1273 - Book of the Dead - new edition

It’s time now to turn the calendar page
Time marches on into March, but has cost
Another poet friend, second major
Loss in less than a year; this one has lost
The battle against the bottle, this last
Christmas an ill-fated binge. Gary’s gone -
Hard to believe this friendly face has passed
And won’t greet us at meetings in Bolton
The end of an era. We must move on
And not only turn the calendar page
But turn the pages of the book that most
Dread: the Book of the Dead; the book that one
Day will contain all our names and engage
The reader with tales of this distant past

1272 - On the mend

Am I happy? Well, true, I am a rock
An island, like Paul Simon says, content
But not truly happy. Still, it’s a cock
And bull story, this happiness. It went
As soon as it came, like the wind, a spent
Force, leaving a quiet calm, once sadness
Or rather, disappointment, had vented
Its spleen. The sheen of still, dappled waters
Are pleasing to float on, relaxed, unstressed
The anxious mind turned off, the ticking clock
Turned down, power restored to my consent
As to what happens and what doesn’t; blessed
Autonomy, only me to take stock
And improve life’s ingredients and blend

1271 - Drink first, eat later

Just one bottle of beer late last night and
I woke up at one thirty, unable
To get back to sleep, assailed by the sound
Of the radio and my mind. Simple,
You’d think, to get to sleep, and let crumble
The solid ground of day into powder
Not been so hard lately, but a tipple
Last thing at night is the last thing, I dare
Say, that’s wise if you want a good night. Spare
The booze and you will cruise into dreamland
Effortless, without a single stumble
As easy as you’d lose all on Betfair
So tonight, I’ve got two bottles that stand
In the fridge. I’ll drink ’em soon as able

1270 - Bank you for the music

I’ve just finished a poem that is called
‘I fell into a glass of beer’ set to
Music, and so, to celebrate, I hauled
Myself to Sainsbury’s where I had two
Things I had to buy: bread, so I could do
Sandwiches for tomorrow at work, and
A bottle of Abbaye - nice Belgian brew -
Oh, and cigarettes, too. Naughty me. Planned
To get a teeny bit wasted, and scan
The panel of Question Time, who will all
Have to talk about bankers, human poo
Or so we all think, seeing as they can
See fit to claim huge bonuses, while all
Of us must tighten belts. Let’s all shout ‘Boo!’

1269 - Clear streams of consciousness

Morning in the office, lunch on my mind
Feeling connected to reality
More than I usually do; I seem to find
Sobriety, going to bed early
And all that stuff productive. Certainly
It will help me with music and writing
And also when I go on holiday
In getting up early when travelling
Long distances, especially if catching
Buses and trains. Last night I did feel kind
Of tempted to rush out, before TV
Watching, and get beer and cigs, then thinking
Differently, for that would have undermined
My mind, health and pocket for all to see

1268 - A grand night in

I was tired today back in the office
I couldn’t even write this sonnet there
Because of this I decided I’d miss
My weekly choir meeting which has so far
Been disappointing, at least insofar
As some of them seem stand-offish and don’t
Come up and chat that readily, but far
From me to point the finger. On the front
Foot now with thinking up some half-decent
Music to go with my account in verse
Of the effects of drinking too much beer
At the York conference. Staying in meant
I watched the Beeb’s drama, ‘On Expenses’
And planned my Greek trip: it’s revised once more
Tue 23 February

1267 - Aching for tomorrow

It’s been so cold that my bones are aching
I’m having trouble bending my left thumb
Or did I strain it, when I was skating,
Or holding heavy books on Greece open?
That’s right, I’m not quite sure how it happened
The weatherman has promised us more cold
The grip of winter has this year hardened
Reassuring when we’re so often told
The world is warming, seasons cannot hold
But inevitably we’re all waiting
And longing for the warmth of spring to come
I see how the ancients were so troubled
By fear of the non-appearance of spring
Dictating death to the fertile and young

1266 - Balkan ball-aches

Spent so much time today reading through guides
Looking at maps of Greece and that corner
Of South-East Europe where it lies beside
Albania and Macedonia
Kosovo, Serbia, Bulgaria
I fly to Athens second week in May
Twelve days to fill; today, tried to choose where
To go in that time. I’m well on the way:
Most of the islands are too far away
So mainly, I’ll stick to the mainland. I’d
Like to see Santorini and Hydra
But can’t do; can do Corfu in one day
Very quickly by ferry. Terrified
Of driving there, specially Albania!

