Behind the Bike Sheds

Behind the bike sheds
Strange things occur
Between metal padlocks
Between him and her

Behind the bike sheds
Danger lurks
From the nearby hut
Where the caretaker works

Behind the bike sheds
He once lost his love
To Tommy o’Thomas
And he cried out above

‘Behind the bike sheds
If lovers do stray
The fools will regret it
If I have my way’

Behind the bike sheds
This scorned man lays a trap
He digs a great hole
Covered with a thin flap

Behind the bike sheds
A geek and a goth
Among stubs and fag ends
Both pledge their troth

And as the two star-crossed lovers
Stand on that ground
The earth swallows them
And they never are found

To this day it’s told
To all schoolchildren’s dread
It’ll all end in tears
Behind the bike sheds.

Self-service Savvy

I am the king of the bagging area
Your help is not required
Unless I’m buying a security-tagged item
And sometimes when I’m tired.

You should go and stock some shelves
I think you’ve run out of bread
There’s nothing more annoying than looking for wholemeal
And having to buy white instead.

Just leave me here, I’ll be ok
I’m more than capable
I didn’t get where I am today
By being unable to work a till.

Excuse me there, I need some help
This self-service thing’s a joke
Why can’t we just be served by people?
Don’t fix it if it ain’t broke.

Tiger, Tiger – a poem refracted

I’m glad napowrimo is over – I was becoming less and less inspired by the prompts. However, there is still unfinished business and my feeble attempt at day 30’s task is below. It’s based – as if you needed telling – on Blake’s ‘Tyger, Tyger’ and isn’t so much an opposites poem as a poem refracted.

Tiger, Tiger, fading pale
On the urban morning trail
What soon-dying foot or face
Sticks out weird and out of place

On which shallow puddles goes
The clouded dimness of your nose
In whose arms fear hopelessness
Where the wing fear grasp the ice

And which elbow, and which science,
Couldn’t untie the saggy part
And when your heart ceased to bump
What a lovely knee? And what a lovely rump?

Where the nail? Where the cog?
In what fridge did I put the dog?
What the hammer? What nice grip?
Fear it’s lovely pleasures slip?

When the planets picked up their phials
And warm’d earth with their smiles
He did frown his leisure to hear?
He did who made the deaf mute ear?

Tiger, Tiger, fading pale
On the urban morning trail
What soon-dying foot or face
Sticks out weird and out of place

A.T.A.D.

Young mortal charms receiv’d the careless eye
Look where flowers grow, I
Prove that common needs I canst
Not alter, Death can falsehood see in me

Life can cheer thine silence much
I have watch’d the flower bloom
The hand must leaf by leaf pluck
Eye trace I see thy morn

Shade hath thou extinguish’d
Stars, they weep tears o’er thy bed
Fondly embrace drooping love again
How thou remain, remember thine

Love endears

This is a ‘reduced’ version of  And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

This is the napowrimo task that has taken me longest. I didn’t like it. Day 26.

No Pigeons

Meticulously lay the fruit and fat balls in the tree
Wait behind the window now to see what you will see
A goldfinch or a swift, even a swallow hopefully
All god’s birds are welcome but for one anomaly

No pigeons!

It isn’t long before the first arrivals start to feed
Beautiful and delicate, a lovely sight indeed
You’d love to snap a picture of them pecking at your seed
By the time you get your camera there’s naught but the dreaded breed

Oi! No pigeons!

You run outside and flap your arms like the feathered friends you love
Your foul-mouthed incantations give the sky-vermin the shove
The pigeons take off heavily into the sky above
You go inside and slam the door. You have had quite enough.

#%$@#&% pigeons!

You take a couple Valium and would you credit that!
Look out the window in your tree, the most gorgeous bird is sat
Singing to its friends and nibbling your balls of fat
When suddenly it’s massacred by next-door’s bloody cat.

I quite like pigeons myself. This is for day 27 of napowrimo ‘cos I don’t like the prompt. Day 26 is on its way.

Man-ballad

I look into the looking glass
And I don’t like what I see
There it is so bold as brass
And it’s staring back at me

Now I’m not one to navel-gaze
But it is an eyesore
She showers it with so much praise
While I couldn’t hate it more

I wish I could get rid of it
But that would be the end
If I didn’t have my special bit
I would have no girlfriend

I’m re-reading this ballad now
I guess it sounds quite weird
Your dirty minds should be ashamed
This song’s about my beard

 

This started out serious and deteriorated. It’s also based on a true story, but that’s no excuse.

For day 25 of napowrimo.

Sleeping patterns

I sleep everywhere
At a show or at the fair
On a barstool at the pub
At Moor Allerton Social Club

You don’t sleep anywhere
Not in your bed or comfy chair
Sleeping pills just make you yawn
You toss and turn from dusk ’til dawn

I need 8 hours a night
Any less and I don’t feel right
I close my eyes and I go to sleep
And I don’t wake up ’till the alarm’s beep

You need just 2 or 3
You’re up all night watching tv
You’re ironing and doing more
While I just lay all night and snore

I don’t think this relationship is going to work.

The prompt for day 24 is too damn hard. I’ve done this instead.

A beginning or an end

Sixteen, thirty-two, forty-eight
Hurry it up, the time is near
No time for you to hesitate
Sixteen, thirty-two, forty-eight
Come on, come on! Or you’ll be late
It’ll soon be done, no more fear
Sixteen, thirty-two, forty-eight
Hurry it up, the time is near

This is for national poetry writing month day 23.

Earth’s Lament – day 22 of napowrimo

You smother me in concrete      (so that I cannot breathe)
You build towers in the sky        (so that we rarely meet)
You ogle other planets              (while I wait here at your feet)
You make me want to die           (but I won’t admit defeat)

Highest of my creations             (we grow apart more every day)
Look down upon my face           (must we always be this way)
I still have all my love for you     (but you just want to stray)
Of your love there’s no trace     (be kind to me, I pray)

If it has got to be like this           (there’s something you should know)
Then I will make you pay           (you reap what you will sow)
I’ll crush you, decompose you   (painfully and slow)
And in pieces you will lay           (from those pieces I will grow)

 

Fortune cookie lines for day 21 of napowrimo

You will invent a razor that will shave years off your life.

You will have an unexpected grandma in the bagging area.

The pip that you didn’t eat as a child is not growing into a tree inside you.

You will spot a dog in the canal before realising it’s your own reflection.

You will be a beneficiary in someone’s will. You will receive nothing of consequence.

Whatever you do, don’t look behind you.

Oranges must not be used as a flotation device.

You will take a wrong turn with erotic results.

Mississippi is not spelled like this. It’s spelled Mississippi.

You have 5 glockenspiels but you are not an orchestra.

This was tough. I must acknowledge help from my friend who has a fractured mind.