Tag Archives: poetry

The art of quitting.

The art of quitting can be something beautiful
and mysterious if you just go with it.
When you sit back in a chair with the curtains
closed and a blank television screen and just
give it, it feels a alot better than getting up
and giving a shit.

It’s a rare thing to do, it doesn’t come about
alot but when it does just embrace it for a
while and quit.
When you see a man in a car screaming a the
traffic all he has to do is quit and give up
it would be the best thing he would do that
day, the traffic wouldn’t matter because all he
needs to do is sit back and go “fuck it” and smile
and relax and let the world go by.

Thanks to celebrity the art of quitting is
become a dying breed but now is the time to
get it back into the main stream culture.
Or not, depends on how you feel.

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Cut head in a mosh pit.

The gig is now over, everything hurts from
the neck down. My age might be finally
catching up with me.
I finish off my JD and along with everyone
else i make my way towards the toilet which
is a like a small ritual to seasoned gig
goers.
Standing at the cubicle looking at the walls
of bands i’ve never heard of advertising gigs,
merchandise and upcoming tours, posters from gigs
months ago, a blues band adveritising their
annual christmas gig in the middle of Febuary
with the date christmas 2014 is still on the wall
about the sink.

I hear abit of comotion behind me, so i turn
around to a quick peak at whats going on and a
group small group have gathered around a man half
their size and they’re holding a damp cloth on
his head.
“What the hell happened, son?” one of them says
“It was the mosh, the fucking mosh pit” the small man
says barely getting the drunk slurred words out
“I must have of duckin’ hit someone elses head during
the last bluddy song”
and thats when i notice blood going down the
back of his white t-shirt as i wash my hands.

I leave the toilet leaving the group of men
to clean the blood of the guys head and i exit
the venue wondering what happened and
who the man hit his head on.
As i walk away looking for the nearest pub
i see a long haired metal head sitting on the side
of the road with his friends holding
his forehead complaining of a sharp pain
above his eyes.

The music goes off….

I’m sitting at the back of the pub when the music
goes off, and the dance floor descends into total chaos,
a full on brawl.
The place has only been open an hour, I’ve only had
two drinks and a riot has broken out, it’s a 7 on 7
free for all, chairs are flying over head.
Glasses, Bottles, Shoes are being tossed around
at all angles and it’s slowly making it’s way to my
table where I’m sitting by myself with a Jack Daniel’s
and Coke and I’m a reading a news story on my
phone.

The 7 on 7 aspiring alcoholics, punching, kicking,
choking, glassing and chairing each other get closer and
closer to my table, so I down my drink and close
down my phone ready to make my way towards
the exit to find a new pub.
Thats when the police rush in, I can’t count how many of
them there are but it’s enough to hold off any
unwanted hooligan with a pint of carling in his
hand ready to smash someone’s face in.

They drag them out of the pub and into cars
and riot vans and that’s when I decide to leave
the place.
I look around at the carnage as i walk towards the door
and i see that the bar staff are on the floor somehow,
I never even noticed them getting involved, the chair
throwing and the glassing’s took me away from everything
else that was happening around the place.

So I leave and walking down the street I can hear
the sirens in the distance taking away the brawlers and
crazies and people walking beside me asking questions about
what has happened.
People i recognise that were in the pub are talking and
laughing about what they have just seen, typing on their
phones about the choas.
Then I find an irish pub and walk through the doors
and it’s empty…..

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.

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.