Imagination Fail

That cloud’s like a whale that's floating in blue, that one has ears it looks just like you. Look there’s a cloud that looks like... a cloud



T#34

The Sunday Bonus

 But Is It Reliable?

Sold on the open market

I really think he wouldn’t fetch a lot

His condition, for his year, is not quite mint

Far from it really,

though he probably has got

a few more miles left in him

if nursed with care, and regularly

serviced.

He’s not a bad little runner, though,

but actually

that’s only if you’re chasing him

And I rather think his bodywork

could do with some attention

It’s possible, I hate to say

his 'big end' may be going soon.

It sounds as if the only thing to do is trade him in.

But

What would I be wanting with a brand new shiny model?

They’re more trouble than they’re worth (I’m told)

My old but trusty Banger

Might be ready for the scrapheap, soon

But just for now he’ll do me fine

I’ll get a sticker for him

saying

“Yes, he might be tatty but

he’s paid for and he’s mine”

Hello Sunday

Todays tweet duly posted, I will ponder on the Sunday bonus. In truth I don't feel well; I think Poor Alan, of whom I wrote in School Days (No2) has visited revenge upon me by calling down the 'Mucus Demon' to fill my nose, throat and chest. I may need to be more careful in future...this may turn into a 'Tales From The Crypt' style story of unforseen consequences...

School Days (No 3)

I practised with Tracy for the sports three-legged race, then got put with Shirley, who at the start stood rigidly, while I fell on my face.



T#33

On Empiricism

Hume’s philosophy can’t guarantee the sun will rise today, waking is an act of faith, who can say with certainty, the world’s not gone away?



T#32

whose daft idea was this?

Oh no! The blog is taking off, word is getting round, now every bloody day I feel I’ve got to be profound. Or make sense. Or sometimes rhyme



T#31

School Days (no.2)

I’m sorry if your name is Alan, but it makes me think of snot; poor Alan sat alone in class, the ragged boy, his precious mucus all he’d got


T#30

What a Twit!

This metrosexuality, isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, I’ve got butter all over my BlackBerry, whilst trying to tweet from a patisserie!


T#29

Glorious

We clean our boots, remembering the buzzards rising, kingfisher diving, our spirits soaring as we stood, anchored in glorious Shropshire mud.



T#28

My Spiritual Guide

Mystic pig, thirty inches high and three feet wide, sits on the bed, in sequinned silk attired, whisp’ring porcine wisdom through the night


T#27

Walkies

His eyes, studying my face

looking for a little sign

Hopeful, shining, widening,

Yes!

He rushes to the door and waits

coiled and bursting

ready to explode.

He asks for very little

really

just the basic needs of life

like food and care

but also there’s that extra special joy

of bonding and companionship 

the feeling that we both belong

together.

Just a simple pleasure.

Priceless, though, 

as thrilling with anticipation

together through the door we go

side by side

my dog and I

‘Just going for a walk’

Damn!

Thought of a brilliant poem last night, didn't bother to put on the light, to write in down, stayed in bed, so I wrote this rubbish instead.


T#26

School Days (no.1)

John said in class, I'm getting sent home, you just see if I ain’t. He held his breath ‘til his face went red but never did manage to faint


T#25

should I write to my MP?

Here's a dilemma. The government seem to have backed down on their proposal to sell off areas of the national forests. It is reported that the minister concerned, Caroline Spelman, has admitted to making 'a mistake'. However, I have a letter from my MP, Paul Uppal, explaining at length that the sale of the forests would be A GOOD THING, giving them more protection than they have at present, and urging me to trust the government to get it right. PLEASE TELL ME THE RIGHT THING TO DO. Should I bin the letter and forget it, or write to my esteemed MP and explain that his letter was so convincing that I would like him to explain why the government are making the terrible mistake of not going through with the proposals. Will he now, I would ask, be pressing the government to tell him, and me, why what he thought was such a good idea is now a dead duck. Do you think that it would be kind of me to point out to him that his own government appear to have made a fool of him? I wouldn't dream of poking a wounded creature with a pointy stick but poking politicians is such fun- shall I? Please help me with a comment.

another little adventure

In Wales, I saw upon the map a line, and to me that meant a road. Oh, what a journey! But now, we can always say ‘our car climbs mountains’.


T#24

Pardon?

They said I should write pithy poems. I’m not inspired by bodily fluids, I replied, and I don’t do attitude. Sorry about your speech problem


T#23

It’s the thought that counts

Big man, baseball cap, holds the package gingerly, at arm's length like an unexploded bomb. A single rose. A martyr to St Valentine’s cause.


T#22

I thought there was ‘no such thing’ anyway

A very short poem can't begin to express my anger and contempt for this government. Read this one out loud, slowly, with emphasis, spit out the words if you will and please feel free to alter the words ‘back off’ to whatever you see fit, if it helps.


Big hearts in our community,
Big souls Big ideas smashed on the rocks of poverty.
Back off Mr C.
There’s no place for you in OUR Big society


T#21

Thank You

An extra poem for my own sweetheart. Happy Valentine's Day to everyone. If you don't have a true love today don't worry, sometimes you find what you need right under your feet!



