featured in the poetry forum July 31, 2015  :: 0 comments

Getting here has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done
This life is not for the faint-hearted and I’m just glad to be sitting here writing this little poem
I remember all the obstacles that have been placed in my way
The days at school when the last thing on my mind was education
Back then it was all about survival and avoiding the bullies who wanted me dead
It all started so long ago now I can barely recollect
But I remember being made to walk up and down the classroom by an old teacher who wanted to cure me of my in-step
There was another time a kid I never really liked grabbed my pen and pad and threw it in the pond telling me that our kind shouldn’t be doing things like that
Secondary school wasn’t much better, the bullies were bigger and there were more of them
But somehow I survived, escaped intact by taking them on at their own game
Living so close to school I got all the training the one-hundred metres champion would need
Beating the bullies, even when they brought their bikes, home in a blur of limbs and will to survive
After school I naturally became a Goth thinking that was maybe the way to get people to ignore me
But that seemed unlikely in retrospect, a six-foot beanpole of a lad dressed head to toe in black
Just made it more obvious that I wasn’t like them and whilst now I may dress differently my spirit remains undiminished
Forever until the very end will I remain the one who is simply not like them.

editors note:

To all of you with undiminished spirits – identify! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum May 15, 2015  :: 0 comments

I see a drunk out of his mind on life
Who thinks he’s the magician’s assistant
He gazes upon a beauty at the street corner
And decides to flaunt his thing
Hoping she’ll give him some free trade
He begins to entertain the street
The only problem being there ain’t anyone else around
He demonstrates his drunken dancing skills
Hoping for a freebie ’round the corner
The street walker hopes for some genuine business
As her baby lies sleeping at home
Her boyfriend probably still stoned
And she’s starting to get a craving
That won’t disappear until it’s vanquished
Embarrassed she turns but on he ploughs
Unaware of his failure, she prays he goes home
But round these ways prayers aren’t answered
Cos god ain’t listening no matter how loud you ask.

editors note:
Sometimes an imbecile assistant is exactly what a magician needs to see the truth. (Read another one from Bradford on his page; a satisfying conclusion to his missive from March 10th – check’em out!) – mh clay


May 15, 2015  :: 0 comments

There was a scaffold around the outside of my mind
For nearly six long weeks before news filtered through
That maybe it was coming down which made me glad
As not a poetic word had been written since it had risen

It was like a fortress of my mind
Smothering my instinct to gaze out my window
At the muse that has been my view
For all these weird years of living by the sea

But there it remained for another few weeks
Continuing to antagonise me and steal from me my view
It got me wondering as to the state
Of my mind by the time it came down

Then finally one afternoon I returned from work
And the scaffold was gone and the muse returned
I got some dinner, smoked a nice one
And sat down at my laptop with the intention to write


featured in the poetry forum March 10, 2015  :: 0 comments

I’ve got to look in at myself
As I can’t look out to sea
That damn scaffold is still in the way
When it will ever come down
And what it will mean
I still don’t know but I have a feeling

My old landlord died and a huge
Amount began to change
The new paint work means the place stinks
Signs went up proclaiming that
Smoking wasn’t allowed and
Anyone found would lose their deposit

As a result of the scaffold and
The signs my paranoia grows to the
Point where now I sit in
Darkness whilst the work goes on
Outside/ Inside it’s just me
Blazing away at my own paranoia

On the inside I’m just worried
About my job, a rent increase and
How I’ll survive another cold winter
Last year was hard and the forecast is bad
Just to prove that life ain’t ever easy
But what is there to do? I just got to carry on…

editors note:

They said it was arson; the accelerant, paranoia. He said he was just carryin’ on… – mh


featured in the poetry forum December 31, 2014  :: 0 comments

New Year’s Eve and it’s amateur night at the madhouse of fun as the masses invade my regular hangout; my often private playground

They’ve been driven out of their tiny little lives into the full-on glare of just another night for those of us who seize everyday

Delirious from their Xmas over-indulgence they spent the last five days shopping whilst I’ve remained hidden from the excesses of their consumer zombie apocalypse

After so much brutality their bodies just crave a rest but not tonight because its party time!

