Isle of Wight holiday Poem No2. Zigzag Road

We went down
Zigzag Road.
Did we obey
the green
cross code.
Did we hell?
In Ventnor
down "bronchitis
alley", the
hyperventilating
valley -with
over-active
temperature
changes.
When Zig and
Zag, cartoon
characters
from the past
displayed
the road sign
from the mailbag
of childrens goodies
and toys did
they expect
that road sign of
that name
displayed for all
to see?

Isle of Wight Holiday Poetry 1. Chine Sunshine

We walked across
the Chine in
sunshine.
Simon Ledger
singing Nat
King Cole to
a group of Island
pensioners.
Should it be
Kung Fu Fighting
His Karl Douglas
impression landed
him on the
front page of "The
Sun".
Yes, it did go
wong.
Dancing down
the Chine
to "Unforgettable"
40s chimes and
music.
You might even
lose it to
the psychedelic
coloured lights
LSD for purists.
Chine sunshine
silver lining
Crabb Inn
Hollier's Hotel.
Watching
regional Icarus
solar activity
In my Simon's
dad's video
playing as
we came in the
visitors room
Chine sunshine,
deja-vous.
Isle of Wight,
skies blue.
Melting on the
sublime River
Chine in Shanklin.

National Poetry Writing Month Poem No 9.

Road Jam

I'm in the
road jam,
we've been stuck
in it for hours.
We're in the
road jam,
there is no
flower power.
In the tunnel
choked from
summer love
We could've
took the train
instead to
Enfield and
back
but there
is no riot
just road jams
in the chocker block
polluted
capital.
Oh to be back
in Smogville
Boro,
not road
jam choked
London
fighting to
unpick the
words of
truth
through the thin grey veil
of southern snobbery.

National Poetry Writing Month Poem No8. Looking for Inspiration

Looking for Inspiration

I am running short of inspiration
as I look at a nation
full of vitriol
and antagonism.
Where the people in
high places
decorate themselves
with honours
and royalties
celebrities
build up
their images
like deities
and those
who conform
and follow
suit
end up
as parodies
of themselves.
While masquerading
as the gods
and goddesses
of today
the media
simply
embrace
the mainstream
guides thoughts,
actions and
beliefs
while corporate
enterprises
have us hooked
on cooking the
books
While the bankers hoard
we grin and obey
the tune of today
While the new order
grasps their
opportunities
carpe diem
seize the day
while the
world is left
on a precipice
that mankind made.

National Poetry Writing Month Poem 7. The Ghost Bus

The Ghost Bus

The ghost bus gleamed
grey in the summer haze
Pink cherry blossom
oozed from the pores
of tree branches.
Leaffall came
from Wallington Green
But the ghost bus remained
stony grey
Through the icy tentacles
of winter woodland
to the growing
depths of Spring
Where burrowed
among the squirrels
and the foxes den
a willowy wraithful
figure loomed.
Buried in the
headlines of the
newspapers
Black and white as the
Daily Mail or The Sun
The bus driver drow the slow
way home.
Among the bright
red London buses
Hidden for a moment
then thrust in time,
ten years to the day
the bus driver passed away
And now merely like a flashback
or a timeslip from the past
The ghost bus
took the long road home.

National Poetry Writing Month Poem No6. The Letter.

The Letter

I wrote him a letter
to say I could not bear no more
to live my life at the end of a rainbow.

I wrote him a letter to
reveal the truth.
Beyond expressions of anger
in the heat of the moment.

I wrote him a letter to empty my head of negative
emotions.
The letter only
voiced a few words
and was sealed
with a final kiss,
stamped
and sent.

National Poetry Writing Month No 5. His first steps

His First Steps

We captured his first steps
on video camera
but I will always remember,
his face, his love, his trust
when he took them for me.

My son, my love, my darling
my child of love, compassion,
my heart in his
his eyes in mine
They were his first steps
for my first time.

National Poetry Writing Month Poem 3. Revolutionary's Song

Revolutionary's Song

I want to start a revolution
but I don't know anything
about marching in time
with the rhythm and blues
or a turncoat's shoes.
A planned rebellion
is giving into envy
is highly charged
is written in the stars
is fatally flawed.
We look for a solution
we have the same cause
we want a fairer world
But who's telling the truth?
The left wing brigade.
Or the right wing fascist state.
We want to start a revolution
but we are pacifists
who don't want war
But we fight among ourselves
The answer is simple
Scientifically we are all the same,
lets give up the game
and turn to the moderate centre
or better still
let the good guys prosper,
the bad fall away
through mutual co-operation,
understanding difference.
Love may conquer all
Let the walls fall away
and the truth be said
Give the homeless homes,
set the weak free
and the strong at the top,
take the burden and pay their way.

