Annoyed again

The least able,
least hard working,
least intelligent,
least industrious,
least caring,
least gifted
have least respect.

Its just a scream.

The least rich, however,
have respect
for those that are rich.
And yearn to become so.

Its just a scream.

And it would seem,
the least famous
have most respect
for those they see nightly on the telly.
And yearn incompetently to become them.

Its just a scream.

How is it
that the most commendable traits
have the least publicity,
least following
and most need.

Its just a scream.

While the most shallowest of traits
achieve the largest followings
and most wannabe status.

Its just a scream.

Humanity is without hope
if we continue
to want only
for fame and fortune.

Its just a scream.

I am only annoyed.
Ignore my ramblings.
An easy life
is not for all.

Its just a scream,
only worthy of being ignored.

 

Stupid

Logic - is it the basis of truth?
Or the basis of thought or life?
If so, why can't everyone do it?
Why are so many so stupid?
Why is stupid so important?
What is so evolutionary important about stupid?
Does stupid give us people to fight our wars for us?
Does stupid give us people to clean our houses?
Is stupid protection from reality?
Perhaps we are all stupid,
but the special ones
can also analyse
and force themselves
to be logical
and appear only clever.

So, billions of years
to achieve our level of stupid.
Not too impressive - but do the clever ones compensate;
redress the balance;
alleviate the pain
of others who would go insane
through stupidity of action?
no. that's not it. that's stupid.

Stupidity wanes from its peak.
We think for a while. We don't speak.
Something inside us
However, quiet or fleeting
still all inside us
rotates the ideas
around in our heads,
makes sense,
refreshes
rejuvenates
when we are quiet
and alone,
thinking
of our own
actions and words
misgivings perhaps,
we can do better
we know.
we grow.
maybe slow.
but we grow.
a little.
when we aren't
being stupid.

 

What should an old git wear?

What should an old git wear?
Well, to start with, definitely underwear.
New or clean if you can do it,
No stains or whiffs of pee or shit.

Boxers or briefs? It doesn't matter.
But men in thongs do seem to shatter
the confidence of those around
that the mind is still sound.

Wash the body every day.
Even a squirt of spray.
Keep those smells
and secretions at bay.

The rest of dress is just a bonus:
Style and colour and ruggedness
are of such small consideration
to poo and pee and perspiration.

 

 

Surfing

Been watching the sea and people all morning
its sunny, a thursday, autumn, and yawning
are the waves.

men over thirty seem to make up
most of the people and the only ones
taking a dip in the sea.
They were quite sinewy,
more rugged than me.

Old couples also the seafront walked
enjoying the sun and a modicum of warmth.

A bloke on skates, a man with dogs,
the waves' gaping mouths,
engulfing air and making foam
that blew on its way
across the undulating green,
hiding the swell of hollows and waves.
hidden distant storms coming to the shore.

the surfers in rubber
seemed cleverer
to dress for the weather.
as they sat like jockeys
on their fibreglass seahorses.

not many waves transported them
but seemed contented enough
in the sun
on their steeds
grazing
on the freedom
of the sea.

One got up and stood temporarily
before falling gracefully
back into the foam and green
of the effortless ocean.

they seemed happy enough
although its not rough
enough for long rides
and the mirth of riding
the bounding tigers to the shore.
But it was rough enough later on.

 

 

Sally

Sally and I
played tennis together
She was good,
but I was better.

But love is clearly
another skill.
The sixth form boys
she used to thrill.

To ask her out,
I managed to dare.
But...
She said she had
to wash her hair.

 

 

The intestines

The intestines
are very
interesting.
Peter Cook
said so.

They wobble.
They wriggle.
They squirm.
They dribble.

We smile.
We wriggle.
We squirm.
We dribble.

But we are not
intestines
because
we smile.

 

 

in jeans, with my wife

we were sitting on the edge of our seats.
the world was slowing as we trembled on the springs of the sofa.

there it was again.
something knocked us.
we fell into the night.
no one was there.
except us

we fell and whirled.
and span into space.
a bubble.
no.

a flight devoid of effort.
but to where?
there was no where to go
without bravery.
above the earth.
waiting...

lets go higher,
lets go higher,
above the weather.

into the sky.
still so much higher
to go before space.
will we get there together?

yes, we will.
we are moving
upwards and outwards,
into the voids
of holes and quarks.

we're moving.
i can see some new clouds
of gas and of hydrogen
like in the novels
and photos from hubble.

we are up
in the space of photos
with feet that go walking
over the planets
and into minds
on mars and jupiter
and then on to space
where the holes and the nebula
move in grace, power and life.
i wonder if i can get there
in jeans, with my wife.

