Tuesday, 11 August 2015

Words from the archives 12; Trap It

Don't think this one is actually that old. Though the idea has appeared before in a few other peices I'd started. The incicent I speak of has happeaend me to more than once in my adult life, and for that split second it's the worst feeling in the world. 



Trap it


I was walking home from work;
Tie and a shirt trousers and shoes.
Got to the cul de sac and
Some young boys were playing
football in the street;
full kit, replica tops, shirts,
socks and astro boots.
They must have been about 10.
I must have been about 30.

One of the kids has over hit the ball and
it's rolled over towards me.

I freeze.

I can feel my heart beat fast suddenly going up a gear
whilst time has slowed down.

Out of nowhere I can hear a crowd.
Some cockney sounding coach, red
faced bulging blood vessels in his neck, Chelsea
tattoos and a pink Ralph
spit coming out of his mouth is
screaming out at the top of his voice;

'KEEP IT SIMPLE KEEP IT SIMPLE!!'

I take a breath.
I tell msyelf;

'Don't try and be flash,'
'just trap it,'
'get it under control and'
'play it back.'

Just before the ball reaches my feet,
another voice, deep inside
the isolation unit of my mind jumps
up and screams out;

'THIS IS YOUR CHANCE'
'YOU'VE GOTTA TAKE IT!!'

Somere in-between thinking about
those two opposing views,
I've stuck my right leg out and
my right leg is confused,
unsure what to do.
The ball hits the outside of my
black leather lace up shoe,
taking all the power out and meekly
trickling behind me like water
drops dribbling out of a
tap in a drought, and
rolling into the road,
like my very own You've
Been Framed Video.

'Shit, I've fucked it' as I slap my forehead.

Just to rub salt into my wounds,
I look up, and the
kids in the replica kits are laughing, and
making wanker signs at me.

I put my hands up and say;

'Sorry boys, I just aint got it anymore.'

When I walked away,
feeling ashamed, I
realised I was speaking in clichés.
I never even had it in the first place






Saturday, 8 August 2015

Words from the archives #11 Drunken freestyle

Found this one in a file called i Phone notes. Above it was a note that said 'North on the northen line.' Thought it was pretty funny reading it back. Maybe the 'August line was a typo, think it works though...


Drunken freestyle


Can I have a go
Not "let me" as I would of said
Demanding is for the likes of ...:..
I'm not them
Am I pacifying myself to avoid confrontation?
Am I pussying out?
Probably.
But who cares?
Who really cares what I say in a rhyme?
A rhyme that doesn't rhyme.
Fuck it.
I'm here on a tube half cut
Fucking up my £4.30 budget
I think I have £5 left
To last
To Sunday
I had the shits today
Sort of
Probably from the date expired food
What can I do?
I'm broke
But I've had a few beers
There's Nikes on my feet
A goi goi jacket on my back
And a nice house to go back to
I can't complain
And if I do
Then I'm August

Words from the archives #10 Catching Confetti

Again, another one written a few years ago when I was back in Horley, part of a whole bunch I wrote from around this period. 

For more old stuff check WORDS FROM THE ARCHIVES  


Catching Confetti

I remember the temperature of her body, stood
at the bottom of the station steps, warming
my hands on the tops of her arms. A
climate of perfection that would have cultivated passion, on
any degree of London's volatile thermometer, red
carpeting the path towards our first kiss.

That moment was a ship worthy of splitting tower bridge.

My rationale stepped down and bowed, to
an ancient force a thousand times the power. All
unnecessary thought slipped away, like
a spacecraft discarding it's redundant super structure.
A separation I rarely experience.
The road leading to this was long, and
Full of false starts. It
took hindsight to realised that at last I'd arrived.

We parted ways at the station. I
went up the steps and she walked back down the concourse, looking
as if it was a routine Saturday evening for her, and
I remained on the stairs trying to catch
every last shred of confetti that was
that memory.


Words from the archives #9 Armchair Righteous

Pretty sure this was one was written around 2011 / 2012, when I was back liivng in Horley, have a vauge memory of sitting in my old bedroom writing it. There was a whole second half of the poem (which I've edited out) which was a bit preachy about society chaaging, no such thing as a fair fight anymore etc etc, anyway I throught it was shit so I took it out. Saw a lot of fights growing up but this one always stuck out to me for  perhaps for the reason touched on in the peice. Bystander effect and all that... There's a small buch of these other old poems that I've put up if you fancy havaing a bucthers here WORDS FROM THE ARCHIVES


Armchair Righteous


My body jolted, revolted at the 
sound of a floor grappling guy engaged in a fight, being
kicked full pelt in the face by
boot wearing mate of his opponent.

The crack from the contact of boot to face was a sound to induce stomach acid.
The poor guys nose exploded over his white school shirt and tie.
His shriek shook leaves off the trees, as
he curled up in a ball, trying
to protect his face, sports
bag still attached to his back, only
to be booted a second time, in
the same place, by
the guy he was originally fighting with, who'd
managed to wriggle away and get to his feet, only
after his boot wearing mate threw in his foot uninvited.

