Thursday 30 September 2010

1487 - Eve of the dead

Off out tonight to the Bridgewater Hall
Classical concerts there are scary nights
You're surrounded by zombies, and they're all
Over seventy-five, and should by rights
Not have been let out of the home. Such sights
Aren't pleasant when you've paid, and dressed quite smart
Eccentric oldies, alone, with some light
Shopping in a plastic bag, dickie heart
And worst, a persistent cough. They ALL start
To clear their rheumy lungs when silence falls
Between symphonic movements. The slow flight
Bar-wards at interval; you cannot part
The undead crowd; you must slowly shuffle
Behind. You get served last. It's just not right...

Wednesday 29 September 2010

1486 - A look back at the mid-life crisis

A survey has shown the mid-life crisis
Starts early these days - high expectations
And dashed dreams hit home by the mid-thirties
Often, it's unsuccessful relations
With partners that causes aggravation
Sometimes the opposite - feeling lonely
Sometimes it's working long hours; in Britain
This is common - here we are too greedy
Hence the rat race, which leads to mentally
Afflicted people. Their time off with stress
Costs the economy twenty billion
There they go again - all about money
Forget money! If, instead, happiness
Was the goal, we'd worry less, just have fun

1485 - Dawning of a new era

In Bosworth field the roses grow...but where
Is this field? The historians dispute
It's south of Market Bosworth, Leicestershire
But exactly where, history is mute
You'd think there'd be some relics buried there
The usual plate armour, pieces of bone
Use metal detectors and other gear
To find the spot that Shakespeare made his own
'My kingdom for a horse' the royal moan
From Richard of Gloucester, the usurper
The two young princes murdered by this brute
So Henry Tudor's spin doctors have shown
Though we can't be certain, it may be fair
He was removed - the last Plantagenet
Tue 28 September

Monday 27 September 2010

1484 - Brothers in arms

The Labour Conference here in Manchester
Was newsworthy before it quite began
The leadership election brought drama
When the narrow choice was Ed Miliband
Over the favourite, David, ex-Foreign
Secretary, the establishment choice
Diane Abbott, Ed Balls, Andy Burnham
All left for dead; just those Miliband boys
Battling it out, too close to call. The voice
Called ‘Ed!’ and Dave was a tragic figure
Should he have stood against old Gordon Brown?
Dave’s wife in tears today, the whole thing poised
For more drama; tomorrow’s theatre
Will be Ed’s maiden speech. Is he the man?

Sunday 26 September 2010

1483 - Sunday sketch

I watched the Sunday political shows
On TV, then I rode my bicycle
To Salford Quays, where swimmers nearly froze
In the first ‘Great Salford Swim’ - the quays full
Of all sizes of wet-suited people
A weird sight; then to the museum
Of war on the opposite bank; it’s full
Of relics of world conflicts. I heard mums
Telling their kids how Hitler was a scum-
Bag (which he was), but Stalin, Mao and those
Were just as bad. Mosley, he hoped to fill
Mussolini’s role in Britain. Saw some
Classical music tonight; I fear those
Concerts may die out as their fans grow old

Saturday 25 September 2010

1482 - Two English hills, one Irish hill recalled

There is a green hill not so far away
Well, two, in fact, that rise out of the plain
Both wooded hills topped with castles, like they
Belong not in Cheshire, but maybe Spain
Or Germany. On a clear day, it’s vain
To deny that Beeston and Peckforton
Castles aren’t worth a visit. The first-named
Is from around 1300, ruined
Now, but on such a tall outcrop, you’re stunned
By views of eight counties; looking one way,
The Pennines; the other, Welsh hills are seen
Reminds me of Carrowkeel in Ireland
Green panoramas, distant hills of grey
Ben Bulben, near Sligo, and the Midlands

Friday 24 September 2010

1481 - Harem scarem

We forget that the Ottoman Empire
Ruled by the Turkish Osman dynasty
Lasted an age, more than six hundred years
Its capital, Constantinople, the
Former Byzantine capital city
On the Bosporus’ European side
Facing Anatolia, now Turkey
The Osmans replaced the Seljuks whose pride
Was avenging the Crusades’ genocide
Influenced by east and west, Turkish fire
Terrorised Christians both by land and sea
The length of the Mediterranean tide
Italy’s shores, Vienna’s gates the higher
Reach of their scimitar technology

