Poetry - September 2010

Spoiling The Stig

Those greedy publishers at Harper Collins
Feel fit to spoil an open secret for motoring fans
As they publish the autobiography soon
Of a person who claims to be The Stig
The tame racing driver on BBC's Top Gear
It really does smack of opportunist moves
And publicity for their book for Christmas
Cashing in on something that they don't contribute to
It's a real shame for many fans of the show
Who enjoyed the fact that The Stig is mythical
And no one outside the show knows who he is
Which makes the whole thing more entertaining
The press to be fair even kept their mouths shut
Knowing that breaking silence would spoil the show
But then one publisher heads to court
Citing freedom of speech for their client
When all they care about is freedom to make money
Out of something that they don't own
But they don't realise the damage that it will do
Because motoring fans won't buy any of their books now.

(Dear me, what the hell are Harper Collins thinking? Idiots. The Stig is technically the BBC's property, not theirs, and keeping the whole thing a myth adds to the flavour of Top Gear. Well, it did...)

Am I In The Twenty Five?

One day after the transfer window
An anxious wait is to be yours today
Seeing if you've made the elusive list
Of squad players that will play
The Premier League season to come
And to be chosen for the team
Or will you not be one of those lucky ones
And down will go the self-esteem?
The time has come for you to check
And find out if you're included
The names are read out and you hope it's yours
And you won't feel too deluded
Relief hits you as your name is announced
As a member of the Premier League squad
You know you're safe for a few months
As you look at the choices, however odd.

(I wouldn't have been wanting to wait to see if I was in a Premier League squad of 25 - that must have been horrible for some players.)

It's All Mud

The last festival of the miserable Summer
Has you heading down south to Reading
Where you hope the incessant rain
Shows at least some sign of receding
You've packed your heavy duty wellies
Knowing that it could well be a bit muddy
You're so right as you enter the site
Sloshing wellies and feet are all you can see
You don't know where you'll pitch your tent
Hopefully not in too much quagmire
But you know that you'll enjoy the festival
And the muddy boots are a badge of honour to admire.

(I must admit I wouldn't have wanted to go to Reading Festival this year - but each to their own!)

Religion Is Hate

All around you all you can see
Are those who want to wage war
And yet when asked why this is so
Religion is cited as the most likely cause
Is this because it's drummed into some
That following their way is the only way
And to be anything other than what
They perceive as normal isn't the right way?
I noticed at the Manchester Pride this weekend
That some religious group doth protest
That to be gay somehow isn't compliant
With the religion that claims to know best
What complete nonsense that must be
And what a complete lie you've been told
If the only way to survive is through religion
Then I'm proof it's not true, and I'll grow old
Knowing that people take religion too seriously
And it ends up being a type of hate
That I don't need in this world right now
And shows that some religion isn't great.

(Inspired by Slayer's track "Cult". Pretty much sums up most of my feelings about religion that.)

Spa Haiku

Vettel hits Button
Both their races are over
Meaning much less chance.

(Meh. Sebastian Vettel didn't exactly cover himself in glory at the Belgian Grand Prix, did he?.)