Chocolate and Viagra

An unusual Pub Poets' theme this month - Chocolate and Viagra. Only a short poem, though, and it took a while to come up with that (arf arf).

Chocolate and Viagra 

Abdul's box was left holding soft centres;
nothing too hard in there without doubt.
His nuts had gone AWOL, he needed a Boost,
but somehow he'd simply Flaked out.

Could Break-up Blocks be a good reason?
His Daim's Snickers did not help one jot,
and no Twirls amongst Curly Wurlies
would pick up his Penguin a lot.

Now he thought milky bars were no Picnic
but an idea Twix midday and one
brought Abdul at long last some Turkish Delight.
He'd get some blue Smarties! Job done.

I Wandered, Lonely, as a Clown

The theme for the March Pub Poets' open mic event was "Dandy Daffodils".

Thoughts of spring, rebirth, growth come to mind. Nope. Didn't fancy that for my poem.

When William Wordsworth's daffodil poem came to mind, that was a partial inspiration. But it had to be different. If I modify the first line slightly? Now how can I bring "Dandy" into it? I know...

I Wandered, Lonely, as a Clown

I wandered, lonely, as a clown
through darkened streets in Cardiff town,
where spears of rain came hurling down,
their icy points assailed my crown.
And as I shuffled, mind elsewhere
upon the brink of dark despair,
the rivulets flowed from my hair,
unchecked by greasepaint under there.

How long I walked I do not know,
nor When the weather turned to snow,
nor When my pace began to slow,
nor When my ankle laid me low.
I’d no desire - myself to lift
while cushioned in a winter drift
and wondered, “would the end be swift?”
reflecting how perceptions shift.

How did events lead me to here?
So diff'rent to this time last year,
when such a cheery atmosphere
made life ahead so bright and clear,
when fair Joanne and I were wed
two clowns sharing a life ahead,
vows Dandy and his Beano read,
words David and his Joanne said.

We met within the circus ring
We wanted to share ev’rything
deciding that a child would bring
completeness, that we’d leave next spring.
A Swansea swansong was our plan...
...But what could be more shocking than
the violent death of my Joanne -
run over by a white van man.

Now that I’d lost my love, my light,
I walked away into the night,
not caring if the Weather's Might
would lay me low; I would not fight.
My Beano would be with me still
had fate not had some time to kill;
some quota that it had to fill -
for wishing Dandy Dafyd ill.

Jack and the Giant Knickers

The February "Pub Poets"' open mic event had a theme of Giant Knickers - yes I know. What poem could I write about that?

For some reason, the tale of Jack and the Beanstalk came to mind. A little research, and I was reminded that many versions of the story feature the ogre's wife. She hides Jack from her husband - in the oven or wardrobe dependent on the version you read. So I wondered - where else might the ogre's wife hide Jack? And a poem is born.

Jack and the Giant Knickers

The story of Jack and the beanstalk
is known - by most of you here.
The cow that was swapped for a handful of beans
has been ingrained for many a year.
The growth overnight by the discarded beans
that extended up, high in the sky;
the loony idea to climb up to the top
when his mum was not there to ask why.

I know that it's only a fairy tale.
There's no type of beans can explain
how a beanstalk could have a large castle atop,
no genetic'ly modified strain.
So - with that in mind it's quite reas'nable
that an ogre should live there as well.
An ogre who likes to eat Englishmen
And one with a good sense of smell.

Most people remember how Jack was a thief
Who stole gold despite risking his life
And then nicked a bird who could lay golden eggs,
But less folk remember the wife.
Yes, the ogre was married, and just like her husband
Jack found her size simply incredible
And as she thought British food tasted quite bland,
when she found Jack, she found him inedible.

In fact she was kindly, and treated Jack well
For she welcomed intelligent chat
For her husband was rude, thick as twenty short planks
Finding fee fie foe fault. All of that.
One day when Jack called, he thought he'd be caught
With the ogre approaching the room.
Would the wife help him hide, to avoid homicide,
and keep Jack from meeting his doom?

