Today is not just Halloween! Today is also my Dad’s birthday! My Dad is genuinely the loveliest bloke that ever existed but can give the impression of being extremely intimidating and frightening. We call this scary gangster alter ego ‘Big Phil’. So watch out this Halloween! There may be something a lot worse than a zombie waiting in the streets of London.
He’s actually 51 this year but I’ve been thinking about this poem since his last birthday so one line is slightly dated. You wouldn’t think it had taken that long to write judging by the quality. In fact, that’s pretty much the only line that has survived from so long ago. Anyhow. Here it is:
A heart of gold, an iron fist
He’ll kiss your head then break your wrist
With words that comfort, eyes that kill
It’s him, the man, the boss, Big Phil
His family’s his pride and joy
(His second son’s his favourite boy)
Against them, he won’t hear a word
And if he does, his wrath’s incurred
He knows this city like the back of his hand
And so, before him few can stand
Faced with his hat and long black coat
Defiant words stick in their throat
Without a word, he shuts them down
They flutter like an eiderdown
Dissolving in a pool of tears
He’s ruled these streets for 50 years
Today is Halloween! Halloween is pretty much an idiotic holiday. I love a good carved pumpkin as much as the next guy, but how is it that trick or treating is allowed to happen every year? ‘Don’t talk to strangers’, we tell kids. ‘Don’t accept treats from strangers’, we say. So why, on Halloween, do we actively encourage children to knock on stranger’s doors and blackmail them into given them treats? Did we all just turn stupid overnight? Seriously?
Anyway, this poem is about the Hookily Pookily. Not heard of the Hookily Pookily? You’re one of the lucky ones! The Hookily Pookily are the worst, most scariest and spookiest beings ever to haunt your dreams. Please note that ‘Hookily Pookily’ is both singular and plural. I.e. One Hookily Pookily and several Hookily Pookily.
The Hookily Pookily
The Hookily Pookily snook to the ground
Then flook to the air with a whizeg of sound
It snurted and farked
It chinked and it snarked
Then choodled it’s jood by the pound
The Hookily Pookily spookily come
And dibble your snibs till you quibble your bum
They flam and they jook
They skabbige and rook
Then gerty a flert for their mum
A spooky ghost
It seems like so many famous astronauts, astronomers, and other kinds of scientists (got bored of that list) were inspired simply by staring up at the sky in awe as a child and daydreaming about landing on the moon or something similar. The stars and planets they could see through a telescope blew their minds so much that they just HAD to learn more. This poem is dedicated to everyone who stares up at the night sky in wonder thinking what if? What if? WHAT IF? WHAT IF?
I looked for the stars, shining light-years away
I sat in the garden, I waited all day
But soon it got dark so I went back inside
Why dear stars, why do you haver and hide?
I looked for the moon, shining just down the road
I hopped and I skipped and I ran and I strode
But night overcame me, I had to go back
For how could I see when the sky had turned black?
I looked for a black hole, I stole a spaceship
I flew to the void with a gun on my hip
I met with a martian and spat in his face
Defying the emperor, conquering space
Haver (Verb): Scottish word meaning to talk foolishly
(I know my use of this word makes no sense. Sounds good though eh?)
This is just a money box. I’m saving up for the real thing
This is one of my more recent poems. I had never even attempted to write a limerick before and decided it was about time I did. Limericks are known for being silly, sometimes naughty, and always jolly or funny. I wanted to see if I could write a sad limerick while maintaining the element of silliness. I don’t really think I succeeded but here it is anyway:
The Man With A Towel For A Head
The man with a towel for a head
Was lying alone in his bed
He started to cry
But was instantly dry
Then into the cupboard he fled
Have you finished sulking now towel-head?
I know the picture is shoddy on this one but I’m afraid my geography is extremely poor so I can’t draw a realistic looking Earth.
One night over Summer, I woke up suddenly at about 3:00 AM and rushed to grab a pen and some paper. A bizarre sonnet had appeared almost fully formed in my head. Imagine, if you can, that another planet hung above Earth in space. What if there was a second Earth which had a north pole on the bottom so that our poles repelled each other and it kept them up there? That’s the basis for this poems. An old man is telling his grandson about the time when another planet sat above their heads. It was a beautiful time but it all went horribly wrong. The fact that I wrote this at 3:00 probably explains how stupid it is.
That Other Earth
When I was young, lad, two Earths shared the sky
Our peoples worked in peace towards our goals
We both flew round the sun, not caring why
We soon found out we had opposite poles
It kept them floating up above our heads
But human nature craves experiment
We noosed that Earth with several billion threads
To pull the planet down our minds were bent
With each man tugging, naught stood in our way
We brought the planet close enough to touch
But then the straining threads began to fray
The polar repulsion became too much
And to our shame, the once great human race
We launched that other Earth out into space
The vastness of space is matched only by the unfathomable depths of the Birmingham cloud cover that hides it
I was mindlessly doodling in a lecture when I decided to put my pen down and review what I had drawn. What I found looked something like the picture above. A small lizard standing on top of a fish and holding out a small, black object to a disembodied head. I decided to try and work out the backstory. What exactly is going on in this picture? It took me a while but I’ve finally worked it out.
