ADDICTION FOR SOME IS JUST A GAME OF TENNIS

featured in the poetry forum October 2, 2022  :: 0 comments

The phone-in on my radio this morning
Leaves me feeling nothing but cold
Angry
Frustrated, and
Certain that this country will get hit by
Another bout of virus-related deaths
As
Idiots call in speaking of their need
To visit internet cafes
And tennis courts because, they claim,
‘I know i’m addicted.’

When hundreds, sometimes 1000s,
Die
Every single day, are people so
Deluded by their own self-importance
To think, or probably
Not,
That their life can go on as normal
Just because of some
Stupid
Idiotic
Need to be seen, to carry on just
Being british
(soon to be defined in any good
Dictionary as someone thick-
Skinned, thick of mind, and certain
Of their own deluded superiority
Before they died out during an
Early twenty-first-century world
Pandemic)

Remembering to always just
Keep calm and carry on
Living whilst clapping the
Key workers every Thursday
Night and disregarding the
Advice to stay home
Save lives and help the wonderful
NHS.

editors note:

It ain’t just a British thing; this thickness runs through everything. – mh clay

DAZE AT WORK (DREAMING OF DRINKING, WRITING, SMOKING AND SLEEPING)

featured in the poetry forum July 24, 2022  :: 0 comments

The daze at work come and go with an infrequent regularity
Sometimes three,
Sometimes four,
Sometimes five times a week
But recently I’ve had to get used to a new phenomenon
People coming in, people I don’t generally recognise
Asking me about this, my poetry
When am I reading again some ask
I wanted to see a poet at work some say
But the thing I often think is who was that
And have they bought my goddamn book
I know it’ll never save me from this exhausted routine
Of working, drinking, writing, smoking and sleeping
But if they’ve ever read my words they should
Know that I hate that work, that detestable shop and
Most of the people I work with and serve so
Why come and see me down there?
I can only conclude that they want to see me at my lowest
Possible moment and are afraid of stepping into the ring
Of the bar to see me drinking when, no doubt, I would
Try to sell them a book in exchange for a beer doing
Both of us a favour but no they come here instead
To a place where nothing ever changes. The
Homeless masses occasionally return to the icy
Streets from their hostel begging change to support
Their habits and I still get ridiculed about my name;
Today it was our new security guard, Steve, who turned to me
And called me ‘City,’ as in the football team from the town
With which I share a name, but at least this time
It made me laugh as I remembered times at school
When fellow kids would taunt me, calling me ‘Bingley’
After a well-known old-fashioned building society
Until that, I contemplated battering them.
Right now though I just want to escape all this
Nonsense of poetry fans and random taunts
Escaping to somewhere no one knows me where I
Can drink, smoke, work, write and sleep at last in peace.

editors note:

Here we see the poet in his un-natural habitat. Please stay back as he can be hostile when provoked. – mh clay

MY FUTURE IS WRITTEN

featured in the poetry forum May 15, 2022  :: 0 comments

I walked out into my future
this morning and it was like
A dream as I stomped around
this empty little hole and saw
Almost no one at all. I walked
the streets until they ran out and
Not once did I get shouted at or
Begged from as around here
Everyone is poor but as I stood
by our community lake it felt a
Million miles away from my usual
Life on those damn streets back
there in that place that has never
Really felt like home.

editors note:

Every step brings us close to the future and, hopefully, to home. – mh clay

THE RICH & ENCHANTED MASS

featured in the poetry forum March 12, 2022  :: 0 comments

On those blessed
Blissed out days of sun walking
The promenade next to the beach
Always reminds me i just got to
Stay here. Not necessarily right
Here but by that rich enchanted
Mass of glistening beauty
Which when the sun shines
Means my eyes can see off
All the way to the distant horizon
Fuelling dreams of what may
Lay beyond…

editors note:

Here’s a fuel no cartel can control nor government tax. – mh clay

SAME AGAIN…

featured in the poetry forum November 13, 2021  :: 0 comments

I was stoned before it even began this particular Friday night,
Another lost to reading the word and thinking about the state
Of this life. Smoking all the way throughout this blessed day
Away from the place of work I got waylaid and upon hitting
The street, sparked another but instantly felt bored. The scene
Is how it so often is these days, virtually no one out despite
The hour now being nearly 9, but my thirst drives me on
Down the street to that tavern where I’ll spend some more of
My hard-earned cash.

As soon as I arrive I know it’s going to be nothing but a loser
Of a night; a gang of cool 20-somethings loiter outside, wearing
Shades, cool clothes, sipping their drinks. I wander on past
And get to the corner, turn and head straight for the back door.
There I find blessed relief as I push the door open and barely
No one is here. I sit at the bar and call someone over; I order
A beer and large bourbon and sit back, happy to be out and not
In the prying eye. The rest of the night passes with me just
Asking,

Same again
Same again
Same again…

editors note:

Approach a new night looking for the same again… – mh clay

TONIGHT BRINGS MEMORIES OF WHEN IT ALL STARTED

featured in the poetry forum July 31, 2021  :: 0 comments

I turn on the night as I
Turn out the light as the
Glow of my laptop is all
I need to fill this place with
Light. It shines a light to
Illuminate my ashtray and
The ubiquitous glass from
Which I pour these words
On this, a Friday night
Deep in the heart of the
Most dreaded sequel our
Time has known; Lockdown 2
Is here and the powers that
Be want everyone locked
Away safe in the confines
Of their mortgaged homes.

