Dream - Eight

SKY BLUE 2
Was I dreaming? I was dreaming

then my dream came true

We are City, super City

Manchester's sky blue!

Sky Blue, Sky Blue

You must've dreamt it too.

14053010

Dream - Seven

SKY BLUE

I spy with my little eye

something beginning with blue

sky blue sky blue

I think you can see it too

08052012

Total Recall - Post Nine

CHRISTMAS NIGHT 1993
It was Christmas night about fifteen years ago I didn’t shout help.
I didn’t have a phone heating water or electric in that squat.
It was flummin’ freezing that night just like it is right now ice and snow.
The last candle had died and I had no matches left to make a fire.
I pulled the newsprint blanket over my head and tried to get some kip.
But there was no sleep to be had that night in that old ramshackle gaff.

The rats and roaches put paid to that and then there was one massive crash.
I looked through the crack in the boarded up window, it was just some drunks.
They were kicking empty crates on their way home from the rub-a-dub-dub.
Smashing them against the steel shuttered shop fronts on the parade outside.
They staggered on shouting and swearing and soon they were out of my view.

As I watched another character came by, a Rastafarian.
A blanket over his left arm and clutching a brick in his right hand.
Without a second glance old Dreadlocks dashed the padlock off the shutter.
Rolling the freezing cold steel cover up to reveal a plate glass door.

Like a bull at a gate he charged with the blanket placed over his head.
Leaving a Rastafarian shaped hole in what used to be the door.
Just a few seconds later, he came skipping out onto the cold street.
He was carrying a heavy blanket, full of cigarettes and booze.
He had already disappeared out of sight when the alarm went off.
MSC301208

From my Moss Side collection and originally published here on SweetTalkingGuy in 2008.

Total Recall - Post Eight

WINO’S BENCH

Dying in this melting pot of my little bit of bohemia.

The wino’s bench sits in all weathers inviting confessions all day.

They say, sixty-six languages are spoken in this neck of the woods.

By the same token the Jam-patios, unintelligible to all.

Except for to, some followers of the Ethiopian guru.

But like Dreadlocks once said, that that’s the way things should be after the fall.

Since the tower of Babel and hanging baskets of Babylon fell.

And we all fall, there is no escape and it is not will I? But, when?

And Jin Singh walks past with his brown-paper suitcase spilling out his smalls.

I knew it would rain, he complains as he hurries by the wino’s bench.

And they are in fine form today and out in force and speaking nonsense.

The bottles and cans empty and broken like the men who drank them dry.

And cold old Irish Pete hugs his shillelagh like there’s no tomorrow.

And slowly he downs the last drop from the miniature for the third time.

Across the street outside the corner shop even the currency talks.

They take Euros, dollars and cents, Zloty and Roubles for crack cocaine.

And young bodies change hands for ten pounds for ten minutes, dead or alive.

The Somalian’s have got their own café now and their own dealers.

They only speak Arabic to your face and perfect English at home.

Like everybody else, they want your money not your conversation.

Even the barber invites you to speak Hebrew; it’s all Greek to me.

Such and such a sort of double Dutch but those that speak Urdu still do!

And at the Delhi-deli they leave out the old veg for the wino’s.

But the alkies don’t eat unless they go to the soup kitchen at night.

Winter is coming fast this glorious Indian summer can’t last.

MSC210908

From my Moss Side Collection and originally posted here on my STG Bloggage in 2008.

Total Recall - Post Seven

ONCE-UPON-A-TIME
Dip your bread in the primordial soup
Soon it will etre multiplie par dix
Parboil and add sea salt to recipe
Re-season, squash vegetables and dip.

Amino acids, cells, much unseen... more...
More or less the building blocks that made us
Used to be something quite different once...
Once-upon-a-time, that right Amigo?

Perhaps, nobody really knows the law
Lawton Moor, Wythenshawe, reality?
Really, they burnt the chairs to keep warm once
One night in nineteen-fifty-three, perhaps.

