After a night revisiting your greatest triumphs,
I left you outside with the bins.
They called from the landfill.
Would I collect?
You were discommoding the migrant workers.
By chucking in the defunct spin-drier,
I managed to offload you on the rag-and-bone-man.
You set off at a spanking trot!
Three hours later, you were back.
Even the horse was pissed.
'Run up and fetch a copy
of me selected works, old girl.
Me new best mate here hasn't got one.'
While you were looking for yourself in Oxfam Books,
I sneaked out, using a garment rail for cover.
My neighbour spotted you and brought you home.
'You owe me fifty pee,' she said.
I accidentally left you at a friend's house.
She re-cycled you
and I got you back for Christmas.
I offered you up for auction as a slave.
No shortage of offers.
The lucky winner telephoned in tears:
'The sex is incredible,
and I can overlook the boozing,
but if he reads me another fucking poem,
I may have to kill him.'
Somehow, you tumbled from a speeding car
On the A63.
You were waiting on the doorstep
with a few minor contusions
when I pulled into the drive.
'I hitched a lift right off!' you crowed.
'Would you believe, a poetry lover!
My God, he didn't half put his clog down!'
I led you to the top of the lighthouse
to hone your technique on the gulls,
and gave you a little nudge...
You landed on me,
as I legged it out the front door.
I stood you under the Leaning Tower of Pisa
By the time you'd worked through your oeuvre,
it was leaning the other way.
As they escorted us on to the 'plane, you whispered:
'I'll be glad to get home.
You know what I love most about you, baby?
You're such a bloody good listener.'
When we were kids we played rugby in the street
no posts, no grass and only sandshoed feet.
Sometimes we had an egg shaped ball,
at other times a sphere.
But we were tough and we played rough,
and most of all we had no fear. Read more...
Poetry - Reprisals in Ulster By Patrick Henry
Now, when the worst clashes and scores looked settled.
The Agreement signed. Another loaded term.
As all troubles hinged on ways how letters sounded.
The old tongue once banned. Hidden orders, passed in that tone.
While loud verbals of ruling powers held the streets;
And seethed hateful, in those kept low, out to bog land parts; Read more...
Poetry - The Curse of Shyness By Dayne Coyne
You never seem to notice
No matter what I try to do
You never seem to notice
The way that I’m burning inside for you
Well, though I’ve tried a-dreaming
And I’ve tried a-scheming
Poetry - Welcome To Hull By Robert Eunson
Hull ...Where you can go bird watching down Preston Road ... and you're absolutely certain to see The Greater Spotted Chav ... in abundance.
Hull ... Where you can still go down Walton Street market and buy your granny a secondhand set of false teeth ... for less than a fiver.
Poetry - Strong For Too Long By Phil Lamb
From the comfort of my crumpled, quilt womb
The sentry tower clock rings out round the room
Awakened from the world where I wish to stay
A world I struggle to get to at the end of the day
I yearn for the world of colour that is so far away
Instead of this world with its blackness and grey Read more...
Poetry - Paltry Poultry Poetry By Martin S Hines
I saw a bird
The bird it looked back
The bird was a duck
Quite quiet its quack
A limp in its leg
And a crick in its back
Broken, one wing Read more...
Poetry - Sundays By Michelle Dee
They tell me there is a deer, roaming free
in the graveyard - I've never seen it.
I've seen a muddy dog haring, all paws and playfulness,
the dry husk of a fallen seed, now skeletal and fruitless.
A forgotten garden-seat swinging, couple-less in the breeze.
The aching of a stout ship, full sail behind a dusty pane. Read more...
Poetry - Fairytale Love By Katelyn Langston
I drown it out with happiness
I drown it out with tears
Pushed back into my memory
You find my biggest fears
Some could be considered normal
Some could be considered fake Read more...
Poetry Funny The Things That Happen By Pamela Scobie Photograph by Tim Green
I met an angel the other day.
He was sitting on the steps outside Wrangthorne Church
in his shirt sleeves
in the sunshine.
And d'you know what my instinctive, uncharitable thought was? How dare you?
Poetry - Poppy Power By Ted Harben
Do you ever sense the visions
in the poppy that you buy,
the countless squads of soldiers
ever cheerful, marching by?
See the bloody scenes of battle,
the carnage of the guns;
or watch the ghosts returning,
Poetry - Ode to a Tea Bag By Ruth Dixon
Tea, I love thee
You're yang to my yee
But when you're mint
You're not everything
You're cracked up to be
Tea, you and me
When I find myself in times of trouble PG Read more...
Poetry Casa Nostra By Pamela Scobie
He took her away from a house that had loved her
And told her to find another
So they could be together.
'You'll do it, kid,' he said.
So she did.
It was in need of affection and care
And he wasn't there. Read more...
Poetry - A Study of Mischief By Bronwyn Ellis
When sticking my nose into trouble,
Cured the bullies' thirst at school,
It was worth those shitty grades,
To know that I could still keep cool,
And deal out rebel stories,
To naughty pups half my size. Read more...
Poetry - Bonfire Night Memories By Simon Icke
It's bonfire night and the sky
is full of crackles and bangs,
brightly coloured lights.
The damp November air;
full of gunpowder and
the smell of fires
Poetry HU7 Part One By Kerry-Joe Pulford
Almost de-railed, too thin, too pale, looks quite scary for her age,
Hides behind the home page.
Best diet ever tasted,
Direct from How to Look Good Wasted.
Poetry - Cut Out These Cut Outs By Jan McGeachie
How effective will placing
Of serving police officers
Be, inside stores?
Will they deter
Those intent on shoplifting Read more...
Poetry - Pipe Dreams By Terry Ireland Photograph by Roland Standaert
Yet another empty shop;
another set of dashed hopes?
Maybe a young couple who
just didn't know the ropes.
I wonder how they felt,
what plans they had made
and how long it took
for all their hopes to fade.
Poetry - Budget Day 2012 By Terry Ireland
I suppose I'm biased
Being of pension age
Though I must admit
Not really feeling any rage.
For I see no real sense
In having a good bitch
For historically the poor are
Ever exploited by the rich. Read more...
Poetry - Pigeon Toed No More By Michelle Dee
The shell rifling through the feathers
buried in its back, the shock, the stunned shock,
the paralysis, the total loss of familiar flight response.
The avian behaviour, proof only
of existence, not of life.
Further penetrating shots.
Poetry - Six to Pay High Price By Patrick Henry
Six mainly Yorkshire soldiers who died,
Blown up in Helmand, and on the world press front page:
Heroes gone, to feed endless need for power and pride:
Senseless fighting for a poor, poppy-sown lost frontier land.
Might of Alexander, Genghis Khan, the British Raj, the Soviets:
Failed to figure how those ragged tribes had not kowtowed.