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factual
SATURDAY LIVE: Meet the Poet
MISSED A PROGRAMME?
Go to the Listen Again page
In Our Time banner
Saturday 09:00 - 10:00.

Matt HarveyPoet, columnist, enemy of all that鈥檚 difficult and upsetting, Matt performs up and down the country at festivals, cabarets, conferences and colleges and shares his thoughts with the world on his blog.

The Guardian described him (accidentally) as 鈥渙ne of Britain鈥檚 leading poets鈥, the Dorset Echo as 鈥渇abulously understated鈥, and the Times as 鈥渁 word-based organism from Devon.鈥 The Independent called him 鈥渁 pale man in a suit鈥. His latest book is The Hole in the Sum of my Parts 鈥淚t鈥檚 a tiny treasure 鈥 not only funny, but tender and true鈥 (William Cook, The Guardian).

Matt's new book 'Shopping With Dad' is published by Barefoot Books.
The threat of social websites

the neuro-scientists are alarmed
our children鈥檚 brains are being harmed

they鈥檙e being re-wired, infantilised
they鈥檙e not learning to empathise

with endemic obesity
it鈥檚 all too easy now to see

we will inevitably find 鈥
enormous kids with tiny minds

a bloated, brainless generation
with no concept of concentration

hang on 鈥 I use facebook, I鈥檓 quite clever 鈥
I don鈥檛 suffer from attention defic- whatever

do I鈥? what were we talking about?
鈥t鈥檚 Saturday Live soon with that nice Richard of Dibley鈥


The Frozen Few

say no to biodegrading and to corporeal corruption
say death is not an absolute it鈥檚 just an interruption

while some await the last trumpet to sound to be saved
others wait for the ping! of a kind microwave鈥

then they鈥檒l quench their curiosity 鈥 get futuristic tlc
get their body fine-tuned by a Dr McCoy
get their psyche seen-to by a Counsellor Troy

and while I wouldn鈥檛 criticise
those few who would revitalise 鈥
reconstitute 鈥 reanimate 鈥
drop off without a wake-by date鈥

鈥o lie in liquid nitrogen
in a vacuum flask in Michigan
at minus 196 degrees
鈥 indefinitely 鈥
doesn鈥檛 do it for me

as it seems to, say, for Chrissie de Rivaz
frankly it gives me the Martin Chivers

while there are those few, to whom, I know,
the notion of being deep-frozen gives a nice warm glow

rather than be a birdseye sleeping beauty woken with a techno-kiss
I prefer to achieve immortality through unforgettable poetry鈥 鈥ike this

so Kaka close

A hundred times a hundred grand
They offered up for Kaka鈥檚 hand
It鈥檚 had for us to understand
How AC Milan could not鈥檝e bit it off

But don鈥檛 pity City
it鈥檚 no kaka-catastrophe
they鈥檝e got the Kaka cash you see
(currently worth 9 Heskeys, 3 Bridges, 2 Craig Bellamys and half a Berbatov )


Trousergate 鈥 or, Never mind the quality, feel the bitchiness

Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana
sparked a spat upon the catwalk
with a curious pyjama

a quilted confection that on close inspection
looked far too like jim-jams from Giorgio鈥檚 collection鈥

the cut of their cloth brought down Armani鈥檚 wrath

but it would get your goat for sure
if someone nicked your overture
- must be the same with haute couture

if it was me I would restore
sweet harmony with Armani
in case he set the law on me

I鈥檓 sure he鈥檚 a forgiving bloke
(as well as being a knock knock joke
Armani who? Armani asking鈥)

but they鈥檙e ready to swear that their ready-to-wear is their own
and when Giorgio Armani squared up, well they wouldn鈥檛 back down

they said, 鈥榶ou and whose army, Armani?

So I say to Giorgio: Untwist your knickers, let it go鈥
Domenico and Stefano: It isn鈥檛 worth it.