This poem explains what is happening but also has a message. Sometimes we have to risk looking like a fool to achieve great things. Sure, sometimes we end up horribly embarrassed. We may even spiral into crippling social anxiety and never have any human interaction again. It might even be so bad that we die of shame. Actually, it’s not worth the risk. Play it safe guys, play it safe.
The Bean From My Hands
The leathery lizard flew in on a fish
And said to the face, ‘I will grant you a wish
If you’ll only come back with a bag or a dish
And take this bean from my hands’
‘Take this bean from my unworthy hands
This kidney bean from my sun-scorched hands
This tasteless bean from my withering hands
Just take this bean from my hands’
The bodiless face rolled it’s eyes in delight
And said to the lizard, ‘I’ll take it alright!
In return, I wish only to sleep well tonight’
Then he took the bean from his hands
He took the bean from his misshapen hands
The purple bean from his blood-stained hands
The wretched bean from his trembling hands
He took the bean from his hands
You are not allowed to wish for more beans
The Titanic will forever be remembered for the circumstances of it’s sinking on 15th April 1912. ‘God himself could not sink this ship’ people exclaimed. So confident were they that there weren’t even enough life boats for half the passengers. They goofed pretty damn bad on this. In the years since, it’s become almost legendary. Many films have been made and countless conspiracy theories have been spread. The most famous film starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet (in spite of the fact that it stars Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet) is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest films ever made. This is a tongue in cheek tribute to the actual ship and the film. It may sound slightly irreverent but I mean no disrespect by it.
The ship of dreams
And custard creams
And overtime for PR teams
The joyful sound of children’s screams
In sunny beams
With bubble streams
It cannot sink
Or hold it’s drink
It never will be painted pink
The captain’s hat will never shrink
It’s made of mink
Or so I think
It’s very nice
And full of mice
The kitchen serves the finest rice
Whiskey comes at a decent price
I’ve drunk it twice
Could use some ice
The best three hours of film and five hours of special features ever made
Facebook brings all sorts of people together and gives people a platform to share pretty much anything they want. It’s a brilliant way of spreading news and organising people. It’s also great for activism. Activism on Facebook is not a bad thing. Activists having Facebook is not a bad thing. What is bad is the rise of the ‘Facebook Activist’. You probably know what I’m talking about. The person who share the picture of a poorly child with the caption ‘Doctors need 500 likes before they can operate’ or who shared all the ‘Kony 2012’ pictures but couldn’t tell the difference between Kony and that bloke in the film Predator (no seriously, look it up).
This is probably one of the angrier poems I’ve written. I didn’t mean it to be but it just turned out angry. Hope you enjoy it anyway.
Some big dictator, new in town
It’s time to take this monster down
10 likes equals 1 revolution
10,000,000 equals full solution
Coppers shot some kid last night
So share this picture, put it right
10 shares equals one care for Ben
Those coppers won’t do that again!
There’s been some rioting in Greece
But 50 posts will keep the peace
I bet 90% ignore
We can’t just sit here anymore
You really care ’bout this ordeal?
Get off your bum, do something real
To really bless the human race
Delete that post and shut your face
But first, let me take a shelfie
Sometimes, all it takes is an offhand comment from a friend or loved one, or even a stranger, to change our entire outlook on something. The wonderful thing about sharing life with other people is that they think thoughts you never would. Taking a moment to see things from somebody else’s perspective could just alter your entire view of life. This poem is an exploration of that idea. There are actually two versions of this poem, the original and the one that I like to call ‘A Deeply Moving Alternate Version.’ Prepare to be deeply moved ladies and gentlemen.
A Change of Perspective
A Deeply Moving Alternate Version
Overcome with emotion
Clever people can speak French. No matter where you are from, the cleverest and sexiest people of every nation can speak French. I don’t know why. I’ve never thought it was a particularly beautiful or poetic language. In fact I’ve always preferred English but I’m probably biased. That being said, the chicks dig French so I decided to write a poem in French. I’m an intellectual ‘n all so it was about time anyway.
Now, please bear in mind that I only studied French from year 7 to year 9 so I’m exceedingly proud of the fact that I managed to write a whole poem! For the less intellectual amongst you, I have supplied an English translation. For any French peeps among you, the poem probably doesn’t say what I think it does. I’m sorry. Having said that, google translate seems to suggest I’m right so who knows?
Bonjour Madame, ca va?
J’aime tous le monde ce soir
Je suis tres desole
Parce que je suis Anglais
J’ai douze ans, dans le sac
Où est le cidre Jacque?
Je crie ‘Ah sacrebleu!’
Mon ami, petite soeur
Hello madam, how are you?
I love all the world tonight
I am very sorry
Because I am English
I am twelve years old, in the bag
Where is the cider, Jacque?
I shout ‘Ah sacrebleu!’
My friend, little sister
The smelliest country in the world was bound to get cheese right
PS: Sorry to any French peeps for the banner on this one. It’s only a joke I promise!