You asked me what I thought of you. 

“Ronseal Quick Drying Woodstain” I said, 

“Does exactly what it says on the tin”. 

Meaning straightforward, which was just what I needed. 

And now, I realise, 

you provide me with protection from the elements, too.

love in shropshire

As I walked I whispered to the insects and the trees about my feelings, and soon the county knew, so I didn’t have to shout out ‘I love you’


T#20

The Assessment

....is dedicated to Atos Origin, the company employed by the government to throw sick people off benefits. This may seem a stark 'assessment' of their role, but as they get paid a bonus for each person found 'fit to work' it is the plain truth. The fact that most of these people, if they have the energy and nerve to appeal, get their benefit reinstated barely gets reported. Nor does the anecdotal evidence from GPs that they have had terminally ill patients declared 'fit to work'. My concern is that the tests used in these assessments are uniquely unfair to people with mental illness, as they may well be physically able to lift a full kettle and walk 20 yards but are not able to work and are also unable to state their case because of their illness. Please contact you MP and ask for a government rethink about the way these assessments are carried out, an investigation into the terms of the Atos contract and special measures to protect the mentally ill from unfair treatment.




We’ve decided that you’re fit enough to work.

  

We’ve decided to increase your medication

We’ve decided that you’ve started to self harm

We’ve decided that you need an intervention

We’ve decided you’re a danger to yourself

We’ve decided that you really should be sectioned.

We’ve decided that you’re fit enough to work.

how did this happen?

The drip dripped and the rain kept raining the dribble dribbled and the trickle trickled then the drain stopped draining. The flood flooded.


T#19

I did not inhale

Cannabis, apparently, can be smoked or eaten, so the policeman told the meeting of older people “Well I never did” I thought, expressionless


T#18

oops!

I’ve written another perm for you. No that’s wrong, I’ve written a pom. Oh! damn this keyboard (or is it my hands?), I meant I wrote a PEOM.



T#17

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck...

I wanted to put a buffer between the last poem, which is very serious, and the next, which is very silly, so I thought that I would tell you about a strange thing that happened yesterday. First, some background: Pauline, to whom the last poem was dedicated, had already had a difficult life. Just before Christmas her daughter first killed her two young children (Pauline's grandsons) then killed herself. The word tragedy is undoubtedly overused but this was without doubt tragic, and Pauline was left to cope with it. Having already had heart surgery last year, Pauline died last week; the Daily Mail reported that she died 'of a broken heart'. So what made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck? While I was typing yesterday's poem 'For Pauline' into the blog, my phone whistled to tell me that I had a new text message. When I'd finished at the computer I went to the phone and the screen showed me that I had one new text- from Pauline. It took me a few minutes to regain my equilibrium but when I opened it it was the details of her funeral arrangements. No doubt her surviving daughter, loath to repeat the conversation many times, sent the message from her mother's phone to 'all contacts'. So that's it....

For Pauline, who couldn't bear it any more

Into each life a little rain must fall they say, but into hers it poured, roaring in relentless torrents, ‘til at last she drowned in sorrow


T#16

an evening with Radio Wildfire

Meandering to the metro, musing on the meaning of the evening. Amused, bemused or confused? Rather, suffused- with a warm and mellow feeling


T#15

just a couple of things...... well three

Many thank to Radio Wildfire for your hospitality- tomorrow's poem is just for you...x

Congratulations to Simon Fletcher for getting City Voices to 100 evenings of unique entertainment- tonight's was wonderful


Also- I saw a book of John Betjeman broadcasts called 'Trains and Buttered Toast' on a second hand book stall. It was in the cookery section. Class.

A pessimists view of the joys of spring

crocus shoots reach up in trepidation, reckless trees imperil precious buds, Mother Nature strains, birthing Spring into the spite-sharp air


T#14

Neighbourhood Watch

Pansy faces peep through curtain lace gypsophila, anti-social groundsel slinks away; dandelion intruder, rooted to the spot, awaits its fate



T#13

bonus poem

A bonus for the weekend. This one was not written by me, but by my rat, Spud, who ran across the keyboard. I feel it must contain an important message:


Spud's Poem

That Si’d /#],[##

Apology

I’ve got a nasty headache so I’m very sorry to say there won’t be a twitter poem to come from me today. Oh I seem to have written one anyway



T#12

an old game

Paper’s for their edicts rules and laws, scissors for the cuts they say we must endure and stone? well- stone is for the day we say ‘enough’



T#11

the picture don't lie

The girl in the photograph, long hair and sullen face, is so obviously me, could this be proof that I, aged 17, really looked like I was 53?



T#10

old hands

liver spotted skin and jagged joints, responding slow to will, yet sometimes when the mind’s mislaid, remembering the shape of former skill


T#9

deja vu

Cast bait in, waitin, for the fish. Just contemplatin, waitin for the fish. Goin home, chip shop, d'you mind, says he, waitin, for the fish?


T#8

Government Statement

A root and branch investigation of the current fiscal situation (disregarding conservation) leaves us with determination- to sell the trees.

T#7