Incredible that's all there is to it
Itching to slurp it down - insatiable.
14052011

ONCE-UPON-A-TIME (REVEALED)
Parboil and add sea salt to recipe
Really? they burnt the chairs to keep warm once
Incredible! that's all there is to it
More or less the building blocks that made us
One night in nineteen-fifty-three, perhaps
Re-season, squash vegetables and dip
Dip your bread in the primordial soup
Itching to slurp it down - insatiable
Amino acids, cells, much unseen... more...
Lawton Moor, Wythenshawe, reality?

Soon it will etre multiplie par dix
Once-upon-a-time, that right Amigo?
Used to be something quite different once...
Perhaps, nobody really knows the law.
14052011/a

Total Recall - Post Six

St. Aubins Village Jersey.

CONFESSION
The last time I went to church was in my teens,
blue jeans, sweet dreams, cool themes.
Only, there was this one sin I needed to get off my chest, one thing!
I thought that God missed me all these years but he couldn’t see me for sin.
That’s what the priest at St Aubins told me anyhow, when I told him.
It was the summer of seventy-four, we spent it on the beach there.
And another five round the corner at St Brelades, The Golden Sands.
Is there anything else you can tell me, have you touched your naughty thing?
Maybe you’ve touched a girl, got her into trouble, you will burn in hell!
I said no, there’s nothing else, just give me my penance and let me go.
Very well, say three Our Fathers, two Hail Mary’s and a Glory be…
I thanked the Irish Priest and prayed that he and his god could not see me.
RWP#4-091207

The above was written in 2007 and originally posted here. (There's a picture of the church too.)

Dream - Six

LOVE OF LIFE
if i have to explain simplicity
something is wrong it's too complicated
kiss me shock me like electricity

if i have to explain simplicity
love of life is my university
still missing you but glad that we dated

if i have to explain simplicity
something is wrong it's too complicated
05042012

Total Recall - Post Five

Piccadilly-Pick-pocket! 
This piece was originally posted on my SweetTalking Guy blog

ASSAULT + FLATTERY.
Daisy Dippy
on the 'dilly
kissed my lips
and touched
my willy
must've thought that
I was silly.
When she said
she liked
Big Ben!
I didn't know
she meant
my ten...
quid that
she slid
into her pocket
that she dipped
from my
sky rocket!
AS1393

Glossary
Dippy, Dip = pick-pocket
'dilly = Piccadilly
Big Ben = rhyming slang for ten
quid = £1 English money (slang.)
dipped = stole, pickpocketed
sky rocket = pocket
Have you read my poem Polyamourosity yet?

Total Recall - Post Four

SEVENTY ONE - DRINK TILL YOU DROP

Fifteen year old's out on the town zooted

we usually sit in the side room

but tonight we're at the bar in the hall

nobody asks if we are eighteen yet

we just stand there getting tanked up gawking

at the Macs the stiletto's and bare feet

de rigueur for the Union Hotel

the working girls are all standing in line

they ignore us as they wait for their call

when the phone rings the next one answers it

and slips out the side door into the night

or an old Cortina if she's lucky

there's a geezer at the bar with tattoos

he's got a noose drawn on his Gregory

Everybody kills somebody sometime...

is printed over it in italics

and upside down inside his bottom lip

you can read FUCK OFF when he scowls at you

the barmaid's going on about something

and the regulars in the other room

are shouting for more beer one wants a blob

we go to the club about ten 0'clock

across the canal and the vacant lot

Mister Smith's off Samuel Ogden Street

they've got topless barmaids till two am

there's a carousel dance floor going round

it's mid-week fun nineteen seventy one

but it's seedy and Brazil Street is sad
Northern Soul and Tamla Sounds can't lift it

we get the night bus at quarter to three

and I'm back at eight in Piccadilly

to do another days work at the shop

26012012

Dream - Five

HELLO, AM I EVEN HOME?
Sitting in the back of the jam jar
waiting for them to answer
listening to them going on about
the weather breakfast last night

I can see them in my mind
their bleach blond hair
and that feint smell of chocolate
and cigarette smoke permeates
the air - the air that I have to breathe

If my arms were longer I could drive
like I used to everywhere all the time
little old back seat driver me

Where are we going I ask again
they ignore me tut turn the radio on
cricket they don't like that
they don't know what they like
and I don't know if I like them
anymore than they like me

They're here because they don't
want a proper job nine to five -
so they come at eleven thirty
and go home at half-past three

They push me about and drive
me crazy they dress me up
to take me out and wheel me
round the park they drive me
round the bend sideways sometimes

They say speak-up and say-it-again
they're not listening they're playing
with their mobile phone - texting
each other. Hello, am I even home?
19032012

Total Recall - Post Three

At the moment I'm working on a Quatern collection, 

the basic idea is to take a Nursery Rhyme and butcher it badly. 