 

 

Cosy

Cosy is a facade
or at best
a fleeting flirtation,
with expended effort's endorphin reward.

But the world is not cosy.
In our temporary comfort
horrors are still occurring
habitually
hopelessly
while we rest.

So we sleep well,
cut off, cosy
while others can only glimpse
through a chink
at our temporary bliss

What pain must we pay
for our temporary seclusion?
Or are our noble words
protection enough of our
cosy aspirations
and easy endeavours.

My words ease my pain,
but not theirs.
Oh well!
But I can still sleep.

Their pain is not mine,
and surely not my fault.
But it shatters
my cosy world.

 

 

Henry

Able to converse
on a wide span of topics
Dr Who, Top Model
and Quantum mechanics.

Brave in the scrum
Good with a ball
Thinks on his feet
Knows a ruck from a maul.

Sits on the sofa
Eating the biscuits
Annoying his mother
Watching TV in snippets.

But there's more to this man
Than rugby and telly,
Deep and thoughtful, with
Farts that are smelly.

Your humour and honesty
to me need some drive -
they need a new challenge
more than sitting inside
and talking with old people,
no matter how clever,
is now not enough
you need something better.

So now bugger off,
leave us alone.
we'll love you forever,
and money we'll loan,
if we can and are able,
even a new flat we will buy,
the world needs you talents
- to see you fly.

 

Cash for maths!

preface - it has always saddened me that students that show talent in mathematics gravitate somehow to accountancy and law...

Maths in banking, law and money
Brings big houses, suits, smart shoes, a honey.
But transient these items are,
Think beyond rewards of a neat fast car.

Economics might be fun,
but beware of the politician.
Your model perfect, it may be,
But truth's not the friend of the MP.

Keep you vision free and high
Keep finding solutions to how and why.
Fun in solving problems unfathomable
brings rewards beyond cash - don't scrabble
along for just hope of money,
Be true, be strong, focused, funny.

Cash is fun, but does not stand
Through centuries, unlike the finds
Of Euclid, Pythag, Fourier, Newton -
Their life's' work still in use on
Everything we do today
Clearly more cool than any Ferrari.

So it seems to me
if aiming for immortality
choose maths, physics, poetry or art
live forever in peoples' hearts
with things that will be remembered
not just what you bought, your gift squandered.

 

Not moving up

"I'm not moving up to a 16!"
But you are too big for a 14.
But you need to stop eating so much then.
But you need to exercise more then.
But the 16 is still nice on you.
But you are fooling yourself that
you are still young and thin.
But nothing was said.
But the men all thought the same.
"You are slightly insane."

 

Poems

I can not paint.
I can not draw.
I can not write music.
I can not sing,
except in the car,
alone.

But words come out
in rhythm and rhyme.
They make me light
and alive.

I sit and write, often alone,
when anger or depression
would otherwise
engulf the silence.

And for fun
or to be mean
to others that would
make me scream.

 

Chatterbox

Too many words
barely stopping for breath.
Too noisy. Too wasteful.
Too full of effervescence
to be useful
except for stopping
the talker's brain
from exploding
with frustration and feelings;
fighting for existence
in a cluttered world.

What are they feeling
behind the facade of words?
I'm lonely? I'm happy?
I'm sad? I'm blue?
I'm pretty - I used to be?
I'm scared of you?
Or none of these, 'cos
they can't think
the words through.

That's sad.
Why should this be so,
when others have so much thought
that they can barely speak?

