Poetry - December 2007

Counting Down The Stations

I used to make a long journey at the weekend
Between Manchester and Birmingham
It got to the point that to pass the time
And to make sure I didn't feel glum
I'd note all the little stations I went past
So I'd feel like the destination was getting closer
It just meant I knew where I was if we broke down
And that any delays would mean it'd be slower
So from Piccadilly through Levenshulme
Heaton Chapel and to Stockport
Cheadle Hulme, Bramhall, Poynton and Adlington
And Prestbury, no faults to report
Macclesfield and Congelton passes me by
Kidsgrove, Longport and Stoke on Trent
Etruria's no longer there any more
A station that just came and then it went
Wedgwood, Barlaston and then it slowed at Stone
As it did at the junction at Norton Bridge
Then as it went through Stafford and to Wolverhampton
It'd only pass the market town of Penkridge
I knew I'd be on the home run from then on
Coseley, Tipton, Dudley Port, Sandwell and Dudley
Then to Smethwick Galton Bridge then Rolfe Street
And then I'd get all my stuff with me ready
I know I'd be getting to New Street Station
It's Hell On Earth, and you don't want to be there for long
Another journey down is complete for me Friday night
As I've been counting down each station.

(Going to Birmingham always reminds me of the journeys I used to do - and how it got so monotonous without any portable MP3 player to speak of back then, I'd count the stations down. Strange but true!)

The Christmas Market Rip Off

You see all the nice little stalls
Made with wooden huts and looking rather homely
But what is inside seems to be quite inviting
Some hand made goods or some unsual food
But then you see the price tag and that's quite scary
It seems way overpriced for what it is to be
As you sup your gluhwein and keep warm
You realise that it's just an excuse to make money.

(As nice as all these Christmas markets are, don't you think they're actually a bit pricey for what they offer? Especially when it comes to the food.)

Thirteen Buses

He had done various stunts in his time
Including a daring leap over the Snake River Canyon
But the rocket powered bike opened the chute
Which made the descent just no fun
And with all the bold brashness only he could have
He then came over to Wembley Stadium
The Summer of 1975 was his to be made
As he planned to jump red buses from London
He went down the ramp from the stand behind the goal
And careered towards take off at speed
Thirteen buses he wanted to clear
But got to the thirteenth and that bus did the deed
It tipped him upside as he landed on the ramp
And went crashing down to another injury
He claimed then it was to be his last jump
But we all thought he'd be back, you'll all see
I even got the stunt cycle set at Christmas
And endlessly had the cycle going down the stairs
To replicate Evel's daring stunts
And his proof that he was definitely he who dares.

(Evel Knievel died yesterday - one of the great stuntmen, even if he crashed when doing them.)


It's better than none
If it's only just one
It's also unique
If it's just the one
We all long for a partner
To be the one
And in the Premier League
You want to be number one
You don't hear Grand Prix Racing
You hear Formula One
And if you're the goalkeeper
You're usually number one
U2 got it right with their song
That was also called One
And you're always told to
Look after number one!

(It's not my lucky number, but it seems to be unique in so many ways - here's a few I thought of earlier.)

Haiku For Christmas

December morning
Wake up full of excitement
But where's the snow gone?

(Be nice if it was a White Christmas this year, don't you think?)