You can see for yourself as I add them daily at STG.

TALKING LAMBRETTA'S
It was one of those days
that sticks in your mind
that you'll never forget
for the rest of time.
And yet, I met a geezer
just yesterday. We were
talking Lambretta's and
Mods and things...
But it still took us
ten minutes to discover
that we knew each other.
and that he was with me
on that day!
71007

The above was first published in this post on my SweetTalkingGuy bloggage in 2007.
 

Dream - Four

DER DER DERLANG

Everyone suddenly burst out singing
and I was filled with such delight, oh yeah,
oh what a joyful song, it was to bring
to the table who would have dreamed to dare
it was only last night that I saw you
in my sleep, walking towards me naked.
I heard your scream, I felt your nightmare too
I relived your dream, yeah and yet, now here
you are, as bold as brass and uplifting
everyone that knows you with this new song

der der derlang der der der der derlang

you sang, and I was filled with the new light
my cup is overflowing now, with glee.
270509

The above was originally posted here.

Dream - Three

THEY CAN ONLY DREAM

concave plastic notel open both ends

the honeymoon suite for my poetry friends

efficient as a mobile home that rolls

rocks when the drunk kicks it on his way past

hums when some bum sicks up all over it

and this is home to the best poet I know

and he has holes in the soles of his shoes

and wears musty and old hand me down clothes

and he lives in a plastic pipe that rolls

he and his princess the poetess goddess

they scrawl their poetry on the concave walls

in a shared red and blue blood mixed with love

propped up against the square peg plywood door

they optimise their day writing poetry

newsprint curtains blankets street sheets scream same

the best poet in the world and his princess

the treacherous candle burning both ends

they can only dream about a hot bath

the only shower they get is the rain

out there alone but not lonely white cold

200509

Originally posted here.

Total Recall - Post Two

THREE TO THREE PAST THREE ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON
ON THE KIPPAX STREET IN MOSS SIDE MANCHESTER IN 1969
It was Saturday afternoon at three o’clock when the chant went up.
Manchester Boot Boys!
And the Bovver Girls joined in, taking the bubble gum out of their mouths.
And expertly spinning it round and round and round an index finger.
Manchester Boot Girls!
They cried, flicking the sticky gum over the heads of the police line.
Towards the Rockers who gathered on the left side of the steep terrace.
The Boot Boys were a makeshift mob of Skinheads and Scooter-boys and Mods.
Most had Steelies, Hobbies and Docs on their feet and the Mods wore Oxfords.
The Bovver Girls wore Monkey Boots to the match in those days, with red socks.
And the Mods and the Skinheads and the Bovver girls all wore Crombie coats.
The Scooter-boys had Fishtail Parka’s with tin badges on the front.
They rode Lambretta’s with ‘Sex Machine’ emblazoned on the side panels.
The Greasers wore leather jackets with studs and sleeveless denim colours.
They all said that they rode Triumph Bonneville’s and six-fifty Norton’s.
The ageing Ted’s used to stand next to the Rockers on the left hand side.
The Ted’s always wore their drainpipes and winkle pickers or blue suede shoes.
When the game went quiet the Bikers would taunt the Scooter-boys like this:
‘Are you there skin?’
They would sing,
And the chant would come back,
‘Are you there Grease?’
And the Rockers would laugh, giving a little wave to provoke the Mods.
‘Back to school on Monday!’
The Greaser’s would jeer.
‘Back to school on Monday!’
But soon things would settle down and the whole of the Kippax Street would cheer.
When City scored a goal – everywhere, all round the ground the chant would ring.
Manchester la, la, la, la,
Manchester la, la,la, la...
MSC261107
This is a link to a story here about the Moss Side Stadium with pictures of The Kippax Street Stand!

