Poetry - September 2005

Freddie The Man

He stands at the crease
With his side in trouble
Yet he never panics one bit
And just plays his normal game
He relishes the challenge
Of taking on the Australians
And every boundary he hits
Is met by a chorus of applause
Throughout the summer he plays
As if his life depended on it
The summer carries on to September
And he's still there giving it to them
Not just with the bat but with the ball
And if you ever wanted someone in your side
He'd be the man - Freddie Flintoff's the name
And helping England win the Ashes is his game.

(I'm so bloody proud of him - and he's Lancastrian to boot. Freddie, Freddie, Freddie....)

I Need A Hug

I feel way too tired
I've worked way too hard
I just feel so low and down
I need a hug to make me better
I've cried and cried
I've tried and tried
To be myself
I need a hug for comfort
I want to be happy
I really want to be happy
I need to feel someone close
I need a hug for warmth
I want to be safe and secure
I really like being tender
Why shouldn't I have love?
I need a hug to tell me so.

(When you miss someone, you really want them to give you a hug. I've felt like this over the years if I've not been together with the woman I've loved at that time)

Paradoxical Thoughts From My Weird Mind

If as they claimed the world was really flat
And that the sea would mark the boundaries
Then why when we visit the seaside
Aren't we all falling over the edges?
If everything actually made sense
There'd be no killing in this world
And an environmental change to save us all
Which was destroyed by the American dream.

(As I said, my mind goes weird sometimes.)

Stress At Work

You're stressed out
Your workload is piling up by the minute
The in tray seems to be getting larger and larger
And everyone else at work is the same
So they can't exactly help you
So you try and go quicker
You up your typing speed to fifty words a minute
There may be the odd spelling mistake
But the gist of your comments are on that system
And so you carry on
You start to sweat and another idea
You run to the copier and the fax
And run back after you've used it
You're saving precious time that way
So you can make more of an effort
And it gets to four o clock
That in tray looks not to have decreased
But you're writing back to customers as fast as you can
You've got cramp in your arm
The typist is going to really hate you
Giving her all that work at once
But you can't cope, you're getting stressed
And when you get out of the office you're upset
You go home in a terrible mood
And won't speak to anyone all night.

(An average day for the stressed out customer service office worker - I've been there and done that myself.)

Sven Boring Eriksson

Sven, Sven, Sven Boring Eriksson
He has no idea of tactics and playing the right person
Just choosing his players from certain teams all the time
They're all his friends and he can't drop them - it's a crime
Sven, Sven, Sven Boring Eriksson
All he wants to do is show the wrong sort of passion
He likes to score with women but his team doesn't score
And that four five one system is just such a bore
Sven, Sven, Sven Boring Eriksson
If he was English, the press would have had him long gone
He doesn't carry any emotions through to them all
We were deservedly beaten in Belfast - we'll win fuck all
Sven, Sven, Sven Boring Eriksson
Someone should show him the cricket team doing passion
He might get the idea of what it means in his job
But he'll find another girl at the FA to screw with his knob..

(You get the idea, methinks. Actually you know there was that song about him a few years back? Well I managed to get the words to this poem to fit the main verses of the song. Neato eh?)