The surprise in the sound of the second shriek screamed of a man unfairly defeated.

I froze.
Blood had dripped on to the grass verge, where
a group of us were stood, waiting
for the bus, not
knowing where to look.
A couple of screaming girls came running over with
tissues for the wounded whilst the two face
kickers causally walked away.

The fighters were in the year above me at school.
One was a well known rude boy called Shaun, who
carried  way more attitude than weight, sporting
blood on his expensive right Kicker shoe as he walked off.
Dressed in the latest garms, it
was always the bastards with the best clothes.
The other guy with the busted nose was quiet, I
didn’t know his name, he was
always playing football with the dweeby kids, minding his own.
The intervening boot wearing third party, who
pulled the unexpected chair from underneath the wrestling ring, was some
mate of Shauns who didn’t go to my school and wasn’t wearing a uniform.

From what I understood, the
quiet guy was picked on by Shaun, unprovoked,
attempting to inflict the kind of primitive terror only rude boys administered.
To Shauns surprise though the quiet guy put up a resistance.
Afraid to loose face in front of his mate, Shaun
squared up to him, all pigeon chest, arms
spread, head forward; physical threat
Classic rude boy. And
so the dust was upset and they tumbled, as me, and
a whole bunch of others rubber necked with the bystander effect.

The following day after school, Shaun’s
mate happened to be outside again, presumably
waiting for Shaun, only
to be greeted, so
to speak, by
a sixth former by the name of Jamie, who
could more than handle himself, and
apparently was distantly related or was neighbours with the nose
beaten guy, and proceeded to exact retribution.
I hear Shaun’s mate took a bit of a pasting. I
can't say I wasn’t glad.
Shaun on the other hand didn’t show his
face for a few days.
Justice served.
Jamie dished out everything I wish I’d
done but did’nt.
 


Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Some things I learnt from secondary school

SOME THINGS I LEANT FROM SECONDARY SCHOOL

1:          Most of the stuff in that Maths set, you will never use.

2:           There are some things that I have to learn myself if I want to understand them, like finding out what left wing and right wing means, and that money you get given from credit cards and loans is not yours, you have to pay it back, and if you don’t you get those red letters and those bastards phone you, a lot, and they keep phoning you until you pay (and telling them to fuck off does you no favours).

3:        Unless you get a trade, join the army, get really really lucky or do A-Levels and get a degree, there are not a lot of options for you, and you may well end up in one of those jobs where your sat in a call centre and you have to phone people who havant paid back their credit card or loan, a lot, and you have to keep phoning them until they pay (even if they tell you to fuck off, which they will)

4:         On older car models, if you prize off the rubber from the passenger window, with the use of a twisted coat hanger, you can open the door (without a key)

5:          On those cheap fluorescent cigarette lighters, you can wiggle the flame adjuster thing till it breaks, causing the lighter to become a mini flame thrower everytime you use it

6:         On those cheap florescent cigarette lighters, if you throw them really hard against the wall, they explode.

7:          On those cheap florescent cigarette lighters, if you throw them really hard against the wall, and they explode, you might want to stand back. Little bits break off and if they hit you it fucking hurts.

9:          Throughout life, I’ll have to get up, probably 5 days a week, to go somewhere I probably don’t want to go and do something I probably don’t want to do

10:        If you hold biro’s under the Bunsen burner flame you can mould them into some really interesting shapes but those fumes give you a horrendous headache and are probably poisonous. 

11:        If people are giving you shit, and involving adults hasant resolved the situation, approach them when they are all together in a group, find the biggest and hardest one and lamp the cunt. Observe how all the minions will peel away like paint doused in thinner. Violence is rarely the answer but standing up for you’re self is something you should learn young. It’s a lot harder to do later in life when your self-confidence regularly takes a pathetic round 1 exit from the Jonhston’s Paint Trophy. 

12:        The way to spot a fake Ralph shirt is to look for the double stitching in the collar and if the ratio* between the horse and the jokey is just plain ridiculous.

13:        Having the best trainers is not the be all and end all (Though it is pretty sick, if only for a while).

14:        That the best thing I could and should and wished I had learned at school, was learning how to learn. Regardless of what I’m studying, whether it’s Trigonometry or simply trying to assemble IKEA flat pack furniture, the skill of applying you’re self to something never ever changes, and learning that skill later in life is really fucking hard and pretty embarrassing, when you realise most other people have been doing it for years and you were too busy dicking about or day dreaming.

15:        Despite all of the above, even if you didn’t do very well at school, it doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Life can take some interesting twists and new roads present themselves all the time if you look hard enough (Just don’t take those new roads as an excuse to park the car up and get cained with your mates, it’s a good laugh but it really really slows you down and you’ll end up doing something a bit crap with your life like writing poems).

16:        Writing poems and stories isn’t necessarily for bellends or people that get high marks and have good spelling.

*ratio?! Shit, I did learn something afterall.