Where could Jack hide where he wouldn't be found
By the ogre's most sensitive snout?
When the giant arrived in a quarrelsome mood
Jack was shoved where he'd not be found out.
The ogres, they argued on trivial things.
Jack listened to all of their bickers
Jack made not a sound, he stayed still where he hid
Snugly there in the wife's giant knickers.

So it was with each visit, he ended up there
tucked into the lady giant's drawers
And she seemed quite happy with Jack in her nappy.
An unmentionable fairy tale clause.

A Zombie Christmas

The December 2016 "Pub Poets"' gathering had a theme of a Very Zombie Christmas. For my contribution I decided to write a parody on a sequence of Christmas songs and carols - on a zombie theme.

Verse six and seven were later additions, but I performed the other verses a cappella on the night.

I should have posted this earlier but there's a good reason why not.

I've since created a multi-track recording of myself in four-part harmony and wanted to include the link to an MP3 of "A Zombie Christmas". So here it is.

Link to A Zombie Christmas MP3

If you want to follow along with the words whilst you listen, or simply want to read the words and imagine the tunes in your head - here they are.

A Zombie Christmas

Silent Night
Silent Night – I’d like to bite
On your head. ‘Cause I’m Undead!
Don’t need urging to feast on your brain
No! It’s not because I am insane
The simple reason’s because
It’s a Zombie Christmas.

We Three Kings of Orient Are
Common Zombie origins are
Wild mutations – some quite bizarre
Virus and voodoo, some you may pooh-pooh
But you know what we are.
Oh – As we lumber, you take flight
Running off with all your might
Still proceeding, may be bleeding
All we want’s a little bite!

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
I’ll bite the flesh of gentlemen
And ladies here today
Because I like the flavour
I’m a local food gourmet
Encephalitic hemispheres
Are lovely to flambé
Although raw brains are something to enjoy
Girl or boy
Yes raw brains are something to enjoy.

Once in Royal David’s City
How d’you foil a rabid zombie?
Take an axe and chop off its head
If another way is needed
Then arrange a shotgun instead.
If you miss, be reconciled –
You will have your brain restyled.

Oh Come All Ye Faithful
With some brains, a mouthful’s
enough for our enjoyment
But we eat more to meet our stra-a-tagem
Blood’s running from our lips
for the zombie apocalypse.
We do more than just gnaw them
We do more than just gnaw them
We do more than just gnaw them
We won’t be ignored.

Away in a Manger
There's no imminent danger
From the walking undead
But the risk then increases
If we're running instead.
With cars then you might try
to drive far away.
We will rip you to pieces
So keep us at bay.

While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks At Night
While zombies watched the cars drive off
Not all of us pursued.
Eventually the dawdlers come;
We don't all like fast food.
We're not, you see, into "street cred" -
We'll seize amaxophobes,
Glad that those folk who don't like cars
Will lose their frontal lobes.

We Wish You A Merry Christmas
So a big thanks to George Romero
We thank you – George Romero
Yes, a big thanks to George Romero
From e-ver-y-one
By deciding to sing
These words I do bring
I wish you a zombie Christmas
And that’s it – I’ve done!

Rather Not Be The One (song)

And now for something completely different. Words and music on YouTube!

I wrote the song Rather Not Be The One as part of a creative writing exercise: the task being to create a response the Clean Bandit song/video Rather Be. You may wonder why I subverted the original love song. Probably because in my twisted mind it sounded a bit like a stalker's tale. And anyway, why not?

This is the second version of this project. Without the course deadline, I made the song faster, in a lower key, with a little more attention to the timing of instruments, and re-recorded the vocals. The earlier version is still viewable if you really must compare them!