It’s the biggest night of the year; the first and last time they can actually live this year

As they storm the bar demanding their sparkling wine and Jaeger bombs my mind drifts off for tonight I pretty much sit alone

The New Years of times gone passed and then you and the time we spent one together

It was a glorious night of wild unrestrained heroic drinking with a real vision of beauty; I’m getting hot just thinking about her

We started here, in this very pub I remember that and then suddenly I’m back, sat at the bar pissed off and alone

Upon noticing the time is already quite late a joyous zeal feels my heart as once the bells toll I will be gone

editors note:

This poet’s a pro, a perennial seizer of days (and drinker of nights). – mh


featured in the poetry forum October 3, 2014  :: 0 comments

The walk to work is always the same
Even on the days when you go a different way
The walk to work is just the walk to work
The walk to that place you invariably loathe
That place that slowly drives you insane
Until the day when you don’t have to do that walk anymore
Then it’s another walk to another place
But still it remains the same
The self-loathing and the hatred of what you do
And the walk that still remains the same
Just along different streets to another building
The walk that drives you slowly insane
My walk at the moment is one of the most beautiful
Along the seafront and into the heart of town
People come on holiday here just to do the walk I do everyday
But still it’s just the walk to work
The walk to that place you loathe so much
The walk to that place that drives you insane

editors note:

Poetry to make the mundane bearable, the hair shirt wearable. – mh


featured in the poetry forum July 20, 2014  :: 0 comments

There’s this girl I know, a complete lush by all accounts
She thinks poems should rhyme but I got no truck with those old ideas
She loves the way my old poems sound in her head; garnering negative
reactions from audiences
Wherever they were read; a night at an organic gastro-pub renders
people speechless over their locally sourced vegetables
Then there was the time we got so drunk I couldn’t actually read to a
crowd of blue-rinsed Daily Mail readers
On one of those first shows, when the nerves took hold, I have vague
recollections of falling off-stage

She will say she’s broke until I see her in town; quaffing absinthe no
less and with absolutely no shame
Occasionally I will send her a text to see about a drink and no matter
what it so often seems this way
I’ll end up buying, being pleased to get out, and she’ll promise that
next time it’ll be her turn
Until next time which is so, so long when it happens all over again
We’ll arrange to meet and I’ll end up buying and before we leave
she’ll suggest some point later that week
Only to then ignore my texts and leave me hanging again; and then when
we do she’ll ask why we don’t do this as much!?

editors note:

A stand-up poet falls for a fickle femme groupie; trying for free verse while she wants rhyme. – mh


May 17, 2014  :: 0 comments

I’m up on stage reading a poem about women and wine
It draws the parallel between a cheap bottle and a loving woman
And as it draws to a close

I hear the word ‘sexist’ light up the room
Flying through the air like a pile-driver to my conscious
A ‘sexist’ I retort to no particular comeback so on I plough

On with the next poem when I see her get up and walk out
Before I get the chance to explain
I love women but most simply don’t get me.


featured in the poetry forum May 17, 2014  :: 0 comments

Wining the afternoon away
With my favourite girl Chenet
And her, some random bottled red

Love is a bottle of fun which
Girls bring when visiting me
We drink it down until it’s gone

With wine come women
Lovely, full-bodied, red but cheap
My utter favourite of both of these kinds

editors note:

Why discard a working model for the sake of PC? – mh


featured in the poetry forum February 17, 2014  :: 0 comments

I hear a violent pounding on my neighbour’s door but there’s no response
The poor guy must be at work
I remain seated in my flat not giving a shit about what awaits
And then the inevitable happens
A violent pounding starts on my door and as I stand I hear a vitriolic scream
I know you’re in there the voice roars as I pause nervous and worried for the first time
As I open the door I see a man who fills most of the corridor,
A huge beast of a man and I suddenly turn on my diplomatic act hoping he believes
Where is she he demands as he tries to barge past me but
I thrust my arm out to stop him
Telling him I’m all alone and am just about to leave for work
I manoeuvre him to the top of the stairs
Where I suggest rather bravely that he move on as she’s not around
But then there she is, on the landing below
Long black curly hair and a beautiful face made up like a low-grade working girl,
A tight clingy green dress that shows off all the right curves and shapes
She’s too good for this bum I think
But we move on down and she moves on up
And they hug as I continue off to work

editors note:

Whew! Close call, that. Gotta wonder though, did she drop out his back window to circle ’round to the landing? – mh