Poetry - February 2006

Drop A Jeans Size? Yeah, Right.

I've been trying so hard
To stick to the new regime
Of eating two bowlfuls a day
And although it's paid off
And I've lost a few pounds
Not just weight but money along the way
Spending it on cereal
With promises of losing a jeans size
And the onset of being thinner
But all that it made me do
Was be tempted to eat chocolate
And become even more of a sinner.

(Well I did try, and I did lose 5 lbs in weight in three weeks. But the promises of Kellogg's of dropping the jeans size did not materialise, not surprisingly.)

Winter Of Discontent

It was nineteen seventy nine
No one wanted to seem to work
As strikes took hold of the country
The rubbish piled up everywhere
No one knew what to do
The country was being in the grip
Of those who needed more money
And equality with those who worked private
And as everything got worse
The prime minister dug the heels in
And declared that it wasn't that bad
Crisis? What crisis? Shouted everyone
And so it came to pass
It was the end of Labour as a power for years
And if only there was a better leader
Would there be years of Thatcherism?

(Just made me think that as a kid I remember this affecting everyone, schools closed, bins not collected and so on. Historical and definitely iconic for its time.)

Not Big B(r)othered

Another two weeks of yawnsome reality television
With so-called celebrities inside the house
Countless bitching, countless hours of boredom
Seeing people sleep, eat and drink
And yet people still stay up all night and watch
Waiting for any small bit of juicy gossip coming their way
Just makes me wonder if anyone's that bothered
And ironic that a non-celebrity won the whole thing
And then there's the auditions for this year's show
Are people so desparate to get on the telly?
They need their own reality: a reality check
And fast before the whole schedule's full of this crap.

(If someone could now tell me the point of Big Brother without being boring, then that would be some sort of achievement. Give me thoughtful intelligent television any day.)

Seven Hours

One cold February morning
One long wait to endure
One person we all want to see
Two thousand and me
Too wishing we could be at the front
Two drunken singers being crap
Three TV camera crews
Free tea and coffee for them
Three degrees the temperature
Four and ten pounds the CD
For having it signed is everything
Four thirty the shop closes
Five doormen being hard
Five are not the person here today
Five thirty the queue moves
Six wide the queue as we move
Six o'clock, oh please let me make it
Six thirty I am there
Seven I am out of there
Seventh heaven I am in
Seven hours and I shook his hand.

(Ah, the days of getting my Morrissey CD signed by the man himself. And I'm going to see him live in May, woohoo!)

The Day I Hate The Most Haiku

Everyone gushes
With the love that they wish for
But get just the once
One day of the year
When everyone gets the bug
The bug that is love
Yet why can't they show
The love for one another
All year round instead?
It's so false today
With love proclaimed by many
But meant by so few.

(Says it all...)