WHAT A MIDLIFE CRISIS MIGHT LOOK LIKE IN THE SEVENTIES (2)

Medallion Man

I spend half my time in the jewellery quarter
Searching out chunky gold with the zeal of a tabloid reporter
Gleaming medallions are the treasure that I seek
They’ll bring me a dazzling shine, a true mystique
Swinging side to side on my bare hairy chest
I’m blessed by so many admirers, I get no rest
Medallions are symbolic, a lion’s roar of virility
A sign of prosperity, they can make a man get lucky
I keep them together, in a prized collection
For each one of them, I have a strong affection
I’ve got Neoclassical art, tiny Greek angels, Aztec astrology
I’m mastering the art of living flamboyantly

WHAT A MIDLIFE CRISIS MIGHT LOOK LIKE IN THE SEVENTIES (1)

A Pair of Platform Boots

We existed in the vapour trail of the space race
If the sixties were groovy, the seventies were ace
The fusty cobwebs of the fifties were forgotten
We didn’t know it at the time, but soon we’d hear Johnny Rotten
To be over forty back then would have been so frustrating
The styles enjoyed by the youth would be very tempting
I’d have dragged myself down to the local fashion boutique
To get faded flared jeans, tie dyed tee shirts, become a hippy freak
No more stuffy starched shirts and boring suits
I’d even have got myself a pair of stack heel platform boots
At parties, I’d be dancing around like a freaky funky chicken
Drinking dandelion wine, stuffing down vol au vents in the kitchen
Chatting to the chicks, old enough to be my daughters
Headbanging to half hour rock guitar solos, fucking torture
Smoking mega spliffs, staying up late, ignoring the nausea
It would be worth it all to be young again, I wanna live forever

Droplets of Verse: ‘Sir Edward Stone’

They gave him a name, in full it’s Edward Stone
His contribution was solid, he stood alone
A dream come true for the boys from Saatchi
A gift from God for the Conservative Party
He stood tall, bearing a chiselled chest
The symbol of an election campaign gone west
Two tonne of stone, carrying weighty promises
Destined for the dump, obviously useless
Edward Stone unwittingly, played a big part
And holds fond memories in Tory hearts
A massive slab of concrete, he’s misunderstood
But he clearly deserves to receive a knighthood
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Droplets of Verse: ‘Cold As Ice At The Open Mic’

The PA and speakers were all set up in a corner
But, to be honest, it could’ve been a bit warmer
The chill factor wasn’t quite making my teeth chatter
It was frosty all right, but we pretended it didn’t matter
The ice machine crunched away, creating blocks of frozen water
We contemplated throwing ice cubes at each other
To keep warm, we fantasised about items of knitwear
We didn’t try to be cool, we were already there
Olly of Dog Explosion bought hot Ribena, it warmed me up nice
But no amount of poetry could crack the ice

Over Land, Over Sea – poems for those seeking refuge

Poets4Refugees-Over_Land_Over_Sea-196x300It’s a great little collection of verse,  one I’m proud to be included in and it doesn’t just examine the humanitarian catastrophe caused by war, it goes much deeper.

The human spirit swirls around the pages, questioning some of the responses and attitudes to those seeking refuge, longing for homes to be found, kissing the horrors of the past goodbye and yet grounded in the memories of those first horizons.

Produced in the East Midlands by an editorial committee, typesetter and publisher working free of charge, initial print costs were covered by a crowdfunding campaign. All proceeds from sales of the book will be shared between the charities: Médecins Sans Frontières, Leicester City of Sanctuary and Nottingham Refugee Forum.