The above was originally posted on my STG Bloggage in 2007

Dream - Two

dream walk
it should have been a breeze a walk
in the park but there were no trees
or grass the earth was parched dry and
sun cracked – we walked with the other
safari tourists through this place

this barren land - keeping to the
makeshift road following the tyre
tracks of a thousand 4X4’s
that come and go through this harsh land
with its hard baked sand and no wind

then we saw all the dead monkeys
piled high alongside the road
all their tails had been cut-off
why? What for? we kept on walking

on the other side of the track
an even bigger stack of dead
lion and tiger cubs rotting
but not even a bird came to
pick their bones in this desert place

moving talking amongst ourselves
until we saw them sitting there
they looked like they were dead at first
they sat there absolutely still

shuffling uncomfortably
we shuddered as we passed them by
blood spurting out from one mans nose
we can’t believe they’re still alive

a little girl on the tour said:
look daddy that man's not quite dead
but her father dragged her away
‘they haven’t killed the natives yet’

at the end of the walk there was
a stack of leather shoes and some
old cosmetics and toiletries

when we reached the safari lodge
hotel no-one wanted to eat
except one man who insisted
on tasting the monkey-tail soup.
WI11-191107

The above was originally posted here on my STG Bloggage.

Dream - One

The following was written from a dream I had in 2007, I originally posted this piece on my SweetTalkingGuy blog for a poetry prompt: One horse powers a thousand dreams...

ONE HORSE
The Kings soldiers come in the night
kill his father, rape his mother.
'You can't make a silk purse...' they curse
as they force the pig farmers wife
one after another till dawn.

They tie the boy to a donkey
so that he has to run behind.
They ride out of the piggery,
fording the cold stream at first light.

When they are sure the boy can't read
they cut out his tongue for the dogs
and brand him with a hot iron
urinating on his fresh wound
they leave him lying there bleeding
for the camp-followers to find.

In an un-interpretable
hieroglyphic of his own hand
he scrawls his last thoughts on the wall
of the royal stable in blood:
One horse powers a thousand dreams...
TOP3-221007

At the moment I'm busy doing the February Haiku Challenge over on my SweetTalkingGuy Bloggage...

But here's something to keep you going - Round the world race!!!

Carry On Tuesday # 142

The prompt at Carry On Tuesday is:
After all, tomorrow is another day.

Here's mine:

BERLIN

Don't you just hate it 

when the telephone rings???

Berlin Berlin Berlin, 

Berlin Berlin Berlin.

Pronto, what you want ha?

Greetings, it's Gretchin I'm calling 

because it's time to talk about things.

Things? What things? I don't like the things that you shout about!

We need to talk about the weather

in case there's a storm. 

After all, tomorrow is another day.

I've still got the umbrella you gave me, 

I don't think that it's torn. 

There's no need to worry 'cos it never rains, 

it persists it down in this town when it pours.

Don't you just hate it 

when the fat lady sings???

Berlin berlino, 

berleno Berlin, Berlin.

'Cos it's time to go home!

Back to the trouble and strife and the squids 

and that old thing they call work!

Berlin berlino, 

berleno Berlin, Berlin.

Berlin Berlin Berlin, 

Berlin Berlin Berlin.

Berlin berlino, 

berleno Berlin, Berlin.

Berlin Berlin Berlin, 

Berlin Berlin Berlin.

31012012

Total Recall - Post One

The prompt at CarryOn Tuesday
is: Is that all there is?

SIXTY NINE
Inside outside down under the arches
nearly fourteen in nineteen sixty nine
trying to shelter from the pouring rain
I thought I was alone until she came
I heard the telephone ring first and then
the train on the overhead railway
before I saw her step out of the booth
she was dressed to kill done up to the nines
flashing no nickers fur coat and high heels
flesh coloured tights up to her threepennies
Is that all there is? I thought to myself
Want some business Chuck? she says spitting gum
How much do you charge love? I said for fun
Cheeky what d'yer think that yer gunner do?
I've got a son at home older than you
When she saw I was soaking wet she said
I'll tell yer what I fancy a brandy
C'mon I'll tek yuh fer 'alf a shandy
She took me to the Union Hotel.
24012012