Follically challenged

I’m follically challenged,
but I couldn’t give a shit.
When I look into the mirror,
what looks back at me is fit.

Crows feet enhance my charm,
and fit this face of beauty
Define these dark, deep eyes,
to be striking is my duty.

So tell me what's the problem,
that I have several chins?
When just above my first one,
lies the cheekiest of grins.

My age is not my challenge,
can’t you see I’m wrote for luck.
So take me as you find me,
because I don’t give a fuck

Penance

Well I don’t have much to give,
but take it with my blessing.
Strangle love I need to live,
choke the lies that I’m confessing.

I’m a sinner, please forgive me,
for I know what I have done.
Vent your fury as it should be,
I am history and gone.

Futile reasons don’t exist,
I wont hide ‘neath pointless lies.
Nor the truth will I resist,
that’s reflected in your eyes.

This is my eternity,
a fitting lifetime sentence.
Purgatory the prize,
repenting as my penance.

All roads have lead to here.

Those without life’s earnest pain,
love eludes their barren lives,
every path we ever trod;
our fate, conclusion nears.

Hollow months spent to fix,
precious love never lost.
a paradox of truth;
lamentable futility.

Neath shimmering winter scene
the Forest of Bowland awaits
bearing reverent testimony,
to sincerity and love.

Fulfilment to embrace
realisation of dreams,
beginning of a journey,
all roads have lead to here.

Published in the Mudhutter Football Express October 2010

The sexual awakening of fatty

Two big fatties
shagging in the park,
is it any wonder
the kids all laugh and bark?

Eat more cake
and scoff that pie,
"it's my glands you know"
well that's a lie.

One bowed bench
groans beneath the weight,
what a crushing end
for you my wooden mate.

All of our taxes
paying for the fact,
you'll eat yourself to death
'cause you're too fucking fat.

Published in the Mudhutter Football Express October 2010

End game

The beginning of the end,
or the end of the beginning?
Are my sins to absolved,
can I ever be forgiven?

Peter’s gates await me,
on that day I will be judged.
I’ll drag my weary body,
one last time through mortal sludge.

Of a lifetime of mistakes,
am I really so hard bitten?
Am I cold and old and sold,
from the pages I have written?

The start of the end,
or the end of the start?
Tell me who is going to save me,
keep me safe within their heart?

Alone

Fair weather friends will fade,
as sun sets for the final time.
Distancing themselves,
as pain bleeds onto cold earth.

Remembered with warmth,
regaling times of stunning colour.
Cut adrift in your hour of need,
asphyxiated with false hope.

Deserted, abandoned,
to chain stoke alone

I wanna play for Latics.

Scharner's off to Fulham
to play Europa League.
N'Zogbia to Arsenal
and Beckford plays for Leeds.

I just wanna play for Latics.

Henrik Larsson,
Mark Viduka,
Lindsay's a Queen,
a pooper scooper.

But I just wanna play for Latics.

Whelan broke his leg,
Cup Final 1960.
Brenda rubs it nightly,
the thought it makes me sickly.

Could I have played for Latics?

A room full of dreamers
in the Bellingham tonight.
Dreaming the same dream,
guided by the sight.

We all want to play for Latics.

Performed at the Nostalgia Night 2, March 16th 2010. Dedicated to the 110 dreamers who attended the evening and to all at Mudhutsmedia

Saint Georges Day Lament

Not a kindly word,
or phrase of celebration.
Choking on the lies,
abandoning the nation.

Flags unfurled wave free,
shackled by false hate and fear.
Burying our souls,
in prescription drugs and beer.

Saint George has been slain
and no-one stopped to blink.
A nation with no pride,
as if recruited not to think.

Not a single word,
was heard in protestation.
Can you hear the sound?
The dying of a nation.

First Published in the Mudhutter Football Express Issue 28, April 2010

An Open Letter to Ashley Cole

What the fuck is up with you son? You’re shacked up with one of the most beautiful women in the world and still you can’t get it right! It’s symptomatic of you and your ilk. Pampered footballers, who want it all and care not a jot who they shit on to get it.

How the fuck could you do this to sweet, sweet Cheryl? If I had a bird like Cheryl I’d do everything to keep her. If Cheryl said “cook me Lobster Risotto, I’d cook it”, if Cheryl said “I want romancing in a bath sprinkled with roses” I’d chew the fucking petals off to provide it. Are you getting the idea Ashley?