Listen up for pity鈥檚 sakes - you鈥檙e not Renaissance city states
You鈥檙e grown-up fashion houses, and it鈥檚 just a pair of trousers

it鈥檚 a storm in a turn-up, but nevertheless
here鈥檚 my chance to confess I prefer M&S
鈥榗os if I try to buy from you guys off the peg
I know it鈥檒l cost me an Armani leg
I am a Merchant Banker

I am a merchant banker
All day long I merchant bank
Now I鈥檓 adrift without an anchor
And I know what you think

In spite of what you think of me
I鈥檝e many fine features and facets
Still I don鈥檛 expect your sympathy
Oh, I wish I鈥檇 looked after me assets


Oil of Eulogy (for Pam Ayres)

Opportunity knocked back in 鈥75
Pam appeared and the public went 鈥楥rikey!
She was 28 then - I was barely alive -
But she left quite a mark on me psyche

I remember the way she would sit there
And act like a muscle-relaxant
In bright yet unthreatening knitwear
And a very slight regional accent

At observations, tall stories, small dramas
Funny verse that we all feel the better for
She鈥檚 the bees knees, she鈥檚 the cat鈥檚 pyjamas
And that鈥檚 enough animal metaphor

She鈥檚 famed for her fun and her friendliness
She鈥檚 not blue, then again she鈥檚 not too shy
To touch upon trembly tenderness
Or hint of intimate minutiae

She鈥檚 never been one to make trouble
She鈥檚 not a loudmouth or a pushy-gob
I've heard being Pam Ayres鈥 stunt double
Is considered to be quite a cushy job

Now I鈥檓 sat here in happy proximity
To the Oxfordshire phenomenon
Of rhymin鈥 femininity
And I know that I鈥檓 going on and on and on

Because Pam makes words frolic and caper
Inducing great hootings and howls
And I鈥檓 glad that she put pen to paper
And I鈥檓 glad she鈥檚 looked after her vowels
the value of sharing may go down as well as up
(a lament for lost love)

the footsie index plunges
the economy鈥檚 unstable
and those who once played footsie
under Sting and Trudie鈥檚 table
- the artists formerly known as Mr and Mrs Ritchie -
find long-distance love untenable鈥
鈥nd the feet that once played footsie
growing itchie


Mission Impossible 鈥 Happiness

He handed me a smiley file,
We need to find Happiness - before the other side do.
They鈥檙e looking for happiness too?
Everyone is.
I raised an arch eyebrow, and vice versa.
Happiness. I鈥檇 heard of it.
But what I didn鈥檛 know
Was how far people would go鈥
They鈥檇 rob, they鈥檇 cheat and kill, lay waste
For even just a fleeting taste
For the chance to snort and snuffle at the trough with the smiley face.
Some had even give up caffeine and taken up voluntary work.
We were dealing with fanatics.
I said: With my innate ability
My good looks and my gadgetry (with micro-nano-circuitry)
I鈥檒l find the source鈥
I鈥檒l listen in. I鈥檒l root it out.
鈥o I went underground
But happiness it outcrept me
It kept a step ahead of me
For all my gifts of subterfuge
to change my prints, my body smell
I hadn鈥檛 really done that well
I tasted failure. I went grey. I stayed away,
Did honest labour in a garden
Ran little errands for my neighbour
I dropped my guard and鈥 then it came
Crept up on me and woke the sleeping mole within
Deliberately I dropped my guard again
The mole of happiness nestled in my cardigan
In amidst the want and squalors
I found my quantum of solace
Upturn of the Turnip

sales of turnips up 100%

it's the upside of the down-turn, it's a turn-up for the turnip,
its neep tide has turned and we've learned not to spurn it

they stretch out a stew and they bulk up a casserole
so now Baldrick's brassica's back in our dinner-bowl

nijamiegordeliawhittingrhodes all endorse and explain how to fashion it
I have seen the post-credit-crunch future-munch - and it's got mash in it


For Matthew Ahmet

it's nice to see you in repose, unflustered in your mustard robes,
a peaceful smile upon your face, and when you move, you move with grace
but Matthew, think about the waste...

you could have done texting, had big macs and fries
you could have had facebook and ipods, told lies
on your CV, had piercings, done beer things with peer-pressured mates鈥

but you wanted to go and to live in Henan,
and to learn to be still and to speak Mandarin
and to harness your Qi, wear the robes of Shaolin

you could have had dvds, downloaded mp3s, ringtones鈥
are you listening to me? You missed so much TV,

Matthew Ahmet, dammit, you could have been a consumer

but you wanted to move like a bird, like a cat
to be strong from within, and to speak Mandarin,

you could have had rap, hip-hop, garage and indy bands
death metal disco thrash, ambient trance
but you wanted to learn discipline and to dance
and to coach, and to teach, and reach out to the young,
who will listen to you when they learn what you've done
and think: What could I become?

