Local Cafe

This bubbling hubbub of babies and boobies
This packed rack of scooters, of trikes and of buggies
Steaming hot flat-whites and freezing cold smoothies
And tapas treats, chocolate sweets, all kinds of lovelies.

Here where the roads cross, facing the old cross
Where crosswords fill time or just buoy the headline’s dross
Where pizza gets eaten by Saturday dads
Where Friday lunch mums dish the news good and sad.

This raucous in calm, our oasis of mania
Awaits you in plain sight down Beckenham high street
The pit at the back for your kids to go batty in
Entices the spectrum of lively South London in.

 

 

 

about: Deli nene

The Horse and the Cat

Where are you bound cat?
Asked a horse in dulcet tones
Why ask you?
Are you interested in my goings
or comings?
The cat replied.
You, puss,
the horse whinnied.
are too impertinent for my liking!
You – dear horse – are too ignorant for a horse.

This said, the cat rubbed it’s body about the great calves of the equine!
And you, generous feline, are too
bold for a creature of your minority.
Shall we walk?
The cat moved off,
the horse followed.

What a glorious day!
Remarked the cat as they wandered
out to rolling landscapes.
I agree.
Was the horses only exclamation.
Now shall we not continue?
The cat seemed restless.
No; you are correct!

A cloud enveloped them
and the horse,
(in its giant monstrosity)
and the cat,
(in its sly minority)
became one.

The mighty sun beat down on vacant stables
Through the dark our moon glowed on nights effluent stream.

March

This balmy March night
is sweetly delicious
A purple-filled, cloud-coloured sky
saturated in pollen
Licks at my face
Caressing and exciting me
a carefree jubilant love, warm
enticing and gorgeously fresh!

How about this night
so lithe and fascinating
Spectral whirs of light
and smells fill my head
as the sky whirs on.
Sweet sweet March.
Yum.

2511

I’m out on my own
with my dancing –
romancing!
All soulish and lonesome;
all jumpy
and live.
In front?
Maybe once – but now
mostly behind!

It’s a frightening
awakening,
unabashed assault,
on my brain
every day
and it’s sending me old!

I Love Shopping (for Coffee)

Hot morning, must want eggs to milk your bacon good.
Do we hug what delicious get-up the bad wireless need?

Cook a sugar dad meal like lunch
we cool to mum and tea
My cable butter
today calls me;

Stop paying more, yes?
Want bad lunch hug and,
need to get hot butter to it.

 

  • a poem written using magnets on a friends fridge, some time ago… A lone survivor of many magnetic poems – perhaps this was the best?
  • nb – this was written when wireless used to mean radio!

The Last Word

These fucking fuckers
Fucking up our lives
For their personal stake
In our political state
Sucking our lives dry
Leading fates awry
Leaving fears to dry

And this comment’ry
That comedy
Which tries to make it seem alright
Is now as bad
And ignorant
As the fuckers so merrily fucking us
So shame on me
for plugging in
For staying tuned and trying
How sorely fucked the feeling is
As wit washes over this fucking
It’s us,
it’s you,
it’s me
That’s really surely fucking up
I hardly ever knew the game
Yet know that I’m now
Royally f**ked

 

Lazy Boy

Busy days
Ain’t got the strength
To blow these blues away
Worth no money
Got no food
This mind state set
With no wants but you.