Poems 2017

Skinhead

 

Ben Sherman’s, buttoned down

Levi’s turned up, braces locked tight

Doc Martins laced high

Harrington’s for fight, or flight.

 

Heads bristling

Legs loping

Fists clenching

 

Richard Allen

Pulp fiction

Barely 200 pages

 

Finished in a session

A blinding whirl

Of boots and girls

 

Knuckles and rucks

Birds and fucks

Chancing your luck

 

Woodbines and beer

A snarl and a sneer

What are you doing here?

 

They linger and hover

Awaiting some bovver

Some gnarling and gnashing

Some fun Paki-bashing

 

While tranny radios play

Infectious reggae tunes

To dance to in rooms

Of tight terraced houses

In Party Seven carouses

skinhead

——————–

Stripped

To a place
Where there is nothing
Everything is beyond

Coarse rocks groan
Under the weight
Of my abandonment

Somewhere flotsam floats
Mocking my suspension
In the darkness

Deaf, blind, mute
Only a salty taste
And the tides caress

Safe at last
Lost
Within an ocean’s vastness

 

Church

I don’t care much for Church

Our Christening Party outnumbered

The congregation many times over

And I wondered who was joining who

 

His robes older than the pews

The vicar conjured bonhomie and boredom

Unfamiliar hymns blared amplified

As if volume was enough to disguise bland dirge

 

There were no notices

Perhaps no-one cared anymore

hixon

 

Hiraeth

I yearn, my body aches

To return

To a place which

Is no longer

There

A longing

For something

To assuage my soul

A soul

Which has been

Rent asunder

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2 Responses to Poems 2017

  1. Polly says:

    I’ve not read ‘Skinhead’ – looks rather like ‘Trainspotting’ 😉

  2. garylongden says:

    Yes, it was. It was a classic anti-lit, pulp fiction series by Richard Allen which sold in bucket loads to teenage boys with its diet of violence, profanity, and sex. It was a curious working class phenomena which veered towards fascism , before embracing multi-culturalism. The stark, brutal imagery associated with the cult was a mirror of what they saw around them.

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