because you gave it all up for the key to your Qi
to follow your star till it wasn't a star
just the things that you do and the way that you are
for you have discipline, and you speak Mandarin
and you follow the way of Shaolin
Beijing Bull

Okay, we鈥檝e two more medals in - for swimming and for pedalling
But my pulse isn鈥檛 racing - it's just not engaging

For me there鈥檚 a limp in Olympics
For me there鈥檚 just beige in Beijing

There鈥檚 medals for coming and medals for going
For running and jumping and diving and rowing
Medals for to-ing and medals for fro-ing
Medals for swivelling, knitting and purling
Wrestling, wriggling, curling and hurling

But what鈥檚 really impressed is the way the protesters
Do FREE TIBET banner unfurling

just for it's own sake


For Kew

it's really peaceful here
lion grass lies down with lamb鈥檚 ear
beneath Raggeh Omar鈥檚 flight path
lies a UN's worth of plant life
arboreal ambassadors, leafy foreign secretaries
variegated delegates with deciduous portfoliage
earthy representatives from each landmass and hemisphere
It鈥檚 peaceful here

tamarind from Somalia
eucalyptus from Australia
from Russia there are crocuses
from Georgia, euphorbia - endemic to the Caucasus -
they bring tea in the Orangery
that comes all the way from China
(that鈥檚 Camellia sinensis)

and whether they've blown in or flown in or grown from a seedling
you won't find them moaning or groaning or wheedling or needling
no invaders or marauders
they respect each other's borders
very strictly
for though they may be prickly
you won't meet any truculence
amongst the cacti and the succulents

they all get on just fine in TW9

so is there, then, a lesson here
can Kew teach us to lessen fear
to give a chance to peace for once
and learn the art of tolerance,
to be polite, to beg each other鈥檚 pardon?

or is it just a really lovely garden?
A听Little Something for Kylie

she popped to the palace for an OBE
- the Order of the Bubbly Elf -
she's been plucky, plucky, plucky
and we're glad she's got her health
(that's the main thing)


Vital Statistics

"Satistics are like a bikini - what they reveal is enticing, but what they conceal is vital"

I read. And slept. And dreamt I was there
at the Vital Statistic Beauty Show
ogling a bevy of stunning stats
the smooth curves of their perfect percentiles
rounded to the nearest whole number

90%-of-Accidents-Happen-in-the-成人快手
was voluptuous as a pie-chart with one slice missing

69%-of-Household-Dust-is-Human-Skin
the acme of elegance in a plain line graph - axes left daringly blank

interviews were conducted by the square root of Michael Aspel,
chanting protestors were dismissed by the media as an unrepresentative fraction

the sash and tiara went to
86%-of-Women's-Industrial-Injuries-Are-Caused-By-Glass-Ceilings
garbed in stark Arabic numerals

and I only guessed I was dreaming when
90%-of-Drivers-Believe-They're-of-Above-Average-Ability
gave me her phone number...

Beryl Cook

In cards, on prints and postage stamps 鈥 but never in the Tate
Painting women of a certain age and in a certain state

Stroppy, lippy, happy types, with big bosoms and appetites
As bumptious and as scrumptious as they鈥檙e plump

And it鈥檚 art with a heart, served up in great dollops
She likes us as we are, she鈥檚 the dog鈥檚 jackson pollocks

She鈥檚 one of our national treasures
She鈥檚 my cup 鈥 a big cup 鈥 of tea
She gave pleasure in generous measures
Beryl Cook, O.B.E., R.I.P.


This House isn鈥檛 Haunted鈥

鈥 we鈥檙e sorry to say
If it had a ghost once, then the ghost got away
As the ghouls in the street in kagools will attest
This house isn鈥檛 haunted but it鈥檚 doing it鈥檚 best
For each room has a mood and the moods aren鈥檛 the same
There鈥檚 an anger, a hunger, a grief and a shame鈥

Down in the kitchen a sense of regret
That鈥檚 as hard to remove as it is to forget
Halfway up the stair there鈥檚 a passing despair
That is there, then it鈥檚 gone鈥

On the landing a sense of a wistful 鈥榠f only鈥
There鈥檚 a spot you can stand where you鈥檒l always be lonely

When you open this door there鈥檚 a chill, a strange light
It鈥檚 a fridge, I admit, still it doesn鈥檛 feel right

Right here in the hallway, just sometimes, not always
A desolate whimper, a gasp and an ominous pounding
Is it the echo of evil time past in the ethers resounding?
Or maybe, just maybe, the couple next door
Who鈥檝e been trying quite hard for a baby?

