
Picked up from a bin long discarded
You politely tell them no thank you
And yet they still beg you for money
Because the White Lightning has kicked in
Along with the Kestrel Super Strength
It just makes you feel less safe and alone
And so I make my weary way home
The night bus comes and takes me away
From all the mad chaos cleaned up by Sunday aft.

(I used to like Saturday nights out. These days I like to be home before the drunkards take over the city centres.)