Droplets of Verse: ‘Austerity Massage Parlour’

Orders are taken from the Champagne steam room
Figures are massaged, the British nation is groomed
The political jet set scrub party policy up, in a jacuzzi
Bollinger boys bullishly bang on about austerity
Shaking their heads at the inheritance, sweating in a sauna
Dog  eat dog capitalists sit together in a corner
Oiling their ideology, deregulating, stealing all the towels
Building up to something big, opening up their bowels

Droplets of Verse: ‘Slaughtered in the Sunshine’

Throughout history, British men have struggled with summer fashion
A string vest and knotted handkerchief on head were traditionally relied upon
These days they wear flip flops, sunglasses and designer shorts
Baggy t-shirts disguising the beer gut, they lurk around holiday resorts
They always make an effort to learn the language when they’re abroad
Purposefully learning the phrase to order a beer, but not much more
Barbecuing themselves in the sunshine, cooking up a sunburn tan
When the sun goes down, you hear them screaming in their accommodation
Under a cold shower, cooling themselves off, preparing for the evening
Resorts overrun with peeling lobster Lotharios, they’ll soon be roaring
Drunk on the tropical fruit punch, slurring all the words at the Karaoke
Finding their dancing feet again, flexing their skills in the Hokey Cokey

In the morning, they scoff a full English breakfast, on a journey to recovery
Then they explore, as far as a smoky back street bar, the best kind of discovery
Looking elegant in sweat soaked bright yellow Hawaiian shirts
Eyeing up the passing women, oozing oily charm, always alert
When a chance arrives to impress, they display their finest talents
Suck in their beer guts, jump down from their bar stools, clumsily they advance
Perch sunglasses on top of their latest lager blonde hairstyle
Smile precariously, knowing that the women, as always, will run a mile
Chat up lines flow like cheese melting on a giant, greasy burger
They deal with inevitable defeat by simply ordering another lager
Fall asleep at the poolside, chillaxing in the searing midday heat
Slaughtered in the sunshine, sprawling slabs of overcooked human meat

Mix It Up Midlands Poetry Slam, Grand Final, July 4th

Entering a poetry slam concentrates a poet’s mind. No longer can he throw in a recently scribbled four liner to see how it’s received. He scrutinises and edits. Rehearses, both internally and externally, sometimes mouthing at bus stops, appearing to be responding to voices in his head.

I qualified from the Nottingham heat of this slam competition and on Saturday, July the 4th will compete against 15 other poets in the grand final, in a contest between Derby, Nottingham, Leicester and Birmingham.

It’s shaping up to be a massive contest – all I can do is decide what to read and then get on stage and tear it up. Tickets are selling fast, so follow this link for the box office.

Choosing What to Read For a Poetry Slam (Poll)

The Grand Final of the Mix it up Midlands Poetry Slam takes place on July 4th at Nottingham Arts Theatre, and I’ve qualified from the Nottingham heat, with 3 other poets, where we will compete against 4 poets from each of the neighbouring cities of Derby, Leicester and Birmingham. It should be a grand night of verse!

At the heat I read ‘And the Winner is . . . Propaganda‘, and ‘Lenin Lost His Head‘, both poems from my collection about the Ukraine conflict.

Now I’m wondering what I should read in the final and have been working and editing to get the following poems into shape (in no particular order):

I’d like to try and showcase my broader range, alongside the political material, and if anyone could read through them and then vote in the following poll then that would be great.

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The Chronicles of Crazy Rider (5)

An Urban Bohemian Poet Who Lives in the Moment

‘BOTTLE’

The bottle floated
Away from my stone shoulders
Street lamps flickered
Polystyrene trays displayed
The remains of something slain
Tapping on the pub window
A show of drunken bravado

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Droplets of Verse: ‘The Tories Are Suicide Bombers’

The Tories are radicalised, they’re suicide bombers
They roll back the state, go back on their promises
Unleash the unknown effects of the fracking industry
Communities brace themselves for clouds of toxic history

When nosebleeds become an everyday occurrence
Will the Tories see the obvious, overwhelming evidence?
It’s more likely they’ll delete all the question marks
Use obfuscation and deceit to keep people in the dark

The Chronicles of Crazy Rider (4)

An Urban Bohemian Poet Who Lives in the Moment

‘A SLOW SECOND’

I’m in the moment
Up to my neck
In every slow second that ticks
I hang in mid air
A German international striker
An angel falling
Brawling with my own serenity
Wrestling with my sanity