In the living room a sense of doom鈥檚 pervasive and persistent
But these chalk outlines aren鈥檛 original 鈥 I drew round my assistant

厂辞鈥
Though some people scoff and say 鈥榩hooey鈥
It鈥檚 got quite a gothic feng shui
[But no, it鈥檚 not haunted鈥
When Anger Management Wears Off

Louis Vitton designer policemen
Escort Naomi down from the plane
Which takes off soon after, without her
Cos she鈥檚 flown off the handle again

In an airport in middle America
Straight-backed, and lonely as hell
There鈥檚 some unclaimed emotional baggage
Going round a carousel


Sonnet celebrating the elegance, ingenuity and sheer cerebral power of Darren Crowdy鈥檚 creative use of Schottky Groups to complete the Schwarz-Christoffel formula so that it works with irregular shapes and those with holes.

You鈥檙e clever, you. Far out. You鈥檙e way out there
Beyond the bozone layer where we reside
You plot the line fantastic in the air
Where Ancient Greek and Modern Geek collide

You do Jazz Geometry 鈥 it can鈥檛 be taught 鈥
Express yourself in dancing neuro-glyphs
Placing in brackets things that can鈥檛 be taught
Then multiplying by their absent widths

You鈥檙e out there where the holy grail or chalice is
Where masthmatics like me can hardly breathe
Then with applied complex analysis
You bring it down to Earth 鈥 just for a wheeze

You鈥檙e far out. So far out. And so, so clever
Yet when you say Eureka! we say 奥丑补迟别惫别谤鈥
10,000 Cracks in Market Rasen, Lincolnshire

A thundery under-grumble
Spoke of doom and melodramas
Made dream-steeped people stumble
To the street in their pyjamas
Perplexed, bewildered, lost
In the February frost.

A magnitude of 5.3
An aftershock of 1.8
Enough to spill a cup of tea
To make cake crumble on its plate
It would have done - but it was late

And midnight lovers in the throes
Of passion and distress
Said, 鈥榊ou know that question that you pose鈥
鈥ell tonight the answer鈥檚 Yes!鈥


Ultra Lite Verse

To travel unencumbered
Liberated, unimpeded
Not impoverished nor lumbered
With kit you never needed
Tripping lightly cross the tundra
With an ultra sense of wonder
Feeling far closer to nature
Than you did when you were younger
And you forked out for the clobber
And it really used to costure

Meanwhile your backpack-lacking back
Has a relaxed and upright posture
As you leap from tuft to tussock
With the contours of each buttock
Silhouetted in the sunset
Cos there鈥檚 nothing in your pocket

Travel lightly, travel sprightly
With so very little outlay
To carry nothing hefty
Cock a snook at health and safety

To the uber ultra-liter outlay鈥檚 outr茅

But I鈥檓 not an ultra vulture, I don鈥檛 go for ultra culture
Ultra-this that or the other 鈥 I like staying under cover
A quilt cover with some weight in,
That a man might hibernate in
with a serious tog-rating

If I鈥檓 looking for adventure And I鈥檓 feeling pretty hardy
I鈥檒l pop down the shopping centre In a thin acrylic cardy
Okay, I鈥檓 fat and pasty But I like my health and safety
But if, for you, it鈥檚 obsolete 鈥
Then go ahead 鈥
You have nothing to lose but your body-heat鈥

The price is right

Okay, suspend him from the Commons
Then there鈥檚 money to repay
And of course now he won鈥檛 be standing
Come re-election day

But it鈥檚 what Dave Cameron did that鈥檚 worst
That鈥檚 the highest price to pay
Because it really hurts a Tory
When you take their whip away鈥


The Company of Leeks

Down through the generations
We鈥檝e been venerating leeks
We鈥檝e not won all the prizes
But we鈥檝e had our winning streaks
Won enough to furnish houses 鈥
We鈥檝e had fewer troughs than peaks
In the company of leeks

Rosettes, I鈥檝e had a few
And then some honourable mentions
To see a leek you, yourself, grew
Receiving plaudits and attentions鈥
When that leek in peak condition
Wins a Best Leek Competition
You feel so cock-a-hoop
It calls for cock-a-leekie soup
Although it isn鈥檛 Mum鈥檚 leek pudding
鈥t鈥檒l do

