Archive for suburbia

The Lads From There

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 17, 2010 by dc

They invented
Speech impediments
For themselves,

Wore their jeans
Like black prisoners

And styled their hair like
1970’s ‘put a foot in’ merchants,

The kind you’d see
In a ‘Nottingham Forest Forever’
Stocking filler DVD.

I digress.

They sang in cellars
Like lyrical funfair folk,

Wrote postcards to strangers
And broke guitars with their whooping,

They carried shurikens in gym sacks
And howled at the moon,

Punched tramps for a giggle
And stole all they ate.

They were itchy with misery
And bored like the sun,

Grans called them wicked,
They were cursed some would say,

But I like to think
They were pickled,
It’s somehow sweeter that way.

The Puppet Drunk

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on November 14, 2009 by dc

They said he was misunderstood,
Neglected and bruised,
A warrior falling through cracks in the pavement.

I saw nothing but a puffed up man
Filled with self love and anger,
An egoist dancing on hearts in the suburbs,

And the film was much better for that.

The Iron

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 13, 2008 by dc

The iron,
It’s subjected
To its
Is a proud
Nose turned
Up in the air,

Fireworks & Tapas

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 9, 2008 by dc

He wanted drunken talks till dawn,
Make up sex and white wine,

She wanted flower boxes,
Cut off points
And fresh towels for visitors.

He wanted poetry
That changed the world
And bed sheets that smelt of the future,

She wanted organic aubergines,
Fresh fruit in a bowl
And re-upholstered furniture.

He wanted guidelines and stability,
Broadsheets at the weekends,
Hot topics alive in the air,

She wanted everything and nothing,
Sunday winds and a low carbon footprint,
A life that rolls by like a golf ball
Down a hillside of green pesto dreams.

Their end came with fireworks and tapas,
Rioja, confused pets and cold stares,
A bitterness but no real conclusions,
A puppeteers hands swiping air.

Guns & Disease

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 5, 2008 by dc

She said,
Indoctrinated minds
Climb higher
But narrower,

Whirlwind idiots
For justice.

In the shape
Of things,
I’m better off
In a shed,
Writing lists
And disregarding

Some people
Need to talk
To be heard,
Never the herd,
God forbid,
Never the herd.

I just want to read
The tabloids
And feel smug,
Check out the roof
And build
A loft conversion,

They didn’t have
Terrorists in my day,
They just had
Guns and disease.