 

 

Normal

i don't think i want it
i see it and it scares me
no originality
no risk
no fun
no expression
no youth
just fear

 

 

 

Write

why do we write
what does it do
it opens up
it changes
it thinks
it escapes the world

 

 

Experienced

I should have been brave
When I was young.
But instead
I started running.
I ran into hope.
I ran into love.
I was surprised.
I thought my life was over.
I ran with new vigour.
I worked.
I shared what I had.
I had to share.
I am worn out now.
There is little left
Except clarity and honesty.
I am in a corner.
Now I have to climb.
There is a view.
I see
But I am not sure
I understand.
I do not know
If what I have done
Is worthwhile.
I know there
Is more to do.
The view gives
Strength and
Dignity and
Perspective
To my view
Of humanity.
But no certainty.
Here is not where
I thought I would be
When I was young.
The young have vision
And the opportunity
To be brave.
But only a few
Use it.
The old have
Experience,
But not of the paths
Chosen by the brave.
And do the brave
Understand the runners?

 

 

two old blokes

two old blokes
sitting in their cars
looking at the sun rise
listening to songs

one is playing something loud
one is playing dylan
both sing out loud
good job no ones listening

if you saw them
you would run
from their grey stubble
and tuneless fun

trying to understand
why here is now.
needing and enjoying
lonesome morning singing

it seems they bare
the grey and wear
of time spent
getting nowhere

but they are somewhere.
just not where
youth expects
to be heading.

Songs of our youth
keep us sane and standing
up to the noise
of others laughing

so take the piss
out of the old men.
they know that they
deserve it

they also know what
you are thinking,
when your jokes
at them you're slinging

the old and sad need memories
of young and bad
and take its cost
in looking sad

they are stronger
in their minds
than the youth
with their looks

so look deeper at
the man
under the hat
or the cap
or the singing
grey
slap
head.
It could be you.

 

 

Surely everyone

Surely everyone
is brave
except me.
No one tells of
their life’s mistakes.
Few tell
you that life
is a mess.
We are not brave
enough to tell our
children
that life is
a struggle.
Instead, you find out
with your first mistake
when you are alone.
From then on
you want to get back to the
clarity of yesterday.
We do not lie.
We just do not tell.
We want our children to be what we are not.
But we are all children failing at adulthood.
Those that get on ignore
their failings and lack of honesty.
Others are only consumed by their failure.
No escape.
And some in-between…
What are you?
One of the special ones?
Its nice to think so.
But I am not.
Just a grinder
and cheater
and loser.
But losing is
not to be feared.
The best have lost.
Those we think of as successes
had mostly losses in their life.
So be brave with your failure,
if you can.
We have all failed.
You are not alone.

 

scooter man

you don't smile
you buzz your buzzer
you speed in front of me
where are you going in such a hurry?
death?
are you too fed up with the world to smile?
will i become you?
probably

 

 

One leg

I like to sit
a bit
and look
and cook.

But not to
stand
on one leg
in the corner.
That is not
my idea
of fun.

But wait,
It is!
I stand.
It’s fun!

Until your
leg breaks
or gets tired.

But tiring things
can be rewarding.
I will carry on.
There.
More.

What are you doing there?
Standing on
one leg?

Enjoying,
thank you!
Join me
if you like?

Hmmmm...
Looks scary
unless you
know what
you are doing.

True,
but it is
surprising what you see
when you are
on
one leg.

Toadstools
and turnips.
Much different
to two legs.

And caterpillars
walking
sideways.

Do you see them?
No?
Well get on one leg
and you might.

smiles on the floor
snakes on the door
wriggles in the washing machine
noses in the morphine

that would be handy
if you need to lose some pain
but use sparingly
and not for fun
just for pain
when dying

now I am sad
I started out happy
where has it gone?
bring it back
now.

Get back on one leg.
It does not help.
it only fixes things
if you are already well.

 

 

the bald head

it shines
it smiles
it talks
it beguiles

where did it come from?
how did it grow?
will it stay single?
should it go below

to the land of shame
and age
and despair?

no.
let it out.
let it lose.
we love
having no hair.

 

here again

here it comes
again
i wonder what
this time it
will bring?

new rhymes
I hope
as mine all
seem to use
ing to much.

the man with
the beard
looks smiley
but brave
but unsure
as to why
he should
be here
at all.

then the foot
carries on
to where it should
go
a forest
a street
a disco.

the spin carries on,
the thoughts clatter through,
like a life
in an instant
with youth and new

things that we need to survive.
The letting of blood
of thoughts and grief
and energy
wasted
on what might have
been.
but that thought
and the ride
can not be turned off
easily.

this is good.
I am starting
to feel somewhat knackered
the release of the words
has somehow shattered
the walls of existence
and frustration around me
I think I'll have lunch
and a glass of cold scrumpy.

