Sinking Back

I was a junkie
Five years clean
Then, relapse
Old addictions
Need my fix
Every Day
Can't get it,
Withdrawal
Cold Turkey

It's vicious,
Candy Crush

Covid! Oh Covid!

Covid! Oh Covid!
I hate you! You prick!
2020 can suck my well-beaten dick.
If only I could
Have pub trips or parties.
Covid! Oh Covid!
My world you did seize.

Done little but eat,
Drink lots, game and sleep,
Curse the hypocrisy
Of the clapping sheep,
Arrange virtual events
That don't go ahead.
I feel invisible,
Just tweeting in bed.

Covid! Oh Covid!
You're on my shit list.
You'll regret the day,
That you chose to exist.
If this vaccine would work.
And this year won't stick
Covid! Oh Covid!
I hate you! You prick!

(Special thanks to Jack Prelutsky)

The 2010s

Stress of revision
A Levels and GCSEs
Eton posh boys
Hiking up tuition fees
The Mayans claimed
The would would end
A weight off my mind
Forced to grow up
By a cabal of sadists
Those exams meant nothing
Apprenticeships that pay pennies
Unreliable, overpriced public transport
Makes cars mandatory
Work is far away
And what is work?
Making someone else rich
Slavery by another name
I want to make art
But that doesn't pay
So I needed a job
Jobs get in the way
Houses are costly
Even to rent

So, in the 2020s
Fuck the establishment.

Strict Form or Free Verse?

Should my work be strict form or free?

Strict form; gives me guidelines.
Free verse; more emotion for me,
Without strict form's confines.

With free verse,
The emotion flows.
But it isn't always free.
It can drift,
into strict form.

So I prefer strict form,
I know what to work with
But emotion's lukewarm

I'll say it herewith;
I'm a wordsmith.

My strict form should be free
Yet my free form is too strict.
Why not both?
Signing off the month

Farewell,
Au revoir
Arrivederci
Adios

But I hate to say goodbye
So I'll say Auf Wiedersehen.

30 poems for 30 days
Maybe I'll try again next year.

NaPoWriMo: The Penultimate Poem

The penultimate poem:
What to do?

A hindmost haiku?
A terminal triolet?
The remotest rondeau?
I don't know.

The farthest free-verse?
A succeeding sestina?
The lowermost limerick?
Nothing seems to stick.

A closing cynghanedd?
An eventual elegy?
The rearmost ruba'i?
No idea, guess I'll die.

Maybe a mix of forms
Both strict and free,
That will serve
As a grand finale.

The Third Term

The holiday's ending.
Deadlines looming.
Assignments pending.

Coffee consuming.
My hair is tearing.
Insomnia blooming.

A lot of swearing,
and some crying.
Reminders blaring.

Submission's terrifying:
Always wondering,
References complying?

Plenty of pondering,
If I'm just blundering.

King for a Day

If I was a king,
Just for a day

Parliament would be abolished,
To be started anew.

Four-day work weeks
Nationalised public services
Return of university grants

Abolish exams
That'll get the youth vote

But most of the day
will likely be spent
on a farcical aquatic ceremony.

Retro Gaming

Got a brand new console

A Super Nintendo Mini
A nostalgia trip to indulge
My quarter-life crisis

Super Mario World
Running, jumping,
riding, flying
Falling, dying.
Fuck!

A Link to the Past
Adventure, fantasy
Swords and magic
That constant ringing
The giant hands.
Bollocks!

Castlevania IV
Haunting and creepy
Fighting monsters
Rotating platforms
Knock-back
Cock it!

Retro gaming
Fun times
Fun memories
Fun challenge
But also
Frustrating as hell.

Living Free

Work sucks
I've said it
Many times
Nine to five
Monday to Friday
Not enough time off
Maybe less soon
Slavery by another name
Fuck it.

Someone said life
is "all work and no play"
But avoids that,
and profits from it

I'd rather live life
Fast but free
Work isn't life

Without it,
I have the time
to sleep and read
The pursuit of art
Wine, women, and song.


I got my break,
But I know many
Who didn't.

