Suburban Safari

A family get-together –
Ev’ryone’s here,
And here we all are.
There’s Harry and Joan and Heather,
And John with a beer,
From near and far.
And there’s little Robbie, holding,
What’s that ?  A teddy ?
But no, not a bear.
Why is his mother scolding him ?
He’s crying already,
That doesn’t seem fair.
No wait, he’s fine.  Oh, red wine please.
So, still at the school ?
Oh no, at a bank…
Now Tommy, you’re such a tease !
Don’t be so cruel
To Ellie and Frank.
My, that’s a jumbo hankie there !
Do you need to wipe
So many tears ?
I’m joking of course, our Claire –
When he talks tripe,
You seem to be all-ears.
I’m getting too long in the tooth
For all this junk,
It’s all so grey, Annette.
I’m tired, if you want the truth,
I’ve packed my trunk,
Yet I don’t forget.
But this is a pleasant wishing –
Everyone’s here,
And here we all stay.
Except…is someone missing ?
For all this cheer,
Why does nobody say ?

We’re Crap, And We Know We Are

What is it about the English
And our football fatal flaw ?
We treat the pitch like a nine-to-five,
Content with a goalless draw.
‘No-one likes a show-off’ we say,
As the donkeys bray and bore –
Then we lose to a team with speed and style
Once more.

So sing it on the terraces,
As we play for the penalties –
In-ger-land are slow and bland
Cos we’ve got the British disease.

Our league may be exciting,
But that’s thanks to the immigrants –
So we take the fans for granted
As we play in our underpants.
‘It’s the winning that counts’ we tell ourselves
As we plod through the next campaign –
Then we lose to the quarter finals,
Yet again.

So sing it on the terraces,
As we’re brought back down to size –
In-ger-land are getting canned
Cos we’ve eaten all the pies.

There’s a Brexit metaphor to be had here, I’m sure, but the truth is that we were just as unimpressive while we were still in.

Season’s End

Another season over, hey ?
There’s no more football after May,
I think the FA Cup was Saturday.
Oh wait, this is an even year,
So the World Cup or the Euros must be near,
Within a month or two.
I doubt I’ll watch it much or cheer,
But hear results from colleagues, as you do.

I’m not so much a fairer-weather fan,
As a blue-moon pair-of-eyes, I guess.
My attention span is twice-a-season, maybe less.
It pops up on my radar
In a pub or in the press,
Or I maybe hear the sports news in my car.
Two-nil, three-one, goalless draw,
But don’t ask me the offside law.

However, at those moments
When it bubbles up again in-mind,
I wonder how the local team are doing ?
Have all of their opponents left them far behind, once more ?
All administrated, relegated, powerless to score ?
Or are they flying high this time,
Pursuing record-signings, epic cup-runs, in their prime ?
And am I missing out on must-see viewing ?

But then the next song plays, and I forget.
And all their efforts pass me by to no regret.
I might yet catch a casual match, or maybe not
But either way, it’s soon forgot.
So, no more football after May,
Not that I’ll really notice that it’s gone.
Another season over, hey ?
And someone won and lost, and life goes on.

Whitsun Bank Holiday already ? That can only mean one thing – this website has passed another year of existence !

Now, I do have an extra-special poem coming tomorrow which I’ve been saving up. And by ‘extra-special’, I of course mean ‘it’s a bit longer, innit’. But before that, I want to share with you the wonders of AI in all their limited glory.

I recently discovered the Suno.com – where they make music out of users’ lyrics and prompts (the former mostly sung, though some lines are ignored and some are randomly repeated, while the latter are almost all ignored, though sometimes ignored in very interesting ways). The results are then spat out as full-formed songs which have only one foot in uncanny valley, and the other on the not-bad-actually foothills.