 

 

still bubbling

i spin
i stare
i share
i wear
out the keyboard

i look
i turn
i smile
i burn

oh dear
that hurts
don't
try that at home.

is this new
is this old
is it copied
is it bold
to let out your thoughts
to the world
as a whole

uh oh..
dr seuss
is coming back

i like to comb
and write
at home
it makes me feel
less alone
with my thoughts
and my thinking.

its all coming out
i hope you can bear it
are you ready for a rhyme
with something scary?

ah ha! a rhyme
that I was not expecting!
but don't get your hope up
for blake and eddy waring.

he was great, what a character
what a voice what a talent
to make us enjoy
something quite
un-extravagant.

but i want to write
about colours and space
not about things important
like sport and of race.

a new one
a new one
just finish this first
then start on the epic
with grit and good mirth.

i finish i finish,
maybe to soon
this won't be a prize winner
but it might pay
for dinner.

 

 

Sheila

My wife thinks I'm a looney
Weird and self obsessed
She probably is the best person
for this to assess.

And as for my poems
She can't remember them at all,
None lift or elevator her
I'll have to include her in more.

She smiles to humour and encourage me,
but she is clearly thinking,
Come back to me
you pretentious prat
Don't give up your engineering.

I think she feels inadequate
But that is not the truth.
The truth is she has built me up
from a shy and nervous youth.

She has been and still is
my strength to sing and graft.
But she also annoys me nightly
with snoring and idle chat.

Sometimes I just want to be alone
but she worries i don't love her.
I love her as my friend and help
and sex machine
and author.

Too deep for some and perhaps for her
who just wants a supporter,
I don't support her as I should,
When I am being pretentious or creative,
But she should know
She is inside me
as liberator
adjutant and accelerator.

 

 

A favourite thing

A favourite thing
when I lived out east
was to go out eating
a snack or feast;

both were delectable
the service a joy
fun for both
an event, not chaw.

The combination
is somehow unsustainable.
when moved to britain
it becomes unavoidable

that we taunt the mind
of the honest traveller
who now faces a skill
in grumpiness and banter

that soon
the spirit flags
and life is a drudge,
to only wish for home.

Here in Britain
When you go out eatin'
East or West
North or South
The fun of putting things
in your mouth is less.

Less fun, less food,
less smile, more rude.

So what does britain do
to turn a people and a food
into a bind,
waiters in a mood.

No point in too much analysis,
but the east
has something
we have lost.

 

 

pretentious

overnight
it seems
the dreams
crystallised.
i understood
and was thus
pretentious
to those who did not or were not
and me.

 

 

what now

I want more
to be let out,
let free,
let go,
let to build,
let to flow.

it washes over
the hurt
and the pain,
rather pretentiously
but still
my gain.

it smiles
in the comfort
of warmth
and respect,
but still no money
to pay the man yet.

what a rhyme
what a rhyme
it makes me cringe
too much effort to make this thing swing.

It should be spontaneous
not forced
or conceited,

but everything needs tweaking
and changing
and fixing.

so let it out
with bad rhymes and all
let it out
let it free
let it climb up the wall

to the pastures
where the wild flowers grow
with the lambs
and the sheep
and the giants
and the snow.

And everything green
with daisies and things
and flowers and bees
and grasshoppers
and stings.

Things! Things!
What are these things?
Are they monsters
or smiles
or chariots with wings?

No they are feelings of something
lost.
A youth and vitality
now crushed by the weight of
the man in the van,
who smiles and waits to be taken somewhere.
Somewhere new and exciting
and clean and span.

Span! Span! What is this Span!
it is clean and spick and not in the van.
The van is a vehicle to move
you around,
not to be a solution to life
in general.

so where are we now
in the hill with a van
and a man
and a span
and a clarity
that this is becoming like
Dr Seuss.
I better inform him
that this is no use

as a means to change lives,
but it has changed mine,
the rhymes
with a smile
still keep me as child.

sometimes.

