THINGS I WOULD (AND WOULDN'T) BUY

I’d buy a giant teddy

and a box of slimy slugs;

I’d buy a massive warehouse

full of Tottenham Hotspur mugs; 

I’d buy a plastic lemon

and alpacas by the tonne

but I’d never, no I’d never,

no I’d never buy The Sun.

I’d buy some double glazing

and a fag pack from the Sixties; 

I’d buy some little ornamental

fairies, elves and pixies; 

I’d buy a truck of compost

and a gone-off currant bun

but I’d never, no I’d never,

no I’d never buy The Sun.

I’d buy an old guitar case

owned by some bloke out of Travis,

I’d buy a snip of dreadlock

from the head of Lenny Kravitz,

I’d buy a jumbo lolly

that’s been licked by everyone

but I’d never, no I’d never,

no I’d never buy The Sun.

I’d buy a skip of junk and tat

and random bric-a-brac,

I’d hand over some money

then I’d stuff it in my sack,

I’d buy a lot of pointless stuff

but when all’s said and done

I would never, no I’d never,

no I’d never buy The Sun

One Breaktime I Got Married

One breaktime I got married.

The class all gathered round.

The eagerness was palpable,

the gaiety profound.

I gave my bride a flower.

We then exchanged an oath.

The priest proclaimed us wedded

and then sanctified us both.

Alas it wasn’t meant to last.

Things didn’t go to plan.

She took away my conkers

then she ran away with Dan.

The course of love is bumpy.

At least that is my hunch.

One break time I got married

and we got divorced by lunch.

BRAVE

Jumped off a fifteen story

building yesterday. And as I lie

here with nothing to show for it

but a pair of broken legs and

an exacerbated terror of heights,

at least I can say I'm brave.

a poem for every person who has ever been told "you can't"

THE ORANGE TABLE

I sit on the Orange Table.

Not the Red or Blue or Green.

This is where Miss has put me

and I think I know what it means.

It means my writing’s not too good.

It means I cannot spell.

I don’t know if they know I know

but I only know too well. 

I sit on the Orange Table.

It’s where I’ve sat all year.

I can’t do Maths or Science 

they say, and so they put me here.

I’m not so hot at school work,

which means I’m not too smart

so I sit on the Orange Table

so I can be kept apart. 

I sit on the Orange Table.

They say that this is best.

But they can’t see the orange fire

that burns inside my chest.

CAREERS

I’ve heard

there’s a place teachers go

where they learn to be teachers.

I wonder:

who teaches the teachers?

Do they have teachers

that teach teachers

how to be teachers?

And

if they do

how does someone get to be

a teacher teacher?

Maybe 

there’s a special place

where teacher teachers go

where they learn to

teach teachers.

When I grow up I want to be

the teacher that teaches

teacher teachers

how to teach teachers.

Yes!

I want to be

a teacher teacher teacher.

If only someone

could teach me...

IN WHICH I WRITE AND SING A SONG

One of the main points of sadness in my life is that I lack any proper musical ability. This makes me sorrowful because there is nonetheless a deep sense in which I am a musician: I carry songs around within me in my head wherever I go. These 'songs' are original compositions, it's just that I lack the ability to play a musical instrument or sing sufficiently well to enable most of these tunes to have an existence in the real world, outside of my head. I also never learnt to read music, and the music lessons I had at school, based as they were on classical music and a pedagogy that erred on the side of the highly traditional, left me feeling that music wasn't for me, that I was musically thick. I did learn to play the bass guitar as a teenager, and to strum a few chords on the guitar too, and actually ended up writing probably about twenty songs for a punk band I was in at the time, which you can listen to here. I also wrote a few solo songs and did a few covers under the name Yabyelle, which you can check out here. (Don't ask where the name came from; it is a secret I can never reveal.) But still: I have so much more music in me than is conveyed there, but which I am unable to release. Partly this is because I can't sing very well. Anyway, I wrote a song earlier this week. I started with the lyrics, and then decided to put them to a tune. After having done this, I decided to record myself performing the song. The inspiration I had in mind was Ewan MacColl, who was famous for his acapella recordings of old folk songs. Here is my effort:

I hope I haven't embarrassed myself too much by sharing this video. If by some chance you do enjoy the video, it would mean the world if you could click 'Like'. Here are the lyrics:

LOVE YOU MORE

So the sky is enshrouded with ripples of doubt

and this sink has a blockage I cannot get out

and there’s rain in the day yet in evenings there’s drought

I will only love you more.

So the words they come easy but suddenly stop

and the ceiling is creaking and threatens to drop

and that wardrobe of costumes is merely a prop

I will only love you more

Through the pain and the strain

and the ache of the heart

Through the thoughts that get caught

as our fort falls apart

Through the churning that yearns

for the finish to start

I will only love you more

So the tea on the table’s abandoned and cold

and there’s cat hair and rats where there used to be gold

and the devil once jailed has now been paroled

I will only love you more

So the shadows that creep, they seep in through the cracks

and the money we earned’s now demanded for tax

I just know that this snowstorm will not hold us back

I will only love you more

Through the heat and the sleet

and beat of the drums

Though the ending seems pending

I’m mending the slums

and I’ll go with the flow

for I know you’re the one

and I’ll only love you more

Yes I’ll only love you more

POEM FOR EMPATHY DAY 2021

 A VOW

My feet got blisters.

I kept tripping over

and ended up snapping

one of the heels.

My big sister shouted at me.

That’s the last time

I try to walk

in someone else’s shoes.

....In all seriousness, Empahy Day is a wonderful initiative from the Empathy Lab. It happens every year in June, and is well worth checking out. And please, despite the difficulty, do continue trying to walk in someone else's shoes.

CATASTROPHIC

The vase is on the floor again.

The bed is in a state.

The cushions have been torn apart.

The chaos won’t abate. 

The television’s on its side,

its wires all askew.

The radiator’s leaking

and there’s nothing I can do. 

The picture frames are cracked and bust.

The rug has been demolished.

The living room is upside down;

all calm has been abolished.

My books are torn. I feel forlorn.

My mood is rather flat.

I didn’t know all this would happen

when I got a cat.

SO I DECIDED....