For what is a leek 鈥 what is it like?
Let鈥檚 sneak a peek 鈥 let鈥檚 take a look
A cylinder of bundled sheafs
Tortilla wrap of Welsh motifs
A spring onion on steroids
Upside down Olympic flame
Close relation of the onion
They are Garlic鈥檚 kissing cousin
They鈥檙e en eco-party-popper in freeze-frame
Or pagan Barbie
A little bit ineffable
A heavy metal daffodil
It makes me feels so affable
The company of leeks

So you can keep your Spanish beach
I鈥檒l stay where leeks are within reach
The tasty part of vichyssoise鈥
Beneath the undemanding stars
While the world around me sleeps
I鈥檒l keep company with leeks
Magpie Messiah

In factories and offices
there鈥檚 talk of Geordie prophecies
the king who it is said would come
then go again
and then come back
then go againaAnd then, a third time
come again, yes, here he is
the Magpie Messiah
to kindle their fire
to love them
to lead them
so high up the league
and redeem them
King Keegan
has come
as prophesied
and I have seen the banners say:
we鈥檙e going all the way
鈥 to Wembley, to Europe and to Heaven

so there you go
no pressure, Kevin


Quantum poem

The wondermental things apply
as quirky quantum time goes by

it鈥檚 quirky and it鈥檚 quarky
and it鈥檚 kind of like a doorkey
to a world so charmed and murky
only physicists can visit it
and handle its vicissitudes

it is a most absorbing thing
to watch electrons orbiting
to sit there and imagine them
without a hope of catching them
the fundamental particles
like toilet rolls and smarticles

they鈥檙e smaller than bacteria
but in no way inferior
though they occupy less area
they鈥檙e infinitely eerier
and scarier

so much that even physicists
can hardly grasp that they exist

they have 鈥榥on-local鈥 properties
exist as probabilities
as possibles and parallels
as parables and dizzy spells
a neo-nano-nothingness
attention-seeking emptiness
an absence with an aftertaste
a ripple in a state of grace

for some the sub-atomic鈥檚
both a riddle and a tonic

east of reason, shy of rhyme
the quantum world confirms that time
is circular and cyclical

on top of that it speaks of why
the wondermental things apply
as quarky quantum time goes by鈥
Merry Christmus Everybody

You can keep your bah humbugs
I鈥檓 not playing Scrooge
Don鈥檛 wince at my tinsel
I鈥檓 not in the mood

Because no man is an island
No woman is an isthmus
And people are people wherever you go
So have a Merry Christhmus


I Prefer Ibupfen

Life is so much easier with effective analgesia

The purpose of pain is to say to the brain:
Ow! Houston we鈥檝e got a problem鈥
But once we鈥檝e got the message we don鈥檛 need it again and again鈥

What do we want? Symptom Relief!
When do we want it? Now!

When you鈥檝e had enough of it there鈥檚 just no need to suffer it
Just pop a little caplet and Ibuprofen will buffer it

I've had a go with Aspirin, Codeine and Paracetamol
With Solpadeine, Co-codamol, with Anadin and Ultramol
I love them all, I really do, but I prefer Ibuprofen

There are other non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs around
Your NSAID鈥檚 these days are quite thick on the ground
There鈥檚 Naproxen, there's Nabumetone
and, of course, there's Indomethacin
Each with much to offer us. But I prefer Ibuprofen

I love the way the compound sticks its cheeky little hand in
The way it blocks the enzyme that creates the prostaglandin

Reducing fever, inflammation, and mild to moderate pain

Yes I know it isn鈥檛 curative, in anyway preventative
But to dwell on what it doesn鈥檛 do is anally retentative
I know it doesn鈥檛 treat the cause, the cause will still be there
But it lends a hand, it puts the 鈥榩al鈥 back into palliative care.

