SOME POEMS

On Sitting Next to John Cooper-Clarke

on a Train

Evidently its Cooper-Clarke – I’d know him even in the dark,

but to say ‘Hi John’ seems too familiar.

A wink would just be weird.

A nod? A continental kiss? I doubt that he would welcome this,

for he might be sick of sycophantic puppets.

He might think “Go away … you muppet

and please don’t show me that crumpled verse

that you’ve probably got tucked away in your purse.”

Even if I don’t pose an immediate danger

to him I am just a total stranger.

So I say nothing.

But it’s hard.

Because at times when life has been truly shit,

I’ve reached for his volumes of Salford grit.

So I want to say……

You’re the punk pied piper.

You’re a syllable sniper.

You’re a slick soothsayer

You’re a jargon slayer.

You’re a peptic collector of sceptic wit.

A louche lounge lizard with a lot of lip.

You’re a scene shape shifter with an urban vista

A true grit, drop kick, comeback mister.

You’re a verbal viper – you’re a mean narrator.

You’re my favourite social commentator.

You’re my Shelley, Keats and Clare.

You’ve had more hits than Baudelaire.

But I say nothing for the entire journey and on arrival at Manchester Piccadilly we both leave the train and I rush ahead to find a doorway to smoke in.

A stick thin figure joins me there – a man I would know anywhere.

In slanting rain and wind that whips we struggle with rizlas and filter tips

and when he lights up John turns to say………. he turns to say.

“Fooking smoking ban eh!” And I say “Yeah – Right.”

If I said a lengthy chat ensued then that would be a fiction,

but we shared the camaraderie of nicotine addiction

and only when we’d gone our separate ways,

I realised what I really wanted to say and it was just…

Thank you.

Thank you kindly Cooper Clarke, poet, raconteur and clown.

Rhythmic ranter, king of banter, metaphor and noun.

Thank you kindly Cooper-Clarke for me you wear the crown.

You walked us down to Beasley Street and you showed us Chicken Town.

Published by Forward Poetry in "Poetry Rivals 2015"

How to do your bucket list on the cheap.

No- savings?- -No Trust Fund? No final salary pension?.

Don’t be despondent just deploy your powers of invention

First find a clip of a flash mob choir and sing along to the Messiah

Take an online tutorial daily……..Learn a few chords on the ukulele

Spanish and German…….a smattering of these…And some conversational Japanese

Don’t get ideas above your station -Content yourself with simulation

So tune into google earth – go to Delhi then to Perth,-

Phucket, Tromso…. Budapest, New Orleans and Marrakesh

For each place try a national dish – Thali- noodles –pickled fish

Fiery Goulash – lamb tagine….. Consume by the glow of your laptop screen

Find a nice boutique hotel – take a virtual tour – and hell…..

Wear shades sombrero or sun visor……… leave complaints on Trip Adviser …..

Wear bobble hat and salopettes to watch skiing on the internet

Sent a tweet to the Dali llama, Yoko Ono and Obama-…..

Similarly Johnny Depp and anyone else you wish you’d met

Lighten up – don’t feel a fool – with your plastic dolphin at the local pool…… Go on…

Scamper naked in the dew…..Get that ill-advised tattoo…….

Well….

Some strategies must be employed – to plug this existential void

But if you find yourself depressed – egocentric – self obsessed

And you suspect that it’s a sham – a convoluted marketing scam?......

If you find it hard to co-exist with all the thrills you think you’ll miss

That you might not drive a racing car or party at the Mardi Gras

Swim in the Sargasso Sea or get to know a chimpanzee

Hike the Appalachian Trail or help to save the hump backed whale

Play the tuba in a band or visit mosques in Samarkand

Accept that it’s beyond your reach to ride the surf at Bondi Beach

To climb that distant mountain peak or teach a mynah bird to speak

And stop this morbid quest – desist ….

And please destroy this bucket list

It’s all gone Picasso

(If artists through the ages had to share a house)

Gilbert and George are in their rooms inspecting bits of poop

And that bloody Andy Warhol has taken all the soup

The place is like a pig-sty – Tracey Emin’s gone to bed

Van Gogh’s experimenting with self-harming in the shed

Damian’s breeding butterflies – Dali’s melted the clocks

And Gaugin and Toulouse-Lautrec have gone and got the pox…………

Matisse has all the scissors – Can he really need them all?

And Degas has ballerinas pirouetting in the hall

Turner’s gone all sulky- Holman-Hunt just rants

Dante Gabriel Rossetti needs to keep it in his pants

Pissarro hates Pollock – Rembrandt can’t abide Vermeer

Banksy just pops in and out and only shows his rear……………

Of course we all love Frida – I myself have tried

But that hothead Leonardo……. has to take the fight outside

This place is worse than Guernica – as I for one should know

I’m off to found the Cubist Movement – Adios ………..Pablo