I sit here, obedient at last,
As I turn the clock back to
Those wasted years of me,
Sat with my wireless on, the
Glass pouring its inspiration
All over this page and the
Smoke that just keeps giving
And giving, pouring itself
Over my wasted mind that
Now can’t wait for half-time.

editors note:

Round 2 Remembering When a Wasted Mind Was Fine Blues. – mh clay

POETRY IS GOOD THERAPY, UNLEASH v1

featured in the poetry forum April 1, 2021  :: 0 comments

All I can think of recently is
Wonder; wondering on the idea of a lay
Something that ain’t happened in a fairly long time, or
The idea of a move, maybe
Out of this town and onto a new adventure
As this place runs dry of fun, of continued inspiration.

Now whenever I venture out on the streets nothing
Surprises me anymore, so blasé have I become
About all the weird sights tourists actually come
Here to gawp at. They come, sit, eating or drinking
Pointing at all the wonderful, yet now dull to me,
Colourful characters that promenade around
This town.

The idea of a woman reached a peak just last week
As I ran home, drunk as hell, from the pub leaving
Friends drinking, as, salivating, my horniness grew too
Much! I needed a release and it soon came on down,
If you’ll pardon the pun,
With the thought of a red-head beauty running through
My mind; it’s the closest I’ve been in months.

Sitting here now I feel oddly bored but happier
Than I’ve felt in a long old time but this boredom of
Routine has suggested it’s maybe time to move on,
Find a less expensive town where I may have
The time to write, drink, smoke, and, who knows,
Maybe get that lay and work maybe just a couple of
Days a week giving me the much-needed chance
To just waste some goddamn time.

editors note:

There it is! We’re all looking for a place for a good waste of time. – mh clay

THIS LIFE NEEDS OCCASIONAL MOMENTS OF JOY

featured in the poetry forum December 17, 2020  :: 0 comments

This morning i’ll go into town, have a walk
Around. I’ll visit my sanctuary, the library so
Full of computers, and then if the sun continues
To shine maybe i’ll go smoke one down on the
Beach for today feels like one of those days.

A day to lose myself in these here words and this
Here glorious day off. I may even visit the bar
Down the road at some point this afternoon but
I won’t let it get to me and hopefully i’ll stay cool
Drink a few and then maybe come home.

If that is the case tonight might well be lost in
The depths of film; a lot to catch-up on and some
Bound to bring a little bit of joy. This life needs
A fair bit of that right now as the daily slog is
Growing harder every single day.

editors note:

Amen, Brother! – mh clay

HE WANTS HOME IMPROVEMENT, I WANT DEATH

featured in the poetry forum September 21, 2020  :: 0 comments

There’s some damn rich type
Undertaking some home improvements
In the mews house behind
The terrace on which i live
And every damn morning of late
He’s been waking earlier and
Earlier. That damn drill comes
Alive waking every person
Nearby as he begins, sometimes
As early as 6am. Now he’s
Drilling and someone else is
Hammering and yet it’s
Saturday morning and, like me,
Others will be feeling the pain
From a heroic Friday night.

What would happen, i ponder,
If i just went round there
And told him the stark bold
Truth, you are nothing but a
Self-obsessed arsehole. If
That don’t work maybe i’ll
Get that drill and go bonkers
Splatter-core him just like in
Driller Killer. I think of
His neighbours and how they
Must be reacting, how maybe
One of them is dreaming of
Doing something similar to
My scheming little plan.

The last few weeks there’s
Been a kid screaming her
Heart out, dreaming of being
Just like Adele, every evening
Driving me to the clutches
Of the pub or some horror
Flick just to drown it out, and
Now i wonder if she’s the
Daughter of that bastard the
Home improvement guy? If
So, can i recommend now a
Plan for getting rid of all of them?

editors note:

Someone dis-placing their shelter while you try to shelter in place? Homicidal plans in play? Resist, Friends! – mh clay

I’M NOT SURE HOW MUCH MORE I CAN TAKE (minimum-wage hero)

featured in the poetry forum July 11, 2020  :: 0 comments

Another week done and i’m just about
Done, done with all this nonsense of a
So-called lock-down that means people
Can come to my shop not just the one
Time but two times for all their bottles
Of wine, their bottles of gin and hell
In one case today a guy who stole a hell
Of a night self-isolating. Two
Four-packs of cold beer, a pizza and
Some dead animal meat and all paid
For with a spit right onto my, own
Supplied, protective face-mask the
Boss had told me i couldn’t wear at
The start of my shift.

‘No way,’ i said to him, ‘there is no
Way i’m going on those check-outs
Today without one,’ and with that
There was nothing he could do or say
And all i can say is thank fuck i did
Stand my ground as i really don’t
Fancy getting infected by something
That can ultimately kill this poor
Minimum-wage hero. I hear that
A lot at the moment, ‘oh,’ they say
‘you’re doing such a great job’
‘what would we do without you great guys?’
To which i think, well it’s simple
You’d all die of starvation or just
Order online or shop someplace
Else.

I so wish they would as just two
Weeks in and talk now of this going
Six months longer and all i can
Dream of is writing imaginary
Letters of resignation again as chaos
Beckons out there as soon as they
Realise their plan ain’t working and
Even more drastic measures need to
Be taken. Come that day this town
Will surely go insane as limits are
Imposed on everything from bottles
Of wine bought to minutes spent
Outside in any one day and you
Know what goes down then will
Surely only conclude in chaos
Madness and the always threatened
Street violence.

editors note:

As they push the limits, gotta find your own. Keep peace, if you can. (Read another mad missive from Bradford on his page; an alternate approach to distance.) – mh clay