Thursday 23 September 2010

1480 - Thumbprint

My thumb’s still sore from last Saturday night
Can’t do press-ups then…Huh - any excuse!
It’s getting better all the time, alright
Tomorrow I might be a little use
On the guitar, but tonight it’s the blues
Courtesy of Joni, except it seems
Like all artists of note that she could lose
Herself in her own ego, singing themes
Of self above all else; no wonder dreams
Of love were dashed, and all songs are of flight
Perhaps it’s with jealousy I accuse
Just passing time until I watch a film
With Pearl, my older girl, back from the States
With stories and lots of skyscraping views

Wednesday 22 September 2010

1479 - This flight tonight

Warm rain fell as the autumn dark came down
I walked on to the accompaniment
Of music on headphones, its soothing sound
Like syrup to the ears, voice of dissent
Against people’s real indifference
Relighting my fire, taking that phrase
Opening creaky doors of inner sense
Revealing unknown lovers, future days
My outer shell then melts and my soul sprays
Over the rooftops, swallowed by the moon
Reflecting on the heads of those who went
Along my route in two or three decades
Past the circular library, around
Its magnificent stone circumference

Tuesday 21 September 2010

1478 - Russian in a rush

Someone who left their mark upon the map -
Ivan III, also known as 'The Great'
He expanded Russia - he couldn't stop
Leaving in his wake an enormous state
And in this year of 1478
He subdued Novgorod, a large rival
And other lands gobbled up from his plate -
Lithuania, Rostov, Tver, Yaroslavl
Of Ivans, he wasn't the most evil
But he went from Archduke to Tsar, this crop
Of lands making him a player. Subjugate
All opponents, but keep your head level
And you can be like Ivan: you can flop
Onto a regal four-poster at night

Monday 20 September 2010

1477 - It may have been a very good year

The year 1477 was
Significant for two events at least
Charles The Bold of Burgundy lost the cause
And his life. His lands in the Low Countries
Passed to the Holy Roman Empire, freed
From France’s outstretched fingers, where they lie
Later coveted by Spain, but the speed
Of mercantile growth outreached Philip’s ties
That’s still way in the future, though, so I
Will return to ’77, ’cos
That was also when Caxton’s printing press
Produced the first book in English to fly
Tentatively to attentive fingers
A snack that soon would turn into a feast

Sunday 19 September 2010

1476 - The demon drunk

Writing this isn’t helping this headache
That’s most likely caused by dehydration
Strange it’s lasted all day though; couldn’t make
It go away. No time to eat, and some
Serious driving to and from London
Wouldn’t have helped either. Louis is now
Living in a smart new place; yes, he’s gone
From mine - I’m on my own again - but how
Much cheaper it will be! He will allow
Me that joke - he thinks spending’s a mistake!
I spent a lot last night but had good fun
From what I can remember anyhow
Even though I tripped on the road and scraped
Knee, elbow and ribs, and bent back my thumb

Saturday 18 September 2010

1475 - Chester 'nother day

Rain all you like, you can’t stop enjoyment
Of me and Josie driving here and there
Free spirits, me in my forties, still bent
On exploration and learning, and her
Still seven and a half, but seeing there
Is more out there than cul-de-sacs and rules
On how to dress and talk and cut your hair
I missed the turning and went into Wales
We found a Greek café and ate our meals
Then, while the Pope’s still here, was it now meant
To go to Holywell, holy water
On our doorstep, but this miracle failed
Because of ongoing refurbishment
Instead I showed her medieval Chester

Friday 17 September 2010

1474 - Poem about stuff

Today I woke up and I ate breakfast
I went to the toilet and went outside
I walked to work and at my desk I sat
Chatting to colleagues, reflecting with pride
On yesterday’s meeting. They said that I’d
Chaired it well. At lunchtime, off out again
Where there were trees and cars and stuff I spied
There always are things to look at, and then
If you turn your head, even more things. When
You listen, you hear noises. Cars speed past
With a vroom and a beep. Some people died
Today, probably, but maybe some born
To balance it out. Anyway, at last
The last line’s here, and hey, guess what? I’m tired!