1265 - Rinky dink

Today little J and me went skating
For the first time since back in December
The venue? It was Silver Blades ice rink
In Altrincham: 'Disco Skate…’ Teenagers
Were the most common of the customers
And some of them whirled around pretty quick
While I wobbled at first, held on to the
Perimeter wall, where poor j was stuck
Most of the afternoon; she couldn’t pluck
Up courage to let go and try skating
Properly till near the end: that’s when we were
Holding hands and almost looking quite slick
As we skated from end to end. I think
Next week it’s bike riding; no, it’s swimming!

1264 - Chaos and disorder

Yellow post-it notes and white pages lie
On my desktop, with pen and mobile phone
The TV remote control lies close by
While speakers sit up like meerkats and scan
The room’s dimensions to its horizon
Unopened packages cry ‘Laziness!’
To my conscience; things that I bought and then
Could not be bothered opening. This mess
Perhaps mirrors my thoughts and dreams. I’m less
Likely to get anywhere like this. I
Must conquer these disorders; I must own
My own desk, my own mind, my own success
As so far I’ve disowned my failure; try
Once more this weekend to clean up, alone

1263 - Sax life

Was kept awake late last night by the sound
Of saxophones on late night radio
I'd just be sinking into a profound
And well-earned slumber, when this guy would blow
Into his horn; each number would confound
My attempts to escape from solid ground
Into that airy, fantastical realm
When the normal order would spin around
And I'd float happily by, like in films
Accepted everywhere with no real qualms
Like Mastercard or Visa, or the pound
When Britain ruled the world. (Long time ago -
Although you wouldn't think it, since we still
Massacre nasty tribesmen.) Slowly found
Myself asleep, but now the tiredness grows

1262 - Describing my tired scribing

My poor old manager is off work, ill
He suffered some life-threatening blood clots
Two other members of our team are still
Absent, one with depression, but one’s got
Better and might appear soon. Such a lot
To do, so few of us to do it, that
It’s been a strain; I’ve found it hard to slot
In creative activity. Felt flat
In the evenings. I’ve written things, or sat
Hoping to write, but can’t quite get that thrill
From producing my best, for I am not
At my best, my most alert, when, off pat
I can come up with quality; I fill
My time and page as I can, or cannot

1261 - Choir of angels and demons

It’s choir night tonight, my fourth time there
Each Tuesday we meet, a short walk from home
I’ll probably drive there, though, with the night air
Being so cold this time of year. There’s some
Ladies there who, unbelievably, come
All the way from Blackburn. Many will go
To the pub afterwards, where there’s the hum
Of (mainly) polite chit-chat. May say no
To that tonight, but we’ll see. Learning to
Read music: that alone means ‘I’ll Be There’ -
Yes, that’s one of the songs we do. I hum
The bass parts, with some other guys. Alto,
Soprano and the lower-voiced tenor
And finally, bass. Dum de dum dum dum.

1260 - Climate change change

Climate change attitudes change with the times
Though 'The Times' still maintains we're warming up
The East Anglia emails seemed to chime
With sceptics' views of a big cover-up
Manipulation of data let slip
By a concerned hacker; now it's out there
Suspicion that vested interests corrupt
The science; banks sniff floating in the air
Carbonated bubbles: they want their share
Polar ice caps, glaciers: we've heard all kinds
Of arguments, seen news reports, and slip
Into a one-sided view that's not shared
By all scientists. It's time for our Prime
Ministers to steady this wobbly ship