Technical Details:

Audio: First time trying out the Ignite music software on my laptop together with the associated M-Audio Keystation 49es.Draft version transferred to an H4N digital recorder and multi-tracked some vocals for importing back into Ignite. As mentioned, I subsequently transposed the instruments to a lower key and sped the project up from 140bpm to 170bpm. This meant re-recording the vocals but the original take needed improvement anyway.

Video: Windows Movie Maker,  source images saved from a Google search (with appropriate usage rights), further modified with Xara Photo & Graphic Designer.

National Poetry Day

Wow. Is it so long since I posted? I have been writing, but primarily in the fiction or shanty song writing arena. I still attend the Pub Poets event each month (Marc Grist was our brilliant guest poet at the beginning of October) but for the first time I hadn't prepared anything new. So why this blog entry? The answer is "National Poetry Day" which was a week or so ago. Mid afternoon I thought I'd write something to pop on Facebook, so now it seems opportune to replicate it here.

National Poetry Day

The announcement it's National Poetry Day
makes me wonder, "who said that it's so?"
Was it one of the poets of century's past?
Was it Browning or Wordsworth or Poe?

Was it Shelley or Keats? Was it Blake? Was it Yeats?
Was it Shakespeare who did it for fun?
Was it Dickinson, Tennyson, cummings or Frost?
Was it Kipling or maybe John Donne?

Perhaps the decision was made by a poet
who lived (or lives) nearer our time
There's Spike and there's Pam and there's Roger McGough.
And John Cooper-Clarke likes a rhyme.

And which of the countries around this vast world
would have thought such a day was required?
Well maybe "required" is too harsh of a word.
Perhaps the term should be "desired".

Whoever thought National Poetry Day
was "desired" - they encouraged the bards.
We now simply need to make sure that we own it;
not taken by - say - Hallmark Cards.

The Boredom of a Raven

The theme of the last "Pub Poets" open mic evening was "Raven and Skull" as it coincided with the book launch of Ashley Lister's new horror novel of that name. [Ashley co-organises the event.]

Ashley, as well as a talented and much published author, is an teacher in English and in Creative Writing, so it made sense to incorporate such aspects within my poem. (He's rather fond of Edgar Allan Poe, too.)

If you want to check out his book, it is available on Amazon - UK link below (available in other regions).
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Raven-Skull-Ashley-Lister/dp/1910720534

So - here is the poem:

The Boredom of a Raven

Once upon a time there lived
a raven in a wood
But unlike many ravens, this one
felt misunderstood.
Accused of being Poe-faced by
the others living there,
he faked a happy attitude to
make them look elsewhere.

But deep inside, he knew the other
birds were not to blame
He watched the other ravens –
how they all appeared the same.
They didn’t question anything  –
just flew from tree to tree.
They’d eat and sleep and mate and poop.
And squawk incessantly.

“I’m not the same as that lot,” said
the raven with a sigh,
“There must be more to life than this,
A life before I die.”
‘Twas then he saw a bald bloke
with a cool appraising look,
who was watching all the ravens and then
scribbling in a book.

The raven was most curious
and had a need to know
just what the chap found int’resting,
this writer down below.
He flew down to a lower branch
To get a better view -
but the bloke had shut his notebook;
Had other things to do.

The raven would not be denied
His sanity at stake,
so when the man left in a car
he followed in his wake.
He followed down the country lanes
into the town nearby
and when the car came to a halt
he watched with birdy’s eye.

The man approached some buildings then
he disappeared within.
The raven checked each window
With a sense of discipline.
And then he found a window
where he peered through thickened glass
He saw some youths, and saw the man!
It was an English class.

The raven learned of metaphors
Of similes and nouns
The placement of apostrophes
And when misuse causes frowns.
He learned to count the syllables
some poetry dictates,
Aliteration, assonance
And all that advocates.

He moved on to a maths class
Learning geometry and trig,
of logs and complex numbers
And nothing seemed too big.
The raven was content now;
no longer felt a fool.
It was a “happy” pairing:
A raven and a school.