 

Pain

we see the pain
we can not cure it
we hide away
in our own turmoil
more pain helps no one
keep yours away
mine is almost too much
keep away

 

 

Why

this is useless
it serves no purpose
why do you do it?
it is in me
never let out
frozen
sad
wanting
greedy

 

 

Weird

you are weird
you think too much
you do not know
you do not feel
you do not understand
no one understands
go away with your words
words are not from you
words are from poets
you are not a poet
go away

 

 

More

More.
Do more.
Now.
I need you now.
wait.
not now.
rest.
No rest.
please.
No.
just more.

 

 

 

Full

head full of everything
everything is clear
too clear
overload.
sleep.
no sleep
work hard
they need you.
carry your pain
hide it
it scares them

 

 

Wrong

don't shout!
don't talk!
don't do anything!
you are wrong
or
am I wrong?
stop thinking.
wait.
stop.
stopped
can not restart
Try!
Try!
Try!
hello
real again
awake
lose the way to pain
be now
again

 

 

Age

age has brought skill
age has brought lucidity
age has brought openness
thought is clear
failure is likely
perseverance is essential
rewards are few
and unexpected
you owe them more

 

 

 

Thought

thought
clarity removes noise from thought
clarity is a vision of reality that makes sense of your world
sense is lonely
can not be talked of without breaking
sense is lost
back to work

 

 

Wake up

the effort of starting grows
the knowledge that one should is not in doubt
clarity of thought contrasts the hope of breakthrough against the reality of failure
failure becomes expected
failure is heroic
failure as progress requires perspective
perspective is knowledge
knowledge does not release happiness, only the clarity that you are not alone in your despair
keep going
think of others

 

 

We don't

we don't care
we like to think we care
real care is beyond us
we can not let go of want
want to be happy
want to have things
some care
if you think you are one, then you are not
if you have things, then you do not care enough
i don't care

 

 

help

i want you
i want you to help me
i want you to not need the things i can give
fat chance

 

 

Work.grow.end

Sitting, watching, thinking.
Bright. Tea. Shirt.
People. Cold. Stupid.
Self absorbed.

Don't stay safe.
Safe isn't life.
Life is hurt and risk and work.
Colours, thoughts and words.

Ugly is man.
Pretty is fleeting.
Young only
lasts a year.

Then mistakes and self
Age and regrets.
We fail
We hide

But more. We must Work.
We can not rest often.
We must risk, we must change.
Grow and Risk.
Unsure.
Maybe something at death.

No Rush
but
No Rest.
Work.
Grow.
End.

 

 

Still Why

this is still useless.
the message is lost
in the noise
of ego.
but try.
there must be honesty
eventually.
keep on.
don't let
the questions
drag you down.
turn
the greed
to energy.
why is still there
as your friend.
as your master.

 

 

Mess

Stress distills success
from mess.
If you can muster
your mind to structure
a lattice of support
on which your thoughts
can place the pockets
of substance
you may eventually
coalesce
sense.

 

 

Food

Time for food
I'm in the mood
Bacon is a calling.
If rhymes you need
You have to feed.
The carbohydrates falling.

risk assessment

live
love
do
take risk
assess later

 

 

 

assess later

we assess
with our own intellect.
we all assess differently.
we should assess
the assessments.
i think they are wrong

 

 

insurance against existence

there is a new game in town:
insurance against the trials of existence.
don't play it.
play life.
play it well.
play it with humour.
play it hard.

 

 

Leanne's Birthday

Leanne's smile
makes you feel special
her laugh is real
her enthusiasm honest
i like leanne
happy birthday

 

Leanne's mum

Leanne's mum,
wanted one.
How could I refuse?
I will try to amuse.

But what to say?
We only texted
for the first
time today.

Her photo's of her in the sun.
Is she vegetarian?
and fun?
like Leanne?

She said she'd be honoured,
So I felt commissioned.
but then she wrote 'plez'
which made no senz.

so i am stuck
with few wordz
to expand upon
for my son's girlfriend's mum.

 

 

competition

I want someone
to think my words
are special.
Not my mind
not my products
not my career.
I want more.

The poetry
is the
distillation
of my life.
does anyone
think it worth
a comment?
tell me you
like it.
i try to tell others
they are special
their work is
worthwhile.
but i want mine
to be more than theirs.

Its hard not
to want that.
selfish.
greedy.

instead
just do
and be.

no need to
say more.
back to work.

