Poetry - February 2008

Three Hours Flying By

He takes the stage
Always in the same gear
Regulation black shirt and pants
And either shoes or sneakers
He doesn't need to change gear
There's only one pace he knows
Thundering at a hundred miles an hour
Going through stories and monologues
That'll make you laugh out loud
That'll make you yell "Yeah!"
That'll make you also think deeply
And yet still be effortlessly enthralled
For three hours time flies by
I don't feel a single moment is wasted
And as the clock strikes eleven thirty
It's all over as soon as it begun
I wish everyone had the balls to be on so long
And keep everyone excited and interested
But you have to be the man to do it
And that's what Henry Rollins is.

(Every time I see Henry Rollins do his spoken word thing, I'm never disappointed. And definitely not so this time either, absolutely awesome it was.)

Window Of No Opportunity

The clock ticks down
It's an hour to the end of January
And for many a football club
It's their last chance to sign for free
A potential player for their team
Or one that would fit in the squad
And yet everyone leaves it so late
That faxing forms at 11.30 doesn't seem odd
And yet there's always one deal
Clinched at the end of the day
Where the argument isn't about the fee
But how they're going to pay
Ultimately though deals are done
And it's often to the end of the season
So if the team goes down to another division
Then to stay there they have no reason
I just wish we'd signed someone we were after
Instead of keeping quiet for so long
But at the same time you don't want to rush
And buy someone who worked out all wrong.

(Darn those transfer windows - they're mad stuff they are. Such as the clock on Sky Sports News the other day.)

Let It Snow

We always have rain and wind
And it would make a change, you know
To see the white stuff trickle down
And settle on the floor as white snow
So that we could look picturesque
And the city would look rather wintry
But all that we get is sleet and slush
That means slushballs thrown at me
Other parts of the country are snowed in
And although it's an inconvenience
It must also look nice to be coated in white
And enjoying the stillness of Winter's deliverance
I just wish that it woluldn't blow so hard
And that the clouds would turn a shade of grey
That meant the white stuff falls down gently
And that the freezing weather would go away.

(Sounds daft, I know, but I wouldn't mind a little bit of snow - just for once here would be nice.)

I'm Ignoring The Fourteenth

I don't care what day it is
It just means nothing to me
I don't feel inferior because I'm single
Instead I feel happy and free
I'm going to ignore the fourteenth
And everything that it stands for
I don't want any artificial love
Or indeed any fake plastic amour
Everyone will be out to eat
Trying so hard to pretend to be romantic
But surely it's just a false facade
For the row later's going to be dramatic
I've had experiences good and bad
On this seemingly fateful of days
But it doesn't matter what I think
The commercialism leaves me dazed
I just think it's so hyped and all for nothing
That reality and love seem so far apart
And for me that's not such a good thing
But why don't we make a stand and start
To realise love should be every day
And not just on the fourteenth of Feb
Then we can all show that we won't be pandered to
Flowing to the lowest common ebb
We all want to do the nice thing
And be the loving kind
But we can show that at any time we want
And not feel forced to from behind.

(Yeah, it's my annual rant about a certain day - and it's just too much commercialism and hype now. I vote instead for something else.)

Down The Pub Haiku

We're going to drink
Down the pub we have five pints
And then wake up sick.

(Been there, done that.)