Saturday, 3 January 2015

Little blast of a draft

Happy new year. Gonna do something I've not done in a long time and stick a draft up of something. Fuck it. Dunno if it's because it's a new year or anything, probably because I was having butchers at another poets blog and remembered that it's something I used to do. Who knows, I might think it's shit tomorrow and never use it, that;s probably the case with most of the things I write, but here it is..

Down in a minute

Often, when I talk with my mates
I find myself saying how things have changed,
how we've all grown up etc, repeating
these cliches like controversial refereeing
decisions on Match of the Day.

Yet, day to day
I still get the urge to tap people on the shoulder
and look away.
I still put my hand over my mouth and giggle when
I hear silly genitalia names.
I watch as much football as I ever did and
when I'm back at home visiting my parents,
sat in my old bedroom, and
Mum calls me down for dinner I'm like

Recently I was walking home from work;
Tie and a shirt, trousers and shoes.
Some young boys were playing
football in the street;
full kit, replica tops, shirts,
socks and astro boots.
They must have been about 10.
I must have been about 30.

One of the kids has over hit the ball and
it's rolled over towards me and
I freeze.

Time. Has. Slowed. Down.
Out of nowhere I can hear a crowd.
Some cockney sounding coach,
all red faced blood vessels nursting in his neck,
Chelsea tattoos and a pink Ralph
spit coming out of his mouth as he
screams out;

I take a breath.
I tell msyelf;
'Don't try and be flash,'
'just trap it,'
'get it under control and'
'play it back.'

Just before the ball reaches my feet,
another voice, deep inside
the isolation unit of my mind jumps
up and screams out;

Someone in-between thinking about
those two opposing views,
I've stuck my right leg out and
my right leg is confused,
unsure what to do.
The ball hits the outside of my
black leather lace up shoe,
taking all the power out and meekly
trickling behind me like water
drops dribbling out of a
tap in a drought and
rolling into the road,
like my very own You've
Been Framed Video.

'Shit, I've fucked it' as
I slap my forehead.

Just to rub salt into my wounds,
I look up,
and the kids in the replica kits are laughing,
wolf whistling and making wanker signs at me.

I put my hands up and say;
'I'm sorry, I just aint got it anymore.'

When I walked away,
feeling ashamed, I stopped and realized,
I never even had it in the first place.
It's just a saying,
that's too easy to say and
I say it to much,
like 'things have changed.'
when really,
they aint.
Some have,
but somethings,
are most definitely,
the same.

Brainchild Launchfest TONIGHT

Wednesday, 22 October 2014

Monday, 29 September 2014