I Should Be Writing

I should be writing, but I have work in the morning
I should be writing, but I’m feeling numb from the past week
I should be writing, but I’ve got the lurgi
I should be writing, but I need some coffee first
I should be writing, but I can’t concentrate when I’m expecting a call
I should be writing, but the kitchen’s a mess
I should be writing, but these video games aren’t going to play themselves
I should be writing, but I’ll check Twitter first
I should be writing, but I can’t find the right music
I should be writing, but I fancy a trip to the pub
I should be writing, but I want to watch this film
I should be writing, but Only Connect’s on tonight
I should be writing, but I got hooked on the latest Netflix show
I should be writing, but there’s a wasp in my room
I should be writing, but the cat’s sleeping on my laptop (and I don’t have a cat)
I should be writing, but the bank’s being robbed
I should be writing, but there’s a demon possessing my house
I should be writing, but there’s a zombie apocalypse
I should be writing, but I’m going to Mars next week

I should be writing, but I keep making excuses
I shouldn’t “should be writing”, I should be “wanting to write”
I want to write, but I have work in the morning…

Silent Crowds

A crowd gathers to see the King’s Power
Cars parked on pavements for miles
As if a match starts within the hour

Such an occasion would be filled with smiles
Wanting to see their favourite teams win
And concluding with a night on the tiles

But today the atmosphere is thin
It’s not one of fun, that’s for sure
These are tributes which are pouring in

The crowd forgoes the usual furore
To honour a memory which shall endure

Demon Fencing

Up on Sunday, but not for Church
No jarring organ chords
My craziest act for research;
I get to play with swords.

Walking up to the Watershed
Heading across the Soar
Wrestling the tight mask on head
I have come back for more.

Warm-up first, and then it’s “En guarde!”
Usually with Epee
Parry, riposte, and go in hard
First to five wins the day

I want to try sabre, foil too
Even if I don’t win
Just try them all and even you
Will feel like Errol Flynn

The Halloween social’s tonight
Never one to be missed
But my costume doesn’t seem right
Who cares? I’ll still get pissed!

There is a rowing club as well
To perhaps try new ploys
A boarding action would be swell
Against Oxbridge Posh Boys

Last orders, and I’m calling time
But there is just one catch;
That I did not compose this rhyme
During a fencing match

Stuck Behind a Sheep

Creativity lies on the road ahead
Yet work makes me feel dead
A sheep wanders in front of the car
No way past it, I won't get far
The longer I have to wait
The more it'll make me hate
I'm having to go to work every day
Denying expression in every way
Companies loathe art, they want sheep
Numbing routines which they can keep
They think wages can fill the trough
I want to write, so they can fuck off.

Something Came Up

My writers' group is meeting tonight
Do you want a lift?
If one's on offer.
I'm about ready to go.
Sorry, I forgot.
Something came up.

I'm meeting my friends in the pub
I'll make tea before you go
I'm off now.
I'm sorry, I forgot to make tea
Something came up

I'm going back on Tuesday
I'll take you down
Ready to go?
Sorry, something's come up

As always.
Workaholics are unreliable.
At least you didn't promise.
Can't break it if you don't make it.
If you did,
I'd send you to where you belong;
Westminster.

Long Weekends

Good Friday
Four Day Weekend
About bloody time
I hate five day weeks
No writing days
No holidays
Not since Christmas

I don't feel like writing
I just want to sleep
Or get drunk
I have no plans

But I dread Tuesday
The Monday-est Tuesday
Having to work again

Why do I Write?

I write to hide, escape, withdraw,
From laws that are bought and paid for
To leave mankind to its folly
I find it too melancholy
In my mind, I am an outlaw

I piece stories like a jigsaw
In a world where I can be sure
And life can be much more jolly
I write to hide

The world cuts through with a chainsaw
Money, the common devil’s claw
The demand pricks like a holly
Taxes and bills fire their volley
I’m staring down the gaping maw
I write to hide

A Writing Retreat

I await August
To once again see the green
Gardens of Swanwick

Nine to Five Life

Dolly Parton summed it up best.
All taking and no giving.

Wake up at the crack of dawn.
But it's cold, and the bed's warm.
Only time for one coffee.
Got to get on the road.
Work is two towns over.
Waiting in traffic for an hour.

All at some dreary office.
Vague mission statements.
Counter-productive procedures.
Managers between extremes;
Neglectful, or overbearing.
Lots of work to do,
But it makes little sense.
And it's a never-ending process.
The phone's always ringing.
Especially at lunchtime.
Or at home time.
Always sales callers. Vultures.
Violating the right to disconnect.

Closing time. The same traffic.
Can't be bothered cooking.
Don't want to do anything.
Can't get to sleep.
I have to be up again.