So, here are a few of mine. As a tone-mute poet who has often thought of their children as songs without music, this has been a fascinating experience, and not without a few hits to show for it. Note that the maximum length is two minutes, though more credits can be used to extend it. You’ll find a mixture here of songs that cut-off abruptly and ones where I’ve splurged on an encore. Also note that having my words sung back to me revealed a few lurking typos which have now been immortalised in melody. Other mis-pronouncements are entirely the algorithm’s fault…

A Love Like Vague

Nothing spoken, nothing tensed,
Or nothing sharply out-of-phase,
But something that is slowly sensed,
A re-tuned hum, a distant haze,
That draws me daily through the maze
With more for than agenst.

Nothing solid, nothing whole,
Or nothing with a cutting edge,
But something with a little soul,
A knowing twinge, a gut-felt hedge,
That walks me out upon the ledge
With just enough control.

Suds’ Law

I’ve often thought there’s something zen about the washing-up,
Of the rhythm of the saucepan and cycle of the cup,
Of plunging-in all dirty and pulling-out so clean,
Of the slight-self-satisfaction of using no machine.
The sculpting of the bubbles and the water steaming-hot,
Of the stray spoon in the bottom and the ring beneath the pot,
Of never glancing sideways at the mountain yet to come,
But only at the plate between our finger and our thumb.
A swirl until it’s squeaking sees its spotlessness restored,
As it’s stacked into a stoic jenga on the draining-board,
Then polished and re-housed once more – or left to drip and dry,
Till the water streaks the glasses and the runoffs calcify.
Splashes on our shirt-fronts, splashes on the floor,
Till the water’s grey and tepid, and we fill the bowl once more.
Yes, the art of washing-up is quite humble in its zen –
And come back after dinner, we can do it all agen…

Dressed in Morning

“Dress brightly” was her last wish,
“Do not mourn in black.”
So there we were, in tears and anguish,
All denied the right to languish –
Such a multi-coloured pack
In wedding suits and flashy ties
At odds with how we felt inside –
But no going back.
And so, with fragile smiles and teary eyes
That no pink shirts could hide,
We stood and cried beside the other parties
Waiting at the crem.
We looked so lacking gravitas compared to them.
“What crowd of sombre-less folk are these ?”
They’d have thought, “So lacking sorrow,
Sending off their friend with such panache.”
And that we did, in rainbow fashion –
We can mourn tomorrow, ashen,
But today, we’re cutting quite a dash !

Freudenfreude

Can’t we stop the cynicism
Just for once, and just for now ?
Just for the hell of being alive,
For being bright and bold !

Stop looking for cataclysm,
Any chance and anyhow –
And just let’s well-and-truly thrive,
Before our fire grows cold.

To our ev’ry enemy,
May you find a happiness
Within the happiness of others
And the smiles that they deploy.
To coalesce serenity,
Then treat us like your brothers –
Kill the envy,
Hug the joy.

Can’t we try to stop the schism,
Can’t we live-and-let-allow ?
Embrace the infidel, and strive
For unity to hold.

Can’t we see we are a prism,
Hurtling through a world of wow ?
So let’s all yell as we arrive
By ringing-out the old !

Boozing In Company

Another office party,
And another Christmas cheer.
I remember standing here, right here,
One year ago today,
Remember telling Jen and Marty,
How I swore this one would be my last,
And I’d be gone before the year had past.
Yes, even though, you say,
How I had sworn the same the year before –
But this time I was sure,
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
My goodness, how the months just slip away…

Alas, no Jen this year, of course,
And Marty moved to Slough.
Yes, both had quit the sales force by Spring.
Looking round my colleagues now,
They’re all so young and middlebrow,
And I’m left wondering…
I barely recognise them, with their rarely coming-in –
Working from their homes,
And working from their phones,
Until they get the annual summoning.
And all for mindless drinking passed the point when we should stop,
Just to numb the pain of endless talking-shop.

Random Acts of Friendship

Friends are mostly circumstance,
And born out of proximity –
They’re friends because that’s who by chance we see.
And if not them, then someone else we met
Would be the friend we get –
But no cause to regret the friends that were not meant to be.
For that does not make them the lesser,
Cos they happened to be free –
We still need friends by stark necessity.
And you, you could have missed a gem,
A lifelong friend – but don’t condemn –
For if it can’t be them, well then I’m glad that it was me.