Thursday 16 September 2010

1473 - Purple papal people

Scotland’s all excited by the visit
To Edinburgh and then to Glasgow
Of old, conservative Pope Benedict
He lands by plane wearing his robes of snow
The Popemobile driver knows where to go
To Bellahouston Park, in ’82
The scene of John Paul Two’s mass, and although
There’s not so many this time, there’s a few
Thousand, waving their flags, hullabaloo
In the air, suffused with holy spirit
At least most of them would like to think so
And so they forget the negative news
Disturbing thoughts swept under the carpet
And only twenty pounds to see the show

Wednesday 15 September 2010

1472 - Forever blowing Bubbles

I’ve just watched ‘Michael Jackson and Bubbles -
The Untold Story’… a documentary
On Channel 4, a sad modern fable
Of pet abandonment. Maturity
Can cause a pet to lose its charm. We see
Stray dogs on streets, sad-eyed, noses in bags
Hunting food scraps, expelled from families
It happened to this famous chimp. Time drags
Sat in his cage. The human memories nag
But now he must go ape again; he falls
From stardom to mere anonymity
But though the chat show days are past, eyes sag
And chin is lined with grey, where is Michael?
The King of Pop lies in the cemetery

Tuesday 14 September 2010

1471 - Man in the tree

I saw my shadowed head against the tree
In the dark night, by kitchen light backlit
As I stood smoking on the balcony
A magnified dark head that seemed to sit
Among the leaves and branches. I moved it
From side to side to check that it was mine
But it wasn’t mine; more like the spirit
Of the tree, revealed by the magic shine
Of a long life bulb; transported in time
Back to some pagan Bronze Age century
A god reborn, its one leg and arms knit
Into a sentient being, tall and fine
Green and brown sentinel, security
Watching over this patch I inhabit

Monday 13 September 2010

1470 - The right to shout 'Fire!' in a crowded office

I attended a fire and safety course
Today, so now I know in more depth how
To spray those various fire extinguishers
And when to and when not to, for you know
Water won’t put out burning liquids, though
Foam or CO2 might do. It’s all there
In confusing detail, but don’t be slow
Reading the instructions if there’s a fire
Or you might augment your work’s funeral pyre
With your smoking remains. We’re not heroes
Just incident marshals; we help them go
To the small staircase, for the central stairs
Can get crowded if all the workforce pours
Down them all at once: pile-ups may ensue

Sunday 12 September 2010

1469 - On the eve of a trade union conference, Manchester

The coming week sees new battle lines drawn
Or rather, old ones redrawn. The Punic
And the World Wars saw history reborn
And repeated; the Crusades’ dynamic
With Ground Zero as crucible; new sticks
To beat the enemy; Fox News reports
An unknown man who wants to burn some books
And a new mosque two blocks from where black thoughts
Rose yesterday; these conflicts and these wars
Reignite with the spark of markets down
Hard times and exploitation work this trick
In all times and places. Manchester fought
Against the landed gentry at the dawn
Of industry; once more, the unions speak

1468 - From Salford to Lyme Park and back again

A busy day and night comes to a close
First thing, I emailed Alan Morrison
Then I helped Louis scan and email those
Documents his new landlord wanted on
Time, from Pendleton Library. When son
Was dropped off at the cinema, I sat
With coffee and morning paper; saw some
Stuff on Carla Bruni. Free entry at
National Trust sites today. Lyme Park is that
Place where the TV ‘Pride and Prejudice’
Was filmed. Me and Josie we had some fun
In and out of that grand old house, despite
Several short sharp showers and muddy clothes
Evening with Pearl, watching ‘Paris, je t’aime’

Friday 10 September 2010

1467 - Portrait of a pope

Pope Paul II (his real name Peter)
Was a gay fellow, or so it was said
Around the Vatican were repeated
Scurrilous rumours, by his rivals spread
God knows those holy types, like us were fed
By jealousy - human, all too human
When printing presses were wheeled in, this led
To those paid well for writing bull by hand
Sorry, bulls - papal bulls. Paul seemed to plan
Everything secretly, so to meet the
Pope was almost impossible; his red
Robed cardinals, they sought him here, there and
Everywhere. But he was fond of theatre
And to the horse racing in Rome he sped

Thursday 9 September 2010

1466 - How do you sleep (when you're sober)?

It's hard going to sleep without a beer
Or two or three to bring drowsiness on
Trying to skip the juice and sleep sober
Is OK once the second night's begun
But the first night (last night), brain overrun
With lively thought that reading cannot quell
Even Racine's play 'bout Agamemnon
As a lullaby, ineffectual
I put it down, the late hour pretty well
Demanding that I doze off, as quite near
Was the time I'd have to get up again
To see the solicitor who would tell
Me about consent orders; causing fear
Unable to relax, the hours ground on...