National Poetry Writing Month Poem 3. Death wish

I was inspired by today's interesting quote where you were invited to write a poem predicting your own death, a little morbid you may say! But anyway I had a go and this is the result.

Poem 3. Death Wish

I will die as the sun sets on a midsummer
day, sipping red wine
and eating creme broulet.
The sun will fall down on me
while a guardian angel wept
swept away by the tides
as the dark clouds crept.
My heart is the ocean,
my soul on fire
with the red wine of desire
and the sinister assassin,
that grim reaper drank in
my wine
and let out its breath.
The highs and the lows,
the rise and the fall
of mountains at my feet
and the choirs of angels
at sinners gate.
Where heaven is altered,
the Earth reclaimed
by happy people who
speak his name
resonating through
the grass where the
snake slipped away
and dark angels spoke and craved
and drove away the
spirit, blood was spilt and
shed and then he rose again
and I was dead
and he spoke to the people
and gave them bread
Then they thanked and
worshipped the one true Lord
who heaven sent,
beloved, adored.

National Poetry Writing Month Poem 2. Bobby Moore

I was inspired by a prompt from yesterday to write a poem based on three book titles to incorporate in a poem that were at home. I came up with three that did not belong to me but another member of the household. The titles were "Bobby Moore" "The Black Death" and "Jesus: The Evidence"

2, Bobby Moore - Saviour Reborn

They resurrected you, Bobby Moore, football Messiah of the East End
When the black sentiment of death took you too soon.
You were England's World Cup Captain hero,
dressed in the purest white robes.
Like Jesus, though not the creeping variety.
Evidence for you was legendary and
true,
But you weren't crucified,
nails hammered in.
You were the East End king.
Holding England's World Cup on high,
The Holy Grail, Heaven's resurrected Messiah.
But when the black scents of death
struck home.
English football's malaise
lasted many decades
with no new Jerusalem
Just bucketfuls of rubbish as the
foreign powers marched on
and England's death
owes much to the death
of true heroes like Bobby.
Now he's yesterday's chip paper
Todays legends are celebrity
brands like David Beckham's
or pirhouetting primadonnas
like Christiano Ronaldo,
Bobby Moore was English through and through
His tackle full of grit, honest and true.
A saviour, maybe not Jesus
but as Easter comes God rest good
Bobby Moore, your soul.
Where's the evidence you may say?
It's out there for one and all.

National Poetry Month Challenge - a poem a day. Poem 1. Olive Hill

Hello, this is the beginning of a one month challenge, 30 poems, 1 each day for the month of April. I look forward to receiving any comments or feedback, which would be much appreciated.

Olive Hill

Olive Hill was a child through and through
Her green cats eyes gazed like spies
Her nose was crooked and her tongue black
Webbed feet and a hunched back
She did not fit in, was unloved
and believed that her life was a dream
When she finally woke up
her mouth was rosebud,
her face serene
She was a child again,
eating ice cream with daddy.
He melted away into nothing.
And from that day onwards Olive knew
no one would hurt her again.
She had died that day with her dreams.
A village girl of 22.
She walked alone with her hunched back
Ready to crack
open a can or two
of white lightening
which was frightening
in a concoction of drugs,speed, weed and cocaine.
She was a lover of Kurt Cobaine and
went the same way,
Her mum disowned her wild child stray,
Until Olive Hill
went for the kill
The bitterest pill.
The sweetest last breath
before
death.

Anarchy in the UK

Anarchy in the UK
Violence on the streets
Churchill's statue defaced
Students photograph the invaders
Cammilla and Charlie boy get a hammering
This people power, this revolution
dissolved in dissolution
the police have ran away
the politicians struggling on
to tackle the unholy mess
the defecit
While I sympathise to a degree
How can we condone such anarchy.
This is no Tiannamen Square
We are free to vent our fury if we so wish
But this evil destruction of London
This mindless villainy
incinerates hope
inflames our misery
Good loving hearts wail
at our condemnation
of our nation
Let not civil blood
bleed civil strife.
Nor let we kill our brother
with this night's long knives.