There was an old police box down our way,
Wedged tightly on the corner of
Peter’s Café and Mario’s Chipper.
And I remember it shrouded in fog
On a Sunday night,
Coming home from visiting my Aunty Barbara,
If the planetary line-up was
The blue light on top would flash like a beacon
As we shuffled past
With out chips and Caramel Logs.
And I used to dream
That the Doctor was setting off
On one of his adventures
And maybe, just maybe,
If I was really good and didn’t complain about
Eating gristly mince,
This time he’d take me with him.
Who needs witches and wardrobes,
In this world of Tardis dreams.
The First Decade
Suburban gardens overrun with children
Are suddenly stilled,
Rows of little square lawns empty,
Like a wasteland,
Living room windows filled with nuclear test dummies
Huddled around the tiny screens
As entire avenues echo to the refrain of
Kiddillydac-Kiddillydac – Woooo-ooo,
A new religion sweeping the country,
As children with plungers on their heads
And wearing egg box skirts
To long-suffering mothers.
Ten years on we still watch on a Saturday night,
The televisions in colour now,
But bigger screens
Show up the warts and faults.
And cloth-draped boxes and
Monsters pulled by strings
Are no match for the pull of
The Old Grey Whistle Test
Local Odeons showing films full of the promise of
With the lovely Nicole Strachan and Graham the Tour Guide (thanks to Lothian Buses for the pic and promoting the gig!)
Edinburgh Poetry Tour
Yes, it’s the middle of November and it’s freezing and I’m performing on a bus! But it’s all true, tomorrow (21st November) sees me performing with the lovely Nicole Strachan on the (green) Edinburgh tour as part of the city’s winter history festival. And, if that’s not enough, we’ll be followed by the spectacular JA Sutherland and the deadpan Andrew Blair. What a line up, what a city, it can only be in Edinburgh.
Vote for me the smiler said,
To the man who lost his head,
Lost his head and lost his arms,
When he voted for the smiler’s charms.
Vote for me he oozed with guile,
His flinty eyes, his beaming smile,
Vote for war and vote for strife,
Vote for me and give your life.
And the young men lie upon the hill,
The smiling man has had his will,
And sitting back he smiles so bright,
Oh who will vote for me tonight?
The fucking dog barked all day and all night, and the kid just kept shouting at it. “Pluto, hey, Pluto!” like he was Mickey fucking Mouse or something.
I tried throwing things, I tried bribery, I even tried violence, but nothing worked. Damn kid and damn dog just yapped all god-damned night and day.
Eventually, I took matters into my own hands. I dug a huge pit in the yard and I threw the dog into it, and, when the kid yelled at me, I threw him in too.
Then I filled it in and concreted over the top of it. Peace at last. Or that’s what I thought.
The damn dog just kept on barking under the ground and I could hear the kid still ineffectually yelling at him. All night and day. Echoing in my head. Round and round.
Could I cling on to whatever shards of reason I still possessed? Was I mad?
There was only one thing left for me to do to preserve my sanity.
It was turning into quite a dull dark and soundless day at House of Usher plc. There had been complaints about a black cat who had swallowed a whole cask of Amontillado, tried to eat a raven at the local cemetery and then promptly thrown it all up over the pristine tomb of Ligeia. Luckily, the local paper had given this no publicity as it was obsessed with the current spate of murders in the Rue Morgue, but it was a near thing, and to make the day worse, Annabelle Lee, a rival executive at Pit and Pendulum, had successfully bid for the Lenore account.
The parent firm had sent someone over to remonstrate, of course, a Monsieur Valdimar from the Paris office, but there had been a mix-up with his luggage at Heathrow and he’d arrived clutching a strange case. So, all in all, it had been a pretty disastrous morning, and when asked if he was coming back, the departing Frenchman clutched his tell-tale heart theatrically and replied, “Nevermore!”
For National Poetry Day
My first kiss was with a girl whose name I didn’t know,
It wasn’t really anything to write home about.
I’d expected a big romance,
Swirling orchestral score,
Julie Andrews skittering down the mountainside,
Not two strangers suddenly going mouth to mouth,
Like a pair of sturgeons lip-locked in a fishmongers window,
As disco lights flashed like running water down the slab.
There wasn’t even really a song to lock the moment in my heart,
Just Marc Bolan and T Rex going
La La La, La-La-La La, mmmm, ah, ah ahha!
Still, she was pretty,
With long dark hair and gold lamé hotpants,
Her shapely legs in clumpy white PVC boots.
But she legged it as soon as the song was done
And vanished behind a wall of skinheads
That no amount of hormones were going to propel me across.
A search at school on Monday morning revealed that her name was
or maybe Lorraine,
But, horror of horrors,
She was in 3B,
A year above me and a million miles away,
And my message sent on the grapevine of jungle drums
Played by giggling girls,
That, Max wants to go with you,
Vanished sadly into the ether,
Never acknowledged me again.
In school uniform she wasn’t that hot,
It was no big loss.
Filed under black humor, black humour, Cautionary tale, comic verse, funny poem, humor, humorous verse, humour, Love Poem, poetry, whimsy