 

 

rest

i want to rest
i want to give in
i want to run
away from the din.

i want some space
i want some time
i want some love
that's not my own rhyme.

i want to be grumpy
i want to sulk
i want to be alone
i want to shout fuck!

i want sex
i want booze
i want things
i want food

i don't want strength
this time to fight.
i want the indulgence
and escape and hate.

but instead i sit
and type and work.
freedom is much harder
than not doing work.

 

 

chat

my friend's coming over
not seen her in years.
we could meet for a day
or an afternoon.
could meet for a morning
or after work.
but not an hour.
that couldn't be enough
to catch up
and gossip.
its too short
to chat.
properly.

 

In jean with my wife original

 

we were sitting on the edge of our seats.
the world was slowing as we trembled on the springs of the sofa.
sofa. sofa sofa sofa sofa sofa.

there it was again. something knocked us. we fell up into the night. no one was there. of course not. except us that is.

now you are losing discipline.

it started well.

then the effort of the ingenuity failed.

do you want to start again? now?

hmmm...
lunch...

or will it be lost?

try a bit more.

there you go...
some prose
no dr seuss.

they fell and whirled.
we fell and whirled.
they span into space. a bubble.
no. a flight devoid of effort.
but to where?
there was no where to go without imagination and bravery.
they are just there, above the earth.
waiting.
for lunch?
or a wee?

lets try both...

the smell.
it is back.
just the same
as ever,
lets go higher,
lets go higher,
above the weather.

into the sky.
still so much higher to go before space.
will we get there
together?

yes, we will.
we are moving
upwards and outwards,
into the voids
of holes
and quarks.

that’s better
were moving.
i can see some new clouds
of gas and of hydrogen
like in the novels
and photos from hubble.

the science is hard.
i don't understand it.
why do.., no don't bother.
i can't even think of the question.

we are up
in the space of photos i've seen,
but where too now, 'cos
this is just this world
not new scenes?

now you can see me,
my thoughts and my thinking
it jumps all about
like badly written
poetry.

buts its me
and i jump.
i can not stay still
when my mind is racing
it just keeps me ill...
no not ill, that was a rhyme,
it makes new links
in due course and due time.

it jumps when it sees, when it hears
when it rhymes.
new thoughts and ideas
and links and new lines.

why?
can you stop it? where does it go?
i don't want to stop it, its too fun to slow.
its lifts me above the clouds and the sky.
it takes me away from mundane thoughts and i try
to keep it flying, flying high and clear,

but you know it will stall and come down somewhere near.

just somewhere nearby
would be good enough
as i can then find it
and give it a puff.
it will lift, it will lift
with the faintest of blows
as long as you're clear and have no runny nose...

there we go,
there we go,
i have just done some food...
i will eat as i hop as i flit off the world...

hooray, hooray it does feel good,
to not be bound by someone else's foot,
and thoughts
and needs
and wants and desires.
this is fun, this is fun, lets take it for miles....

on and up, no its lost. i was trying too hard.

this is me,
this is me.
i love to write out loud,
so i can see the words
and thoughts
that swirl round and round.
my head full off thinking
i don't want it to stop
the thoughts are still whirling,
but are just of whirling,
and thinking and whirling
and thinking,
not sense or exciting,
just whirling.

make sense.
think of something clever,
something profound to say.
use your intellect to fix the world
and peoples problems and fears.
go on you smart arse - fix them all now.
no you can't, no you can't
just a load of hot dung...

best to not try too hard i would say.
just let it come out in its own special way.
don't force it. don't waste it. don't keep it inside.
let it out,
let it up,
let into outside.

the story, the story,
try to think of the story,
where to go now?
somewhere new and un-thought of?
can you do it? can you?
can you be original?
to think of some words
that are not just drivel?

its out,
its out,
i'm letting it out.
it might not be iambic pentameter
but at least its got out.

its out in the world,
well on this blank page,
onto the ether
and over the waves
of humanity and earth and fire and heat
into the cosmos
of warm smelly feet.

feet that go walking
over the planets
and into the minds
of hungry young gannets
on mars and jupiter
and then on to space
where the holes and the nebula
move in grace, power and life.
i wonder if i can get there
in jeans, with my wife.