1259 - A quiet and sober Valentine's night in

No Valentine for me this year, again
But I’ve not been looking. I thought I might
After last year’s Spanish holiday, when
I felt the lack of someone at those sights
Most people share with someone, with that sleight
Of hand-holding they do at such times, thus
Rubbing in others’ loneliness. The fight
Against expectations is then hardest
Then and now, and also every Christmas
But these are small prices to pay to gain
And keep my precious freedom flame alight
The only way to prepare for success
Or happiness, dream carpet that women
Often seem to tread on heavy, not light

1258 - Daddy's little angel

My little girl is progressing so well
She can now ride her big new bike with ease
I have to jog alongside; I can tell
I’ll have to buy my own bike soon. And she’s
Reading quite advanced books now; mysteries
Of words like ‘supervise’ are overcome
Last week she entered one of her stories
Into the school website competition
About a classmate: ‘The Selfish Lion’…!
I’ll read it next and then give her a bell
To give feedback! (I’m sure that I’ll be pleased)
She’s also enjoying piano lessons
Playing and reading music. And she’s swell
Company each weekend. She’s the bee’s knees!

1257 - The ring

Been out a lot this week and it’s borne fruit
(Though scary sometimes): I’m learning to read
Music at the choir as I sing bass parts
While Monday, Wednesday, Thursday saw me read
Poems at various events, instead
Of being stuck at home; this way new friends
Are coming my way, though some law decreed
That it has to be tough from start to end
When my corner’s under attack, defend
Hide behind the gloves; love is in pursuit
Somewhere behind the adversary’s head
Maybe a hug will follow; it depends
On staying in the ring and on my feet
Not being put off by the odd nosebleed

1256 - Hit by the north

I lose my way when I go to Wigan
And Bolton and Oldham, and such places
I drove there today and I found again
That I was lost in a sea of faces
Happy and smiling, showing no traces
Of loneliness; content and confident
They strut, and shut me out, but I face this
Uncaring, unfair scaring, scarred and bent
Under its weight, watching, waiting; I’m sent
Into this torment by my own demon
The only one who drives me on; places
His trust in me, though they all circumvent
Me in each circus tent; clown smiles, fake fun
Lovemaking on the run, heart-shaped spaces

1255 - The footy index

Today my own government department
Was in the news in a football context
Yes, HMRC went to court, and went
To get all 7 million pounds of debt
To the taxman that we’d tried to collect
From Portsmouth Football Club over the years
Perhaps it’s time these clubs behaved: the next
In court is Cardiff City, its arrears
Being 2 million; then, Southend. The fees
And crazy wages paid finally meant
The bubbles are bursting, finances wrecked
At last, football’s credit crunch has appeared
It’s business, there’s no room for sentiment
Profit’s the name of the game, not success

1254 - What a couple of people said I said

More has been coming to my attention
About the events that my memory blocked
Early on Friday morning, you know, when
I was an asshole, when my mind was fucked
By my attempt to see the bar was sucked
Dry. I remember nothing of it all
Apart from the moment when I was pushed
Over by a guy and fell off my stool
Because I’d abused the fucker, been cruel
And rude to a perfectly nice woman
With no self-control, my speech went unchecked
And I broke just about all social rules
Alcohol caused my mind to malfunction
And as my tongue mocked, it also self-mocked

1253 - What he said I said

Today I learned I’d sprinkled insults round
Like confetti at Thursday night’s works drink
Of what I said, no memory can be found
In my own head, but it has made me think
And worry that my brain went on the blink
For several hours. Once more, the alcohol
Has revealed its deadly poisonous sting
Let’s hope it hasn’t dug for me a hole
Just yet, anyway. And, watching football
On Saturday night, I once more felt bound
To get wine in. I could stay in the pink
Without it, or become red-faced like all
The other useless boozers, run aground
Like Whisky Galore, gored, ready to sink

