Friday 28 November 2008

An open letter to Paul McCartney


“Oh Paul oh Paul oh Paul
oh how the mighty fall.
Oh how the times have changed
from hero to deranged”


Ok, so it’s a stanza from a poem I wrote about Paul Jewell, but the same rules apply.

You’re a fucking joke McCartney, and have been for some considerable time. If I’m being brutally honest I never really did like you. Your mate, that Lennon lad, was much more my cup of tea. There’s just something about you that I find unsavoury. It’s a type of smugness about you that I normally associate with one of those pseudo middle class twats who have just arrived on the upwardly mobile express from workingclassville. I used to attribute it to a more softer characteristic in your personality, maybe a touch of shyness? I was wrong.

You see Paul, the public has forgiven you for a lot over the years. From your fucking awful collaborations with Stevie Wonder and Michael (anal bleaching) Jackson, to the musical abortion that was the Frog Chorus. In fact, aside from a couple of songs with Wings your post Beatle career has been painful. We even forgave you when you got hitched to the wooden legged pit pony that is Heather Mills. And we stood by you during the messy divorce even though we knew she wasn’t all to blame.

We stood by you because you were OUR Paul McCartney, a local lad made good. A local lad who shook the world with his music. However, you hammered the final nail in the coffin for me a few weeks ago.

What in the name of Hezbollah did you think you were doing playing in Tel Aviv? Let me remind you Paul, as you clearly have forgotten your history about the State of Israel. Israel is a country that is flaunting every UN resolution under the sun. A short while back you may remember a little publicised incident called Gulf War 2. In that war, we, the civilised counties in the west, invaded a little known country called Iraq. And why? Because they had weapons of mass destruction, which of course as we all know now didn’t exist. Israel has been carrying such weapons for years only they wont confirm or deny this. What do we do? Nothing.

Point 2. I seem to remember you being against the South African regime of apartheid in the 1980’s, but I don’t seem to remember you breaking ranks and playing Sun City. So how does this sit with the 1.5 million Palestinians that are being held siege in Gaza and your decision to play in the land of their oppressors? Of course you said of playing Tel Aviv;

“if I go to a place it becomes evident that my message is a peaceful one and I hope that the idea will spread”

So what reason did you have for not spreading yourself over the border and play a concert there? Could it be the $5m you got for it eh Paul? Because you really need it don’t you. It’s up there with one of the other natives of that region, Iscariot, in the fuck you I’m getting paid stakes of betrayal.

Not to worry though eh Paul as I see you’ve got bigger fish to fry. Those naughty boys and girls at McDonalds have been using Beatles images in their restaurants. I see your spokesman did your dirty work for you:

“What sort of morons do McDonalds think Beatles fans are? It's ridiculous and insulting to use images to peddle hamburgers. Fans should boycott McDonalds - and not just in Liverpool.”

I hope that crisp iceberg lettuce you’ll be eating for your salad lunch is noisy enough to drown out the screams of innocent, starving and dying. You’re a fucking disgrace McCartney. John must be turning in his fucking grave.

First published in the Mudhutter 17 e-zine, October 2008

Monday 24 November 2008

At night


You come alive at night,
skulking in cerebral shadows,
moving ever closer,
primed to steal the soporific hours.

Softly without warning,
a flawless execution,
the entrance completed
never standing on ceremony.

Silence callously stolen,
alone with the nearby thud,
a life that races and rages
the sound-track to another night together.

For we are each others displeasure,
mutually repulsed by our existence,
connected by reciprocal loathing.
Teetering on the brink of something extraordinary.

I sit by the window and wait. . . . . .

Tuesday 11 November 2008

Remembrance


Never has so much been owed
by so many to so few.
So why do you look blankly
like you haven’t got a clue?

Stood staring at this poppy
that I wear upon my chest.
You look like you’ve just spotted
last nights dinner on my vest.

Lost inside your console games,
nearly life and virtual war.
Ignorant to the history
of the ones that came before.

Gathered ‘round the Cenotaph
the last survivors are but few.
But all shall be remembered
every sunrise, every moon.

First published in the Mudhutter Football Express Fanzine 20, November 2008

Monday 10 November 2008

A Winters Tale


Haven’t come here for forgiveness
in fact this visit wasn't planned.
Didn’t show my face for laughs,
not here for you to understand.

You see I’ve got some things unanswered,
a little question on my mind.
Tell me how to follow something,
when that something keeps me blind?

It may be years, it may be never,
‘til I pass this way again.
This could be the last forever,
will you leave me lost in vain?

On a chilly day in winter,
I took a step into your home.
Stained glass reflects a lack of virtue,
a frozen pathway to my soul.

Through unyielding doors of oak,
entered through not on a whim.
Looked to you to give me answers,
should have known the chance was slim.

I hadn’t come here for forgiveness,
now this visit's at an end.
And I still don’t recognise you,
I still don’t understand.

Wednesday 5 November 2008

Yakum


Heaven scent, the smell of pines,
snake like ways our love entwines.
Acquiesce to shackles shed,
freedom chimed for silent heads.

Dusty sun scorched paths that lead,
a brief respite, sweet dreams to feed.
Across the slip road paradise,
searing heat that melts the ice.

A momentary time as one,
apart for life, a life undone.
The memories and might have beens,
of loss and unrequited dreams.

If I could place one last kiss,
upon the void of you I miss.
I’d place it were I know it’s felt,
for one last chance to see you melt.

One last chance to hold you near,
through older eyes that see it clear.
Heaven scent, the smell of pines,
too soon we both ran out of time.

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