Poetry - January 2006

25 Years of Bull

He takes to the stage
An audience is transfixed
Three hours later he's still talking
And everyone's still similing
For the last twenty five years
One man has delivered his eulegies
From subjects like Iraq and Shatner
There's one man who does it all
He'll make you laugh or cry
But most of all it's not meant to be humour
It just happens to be that way inclined
The delivery makes it all worthwhile
So I can't wait till March 27th
When I'll happily spend another three hours
Celebrating the man who gives you value
Henry Rollins, take a bow.

(Not much more to say. He's back and playing his spoken word tour at a town near you. Go! And take a friend with you to be immersed in the experience. You won't be disappointed.)

My Perfect Day

I'd wake up at a time that I'd prefer
Rather than be dictated by getting to work
I'd have a breakfast with croissants and cheese
That wouldn't have to be cooked by myself
I'd take a nice long walk in a romantic setting
Even if I wanted to be alone by myself
I'd walk up hills and admire the view
In this idyllic and charming setting
I'd stop for a pub lunch and steak and ale pie
Brimming with the finest Cornish Tribute ale
I'd then cycle along the beach front and take in the air
Avoiding the hills that would make me so tired
I'd then have an evening meal in a fancy restaurant
Where no expense would need to be spared
And then I'd curl up with someone to love
And the whole day would be complete.

(Well, who needs a wedding to be the perfect day? Surely sometimes you can wish for other moments in your life that would be more fulfilling, right? And that's how I see it. Oh, and check this out if you want to understand my waffle about Tribute ale - available down your local Asda if you're lucky..)

Christmas TV Is So Rubbish

The family film that you already have on DVD
Another Christmas special with Z-list celebrities
Or a festive show just for the sake of it
And repeats of the Snowman and Mary Poppins
Is everyone that occupied or bored this time of year
That we get fed fodder that's all repeated before
Nothing new, nothing interesting, nothing exciting
Just more of the same reality rubbish
Where was the big blockbuster you wanted to see?
And what happened to all the sport coverage?
Ultimately it proved Christmas TV was bobbins
And I'm glad I wasn't stuck at home over this time.

(Yawn. Thank heavens for all the DVDs I got for Christmas eh?)

Fifteen Minutes of Shayne

Well he won the X-Factor contest
And he wanted you to love him
He wanted your heart and soul
Apparently on the single, that's his goal
But behind that exterior lies the muck
That happens to be the stuff that sticks
Particularly if you're a tabloid journalist
Looking to fill those column inches
Like his mum getting arrested in Manchester
For being drunk and disorderly
Someone probably dared to say
That the X-Factor was rigged
And that in fact his singing is rubbish
And the allegation his father's doing time
Does nothing to really make you convinced
That he'll be around in years to come
So Shayne had better enjoy his fifteen minutes
Someone else better looking will be around
And then no one will want to know the Clayton crooner
As the heart and soul will be gone elsewhere.

(I have a feeling somewhere that this X-Factor winner will go the same way like the last one - ie: down the pan. Anyone hear Steve Brookstein these days? Exactly..)

I Predict Nothing

I don't try to predict anything
As I always get it wrong
So I play safe and predict nothing
I predicted years ago City would be safe
From the threat of relegation
And what happened? We went down.

(Says it all...)