Surely it can’t be a lack of action in the bedroom Ashley? If Cheryl was mine I’d ride the hole clean off of her. I’d throw her petite and highly sexed body all over my mansion. I can see her now with a kitchen apron on and as she turns her back to me she has nothing on underneath except her stockings and suspenders. Her taught arse delicately covered with see through black panties. She’d bend over all seductively, placing her index finger naughtily by the corner of her bright red lip-sticked lips. Her eyes wide open and helpless like a fox cornered in a woodland glade, begging to be taken in manly fashion.

Do you like the thought of another individual being bent over Ashley? Do you like the smell of the sweat and testosterone in the shower after a particularly arduous training session son? Rumour has it that you and a certain ray of sunshine were very close during your time at Arsenal? The boy has done good since returning to the heart of the North London clubs defence eh? Not that is a defence for you fella.

Don’t even get me started on your “hurt” at only being offered a pittance of 55k a week contract at Arsenal you selfish little cunt. What motivates you Ashley? Is it an unquenchable need for acceptance? Or is it a tangerine in the mouth and wearing your Mam’s tan tights that keeps you cheating on sweet, sweet Cheryl?

Sometimes when a bird looks dirty you can bet your bottom Euro that they are anything but experimental. But Cheryl? Nah, I bet she’s a dirty wee fuck, the type of lass that spreads her arse cheeks and begs to be anally violated. A right filthy ride!

Of course it could be the fall out from an unwanted but necessary alliance. Let’s face it, you were being closely monitored for your post-match bath antics and allegedly Cheryl twatted a non-white skinned girl in the bogs, which I may add I don’t believe. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

My advice to you son is this. Let Cheryl go and let her find a REAL man, someone like me.

If Cheryl was mine. . . . . .. . . . . .you know the fucking rest.

Dirrrrty (give me 5mins alone with Mrs Cole) Oldman

First published in the Mudhutter Football Express Issue 28 April 2010

Absolution

Forgive me oh my Lord,
for I know not what I do.
Mother turned her back,
whilst Daddy thrashed me blue.

So I kick and punch
and hit and slap,
each one in my wake.

I laugh and sneer
and spit and crack,
the fear in every face.

I'm a sensitive wee soul,
buried deep within this hate.
Full of anger, love and fear,
from a childhood that was raped.

Forgive me oh my Lord,
I despise what I've become.
Save me from myself,
please let me feel your love.

The Vicar to the Actress

Watched you take on all the men,
saw you conquer them and tame.
The strange old boards you tread,
in a bid for love and fame.

I felt strangely un-aroused,
as arousals grew and grew.
For the end to this here flick,
a conclusion we all knew.

So pick up your dress and pride,
exit stage there o’er the left.
From a life that stops the heart,
void of meaning and bereft.

For I never will exploit
your good nature once again.
I’m the Vicar to your Actress,
you’re the pleasure to my pain.

Realise my mortal fear,
a vision of the wraith.
I walked away alone,
with nothing left but faith.

Orwell

Orwell had it right,
got it to a tee.
Scanners at the airports
captive to ID.

Everyone is watched,
everyone is safe.
All correct and present,
each one knows their place.

Living life in fear,
paranoia rules.
Doctrine that’s prescribed,
birth to death we fools.

Listen can you hear
the hatching of their plan?
They f*cked it up in Iraq,
watch them smash Iran.

Are we all too blinkered,
blinded by the dread?
Orwell had it right,
and we're the living dead.

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Dad

He smelt of booze and tabs,
but still he was my Dad.
He raped and beat my Mum,
but still I was his son.

He broke my heart and soul,
without him there’s a hole.
I’m feeling lost and sad,
still missing my old Dad.

First published in The MFE 27 February 2010

Sunbeams & Rainbows

You were so complex.
Whether to hold you close
or decipher you?

Truth and fear.
So perfectly encapsulated,
within your Goddess being.

And I was yours.
Unachievable dreams,
false promises of new dawns.

You are my sunbeam and rainbow.
Beautiful break of colour,
on the rainiest of days.

First published in The MFE 27 February 2010

The Sinner

God loves a sinner,
so he's backed me to the hilt.
He only places money
on the ones consumed with guilt.

I know I'm hung and drawn
if it goes to public vote,
so I'm hanging on for Jesus
and the scriptures that were wrote.

For God loves all the sinners
and I know that he loves me.
I hope that I don't lose,
place your bets and watch me freeze.