Wednesday 8 September 2010

1465 - String driven thing

I recently had a strap put on my
Old acoustic guitar, and now I can
Practice standing up, which I couldn’t try
Before. The best performers often stand
Though classical ones rarely do; their hands
Are so busy I guess they have to sit
And see the fretboard; the audience demands
No errors in that genre, but to complete
Each piece precisely. In jazz and rock it
Is easier because the hands can fly
Anywhere and even bum notes can stand
As an experimental kind of art
As though you’re too good to play normally
But acoustics weed out the charlatan

Tuesday 7 September 2010

1464 - If Lampard plays, England lose

A second England victory and so
It seems certain the whites will qualify
For Euro 2012, when they will go
To Poland and Ukraine, and there they’ll try
Not to play like clowns and to justify
The usual media hype. Because Lampard
Picked up a mild injury recently
Playing for Chelsea, it has not been hard
To see the improvement. And Steve Gerrard
Scored twice against Hungary when the no
Longer effective fat Frank said bye bye
At half-time. Capello, read the cards!
Leave Lampard out and we might even crow
At long last about winning a trophy

Monday 6 September 2010

1463 - Whatever happened to...?

In 1461 François Villon
Wrote Le Grand Testament, but two years on
Like all of us, his fate was to be gone
Whether dead or no, no-one knows, but one
Can't help but wonder if he still lived on
Up to no good, judging by what had gone
Before; like snows of yesteryear, Villon
Melted, though remembered a century on
And ever since then, his known works have gone
Into books, plays and films, so he's now one
Of the most famous of his time, Villon
Writer and thief, his low-life set down on
Parchment, before he was to gallows gone
Saved from the rope because he knew someone

Sunday 5 September 2010

1462 - Lancashire thankyoushire

A sunny day. I donned my shorts and T-
Shirt, and sat down to watch the Sunday shows
Like Andrew Marr, Sunday Live, and Country
Tracks (today, the Lancashire coast); saw those
Sculptures on Crosby Beach, showing their toes
And groins and whatnot, some with barnacles
All looking to sea. Further up the coast
They showed, inevitably, brash Blackpool’s
Illuminations, and those trams, their wheels
Impressively multi-coloured; then the
Midland Hotel, Morecambe, which once more glows
Bright white, well now and then when sunlight falls
Over the no man’s land of the bay. We
Really should visit these places, you know

Saturday 4 September 2010

1461 - La vie (et le mort) en rose

The year 1461 was bloody
Well, not the year itself, a mere concept
I mean thousands of blood-spattered bodies
Were found all round the fields, rivers and steps
Of late medieval England, as they stepped
Up the War of the Roses. All it was
Was a fight for predominance by top
Dogs and bitches, falling out, fighting wars
In which many poorer folk, for this cause
Ended up dead. Dick Neville (Warwick the
Kingmaker) supported York, and then crept
Over to Margaret’s Lancs side when Ed IV’s
Friendship was gone, and he restored Henry
The Sixth once more, but more war followed next

Friday 3 September 2010

1460 - Bolton wanderings

The town of Bolton is the place to go
If you want to see all shades of vomit
Staining the pavement, including shadows
Of vomit from last week, or just last night
Stockport, it has to be said, does alright
In this regard, as does Oldham, Rochdale
And even posher Macclesfield, but quite
The best in street decor using cheap ale
Splashed all around with Pollock-like detail
After regurgitation, so it shows
That bit longer, can be found in the streets
Of Bolton. Let me take your hand; we'll sail
On pools of puke with little undertow
These filthy pavements make you want to spit!

1459 - Bolton is molten

I didn’t drive to the gig in Bolton
Tonight. No, I caught the train there and back
This enabled me to get some pints in
And actually enjoy knocking them back
I quite enjoyed the evening - some good craic
Good performances all round at the mic
A decent soundman the night didn’t lack
I read four new poems they seemed to like
The bar was OK too. Maybe my bike
Could be used to get to gigs more often
When some distance from home… But back on track
The train trundled us to Manchester. Like
To finish this now so I can flop on
To my bed and let everything go black
Thursday 2 September

Wednesday 1 September 2010

1458 - This duke knew his shit

Been reading the Maxims of Rochefoucauld
His main point recurs again and again
That all our motivations are below
Our self-love - that’s the driving force of man
We work towards our happiness less than
We work to make others think we’re happy
We criticise ourselves publicly when
We want to gain in popularity
And those who are bored by us, always we
Are so bored by them, to save our ego
From accepting a lower place than them
He was a leader of society
In seventeenth century France, a beau
Of the ancien régime, proudest of men