1252 - In Pizza Hut, Didsbury

In Pizza Hut, Didsbury, did you see
The young girls and their young men, all looking
Painfully thin; on heroin, maybe
Or maybe that used to be me, so thin
I had a love-hate relationship in
That thin skin I was in then; it was cool
To suck in my stomach till all that’s seen
Was next to nothing, and when it was full
It emptied instantly, the fat all spilled
Somewhere in the ether. Even those three
In the doorway, good-humouredly waiting
For a waiter to show them to table
Will slowly fatten and, like stringy cheese
On pizza, it will stick, take some licking

1251 - Facing the counter in Starbucks

A sunny day in Fallowfield, students
Everywhere, and guess what? More girls than boys
As our group talked in Starbucks, no relent
For tired eyes; no, there was too much choice
To chew on and drink up, these thin young toys
Occasionally a bit of meat on one
My eyes turn back to our group, and I’m poised
To speak to it, whether it really wants
Me to or not, while the parade goes on
The queue flows on like a river, unspent
As rivulets of coffee spread all ways
Carried by skinny hands eager to learn
Not so much their curriculum subjects
More about where caffeinated blood flows
Saturday 6 February

1250 - Thank God I didn't...!

As I revealed yesterday, I was so
Late going to bed in the York Hilton
That I missed breakfast; I just had to go
Straight into the meeting, though I had downed
More than I should the night before. I frowned
And yawned repeatedly: the signs were clear
Especially when my face turned green; I’d gone
Too far; I had made myself sick with beer
Kept thinking, ‘I’ll have to run out of here
Any minute, to throw up… I might throw
Up on the conference room carpet, stain on
Top of all existing stains, all my sheer
Hard work in setting up this meeting no
Match for what’s now my sick reputation…!’

1249 - Two breakfasts in Yolkshire

Woke up with a dog on my bed, coffee
Served by my host, then out for our breakfast
At a nearby greasy spoon Leeds café
I didn’t think that one would be my last
Cooked breakfast this week. No - that same repast
Would pass my taste buds next morning when I’d
Be sat in the York Hilton, eating fast
To make the meeting on time. Two eggs (fried),
Sausages, toast, the usual; inside
It all went. Then I went myself: foggy
Morning in Yorkshire: fields of snow that passed
Into a thick haze; all-white countryside
The meeting over, out for a curry
Stayed up really late and missed my breakfast!
Thursday 4 February

1248 - Dog but no partridge

I’m staying at a mate’s house here in Leeds
After a poetry night out; few there
Because Leeds/Tottenham was on TV
And besides, tonight saw snowy weather
That may have meant that for many, the car
Was not an option on the ice rink roads
Indeed, when I was rounding a corner
I skidded dangerously near a row
Of parked cars… Managed just in time to slow
And carry on, no harm done. Now I need
Some sleep, but my mate’s dog’s not being fair
He keeps disturbing me; he’ll come and go
And chew, scratch, whine as though he needs his feed
He may want to play, but I’m tired, so there
Wed 3 February 2010

1247 - The midnight singer

The mystery of the midnight singer
Two floors below, his bass voice booming out
At 4, 5, 6 or 7, he rocks the
Whole four floors of these flats with his flat shout
Causing pausing of forty winks, a rout
Of dreams, four floors of steaming ears, curses
That echo through the walls below, about
Half-four; incomprehensible verses
Have no mercy on neighbours, for mercy’s
For Christians and the state. This foreigner
With the deep sound rebounds from local clout
With boundless disdain, straining harmonies
Between tenants of different races; war
Rages on till the dawn, rest dearly bought

1246 - The quality of Mersey

I’m at a night that’s called ‘Come Strut Your Stuff’
At the Egg Café here in Liverpool
We drove all the way here with just enough
Time to spare to get a slot; it’s a cool
Night, right enough. Four minutes, that’s the rule
For poets, anyway; a simple rhyme
Some storytellers, their confidence full
Of fiery eye, of hair long; Calvin Klein
Might be out of place here, maybe, but I’m
Not. Got three or four poems all lined up
Which I wrote recently, hatred the fuel
Reflecting this barren and lonely time
Bringing vision and focus: here’s the proof
I’m out and about, not a homely fool