Friday night. I need a drink.
Saturday morning. I'm up early.
But I wanted to sleep in.
I could write, but I feel so numb.

Repeat. For the next two score years.
This isn't my career. I don't have kids.
All I'm doing is making a living.
If "That's life", I don't think much of it.

In fact, I reject it.

The Halfway Point

30 days. 30 Poems.
It's the Ides of the month.
The halfway point.
Midway, Mezzo, Median.
Smack in the middle.
Betwixt and between.

Inspiration stemming
from anywhere.
Works-in-progress.
Hobbies and interests.
Rhythmic rants.
Introspection.
Speculation.
Even potatoes.

15 days. 15 poems.
15 more.

Hunting the Warlock

Gamebooks.
A strange form;
An adventure, but
You're the hero

Needs dice.
And pens,
Or Excel.

Roll your stats.
Not great.
Struggled to kill
a single orc.

Take Two
Better stats.
Reached the maze
Spent all day there
And the final boss.

Found the weakness
Beat him.
But no treasure
Not enough keys.

Mapping is a pain.
That bloody maze.

A Soulless Place

At this office, I’m just a gear
Waiting to leave at five.
I’d rather drown in beer.

I lost interest after a year.
I don't even feel alive.
At this office, I’m just a gear.

I’d rather be anywhere but here,
Even if the place is a dive.
I’d rather drown in beer.

I’m unmotivated, if that’s not clear.
Waiting for payday to arrive.
At this office, I’m just a gear.

I’d like some holiday cheer,
Not to wake up or drive,
I’d rather drown in beer.

I might be fired, but I have no fear
If I leave soon, I could better strive.
At this office, I’m just a gear.
I’d rather drown in beer.

Shout Louder

The world's changing

Climates are shifting
Governments
They're not listening

You don't have a vote
No chance of a say
Life is unfair,
But that doesn't mean,
You should take it.

Break the rules.
Skip school,
Join a march today

You know what they'll say
"Truancy's an offence."
"Think about your future."
"You need education."

Then we're offensive.
There's no future to be had.
Education, not indoctrination.

It's the holidays.
Now they're ignoring you.
As are the BBC.

They want drones.
"Pass your exams."
They're a lie.
They mean little,
In the long run.

Youth need self-direction
Not conformity.
Not tradition.

This is self-direction.

Going Home

Home for the Easter break.
"Fuck off tea"; our name for steak,
With an indulgent booze intake.
A hearty welcome for this old rake.

I missed at university:
Hot baths, coffee, milk in tea,
Nice cheeses, like a good brie,
A fine wine, or three.

But here there's sod-all to do,
Catch up with the old crew?
Go out for a pint or two?
They're working. They all grew.

Soon I'll hit the road again
Grab my hat and my pen
Phone chats every now and then
But I'll pop in anywhen.

One More Level

Beat the first world
How long did it take?
I've just started.
One more level.

My legs are stiff
I need to stretch
But I love this segment.
One more level.

Cup of tea on the side
It's gone cold
Is that the phone?
Probably telesales.
One more level.

I glimpse the window
It's night time
I haven't had lunch!
Oh well,
One more level.

I had some work
to do. I'll get right
on that. But first,
One more level.

The sun rises
"You're up early".
It's morning?
I haven't slept!
One more level.

I think I need help.
I can't stop playing.
I love this game.
Just...one...
more...level.

Nostalgia Trip

Home for the Easter break, 

I found my old Game Boy.
Nostalgia there to slake,
home for the Easter break.
Retro gaming's a ball-ache,
but can also bring joy.
Home for the Easter break,
I found my old Game Boy!

Rastafarian Potatoes

Cooking tonight
Baked potatoes
Got a whole sack
Bought from a farm

Been kicking around
They're sprouting now
They look like dreads
Better shave them

Might keep one
Make some art
"Rastafarian Potatoes"

Or maybe not
They're still edible
And I'm not in art class

Exams

Exams:
What was the point?

The timing.
It's the holidays
I'd like a holiday
Not spent studying

The pressure.
Always looming
The need to revise
Taking notes
Mock tests
My head's spinning
I need a break!

The day of.
Open the paper
What was that again?
I didn't learn this!
Get me out of here!

Aftermath
Don't know how it went
Good, bad.
Now what?

Get a job.
Didn't use what's learned.
Vectors? Parametrics?
I'm an accountant.
I didn't need this.

Work for a spell.
Look back.
Too much study,
No time for much else.
Now it's just work
What was the point?