Tag Archives: poetry

Christmas band.

I turn towards the clocktower in
the centre of the city and i see a christmas
brass band playing classic chrismas carols.
Small children stand by them with red
hats and red ribbons around their arm
and holding a red bucket in their hands.

Poeple stand around them in the freezing
cold holding bags full christmas presents
in one hand and a child in the next, and they
stand patiently waiting for the next song
to be played so they can put the money
in the bucket and run towards their cars
and go home to the warmth.

Drunk men gather around the band and
singalong and dance to the music and chant
like it”s half time at the football and im just
waiting for one of them to pull out a drum
of their own and join in with the band.

Some poeple walk on by like it doesn’t
exsist while others take notice at the music
and others look on in confusion at something
that might be interupting their shop.
I drop some change in one the buckets before
I carry on walking around and leave the football
chants and the brass band playing along
together.

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Middle of the afternoon

In the middle of the afternoon on the highstreet
and it’s raining and there’s a strong breeze blowing
my jacket behind me.
Poeple around me walking with umbrellas folded
up, business men with rain macks running for
shelter and mums dragging their childrens behind
and straight into a clothes store and out of the
crappy weather.

A bike comes speeding by me holding leather
hand bag in one hand and a can of Monster
in the other, he rides through a puddle and splashes
me in the face as he speeds on by.

“STOP HIM, HE’S GOT MY BAG”
a woman screams behind me as i carry on walking
but i don’t pay any attention and i just carry on
like nothing happens and two young girls run past
me and then stop on the corner with their hands
on their heads as i turn into the pub.

Death in the village

I was walking through the village centre on the weekend
looking for a pub and it was one of those hot days
the ones where all you want to do is lie down and
look up at a ceiling until you pass out for 12 hours.

I look over the other side of the road to see a small
crowd gathered around what looks like a man laying
flat on the pavement, everyone is around him holding
there phones in their hands and in the middle of a
chat.

A man with a dog stands on stares
a man and his daughter stand and stare.

I go into the pub and put down three beers
and I leave after about an hour
I look over the other side of the road to see
if the man is still there and he is but the
crowd has gone, there’s an ambulance near
by and men and women in green uniforms
stand around him and now there’s a sheet
covering him.

A police car and black car pull up right next
to the man and people walk on by turning
their heads to take a look as they walk into
the stores and carry on their day.

The man is put on a stretcher and put into the back
of the black car and taken away and everyone
keeps walking and shopping like nothing
has happened.

What a way to live

It’s not a gold plated sort of place
it’s never to going be a monochrome jewel
of a experience.
Just a solid 8 hour day.
Surrounded by old metal and rusty
machines
and that’s when you can find yourself
staring at a poster with a bored little
pug who’s been put on trial.

What a way to live
what a way to laugh.

This little dog is a not a god
But a pet going down for 10 years
a life time for the poor little dog.

What a way to live and laugh.

Potato fight

Walking through the town centre
on a busy Saturday afternoon looking
for a place to eat and calm down and
to get out of the craziness of the
high street I notice this new place
next to the shopping centre, Awesome
Chips it’s called, selling chips and
chips only.

The thought runs through my head
that this is just going to be a fancy new
hipster like establishment selling fancy
chips made from fancy spuds with
fancy sauce in a fancy package.

I get close and that’s when I hear screaming
coming from inside the store, yelling and
chanting.
That’s when a man around fifty wearing
grey jacket and dark blue jeans comes crashing
out of the store and falling into a cage containing
large bags of potatoes and spilling the
bags all over the street.

As the potatoes roll down the road a
large man abit younger than him and
much larger comes walking out after
the old man, his fists raised and yelling
“COME ON YOU FUCKING PUSSY, DONT
FUCKING PUSH ME OUT OF THE WAY”.
The old man gets up and just walks
away and walks down the street
and sits down at bus shelter.

This doesn’t seem like the typical
hipster place that I thought it would be.

Cycling helmet, dickhead.

“OI, dickhead”
that’s what I hear while riding
home in the rain from work one
Friday afternoon.
“Where’s your fucking
cycling helmet, twat”.

I turn my head to see where
the voice is coming from and
see a lady jogging over the road
shaking her head at me.
“Twat” she says under her breath
as I carry on riding further
away from her.

I don’t know what to think.
Why have I effect her day so much
that she has to point out to me
that i’m not wearing a cycling
helmet.

Where is she going?
Where will her run take her?
Why isn’t she wearing a high
vis vest?

She’s going keep on running
and I’m going to keep on riding
and she’s never going to
see me again
so it’s ok you don’t have to
worry about it because if I
fall off and crack open my
skull I’ll be thinking about
wearing a helmet next time.

I make it home and I’m still
thinking about the health
and safety jogger and I look
at my tyre and fuck I’ve
got a puncture.

I’ve gone green.

Sitting on the bed looking at the wall
while my guts burn
waiting for the moment to come
when I have to run to the bathroom
just so my soul can shoot out
of my mouth.

Hours go by and still no soul
just the feeling of it sitting
down bellow like stale beer
at the bottom of a glass.

I can’t even think straight it’s just wait
and wait
and wait
I can here the news in the
background
people working on the road
outside
next door neighbours moving
around their furniture.

And i’m just waiting for the
slime to make it’s appearance.
If I make it to the end of the
week will I still remember
my name.