It does exactly what you鈥檇 expect it to say it would do if it came in a tin
Evel Knievel

Showman, frontman, stunning stuntman
In a tight white leather jumpsuit

Celebrated, sequinned, scarred
Evel flew, and landed, hard

He knew triumph and disaster
He knew bandages and plaster

So rev the revs, the engine roars
Knievel leaps, Knievel soars

Let鈥檚 leave him freeze-framed in the air
His name synonymous with Dare

They called him 鈥楨lvis on a motorbike鈥
Ladies and gentlemen, Evel has left the building

The Kipper

Lying there like leatherwear, eyes glazed just like a teddy bear
Familiar, yet foreign, like a smooth, flat, smelly sporran

You can serve yourself a kipper on a tasteful brekky platter
You can mash it in a pat茅 you can serve with toast and butter
With a little bit of pepper it鈥檚 the perfect kind of tucker
Put a little bit of kipper on the corner of a cracker鈥
鈥ou can call it kipper canap茅s
Mmmmmm

And should you come a cropper, slip or trip and drop your kipper
There鈥檚 no need to agonise about the kipper鈥檚 injury
Mix it up with egg鈥檔鈥檙ice and call it kipper kedgeree

It鈥檚 got such versatility; DHA oil; Omega 3
In parts of middle England kippers qualify as currency

A kipper in a jiffy bag can liven up a postal strike
Or pop one in the pannier of a diplomatic motorbike

If you鈥檙e feeling moody
You can happy-slap a foody

When they hang like golden ladies they are aromatic bunting
They can lay false trails for hounds so you can sabotage the hunting
[Which is where the term 鈥榬ed herring鈥 originally comes from]

They enrich the English language
And they鈥檙e quite nice in a sandwich

So let鈥檚 make a bumper sticker that will stick up for the kipper
And say: 鈥淎 kipper is for life 鈥 not just for breakfast鈥

St Pancras

We鈥檝e all been where you鈥檙e standing, we鈥檝e stood there, St Pancras
Stood empty and friendless, neglected and thankless

And you鈥檝e stood forlorn as the powers-that-be scorned you
Both persons of rank and us ordinary punters
How you must have hungered and hankered, St Pancras

For the life you have now for arrivals, departures
For lovers to linger beneath your grand arches

But now you鈥檙e emerging, refurbished, resurgent
Your platforms buffed up and washed down with detergent

And you welcome us all, from near and from far
To your cathedral grandeur, your new champagne bar

St Pancras 鈥 you know what you are
You鈥檙e a star.

Magical Memories 鈥 a regrettably forgettable yet unforgetful love poem

I remember the dress that you wore when we met
The dress with the dots 鈥 how could I forget
Two hundred and four 鈥 none exactly the same
I counted them all as you came through the door
鈥 gave each one a name

We walked out together, beneath a lumpy grey sky
I see it so clearly now in my mind鈥檚 eye,
The pavement, the drizzle, the cars grumbling by鈥
Ford Mondeo, blue, N76 RBT
Toyota Corolla, white, C213 XPL
Citroen Picasso, red S79 YAE

You kissed me. I missed one. But I didn鈥檛 mind.
We were young. We had time.

The restaurant. We held hands. Once more we kissed.
And whispered sweet nothings - well, you did,
I whispered the whole set menu and wine list鈥
[And what鈥檚 really nice is:
I can still recite it, including the prices]

And then back to your place, your face stuck to my face
While my eyes memorised your cd鈥檚
I noticed a book there beside the computer
The abridged Kama Sutra (for the hurried lover)
And took a quick look 鈥 in two minutes, I鈥檇 read it 鈥 from cover to cover
You said, Hey do you seriously think that kind of thing can impress me?
And I closed the book, and my eyes, and said, Test me.
England Expects鈥

The scrum, the ruck
The pack, the maul
Bulked up bodies
A misshapen ball
A red rose
On a blood-stained shirt
Oggi鈥 Oi! Oggi鈥 Oi!
Oggi Oggi Oggi 鈥 Ow! That really hurt!


If I said you had a bit of a problem would you hold it against me?

Alcohol. It鈥檚 magical. It works its hocus pocus
Makes all of us attractive, turns the shy ones into jokers

It鈥檚 the precipice poured from a bottle
The gateway to heaven and hell
It鈥檚 the portal that leads to a chortle
And a few other places as well

But while it makes the sour sweet it turns the sweet things sour
And ask yourself who鈥檚 really smiling during Happy Hour?

Because there鈥檚
Hinge-drinking - oils the social levers, eases you out of your shell
Binge drinking 鈥 leaves the shell well behind, heaves you out of your skull
Whinge-drinking 鈥 downing measures of wine at your pitious condition
Cringe-drinking 鈥 throwing out the baby of dignity with the bathwater of inhibition

Is one of these you?

Don鈥檛 be like the sopping wet pharaoh who said with a smile
鈥淚 just like a drink. I am not in denial...鈥

It鈥檚 a soft, slow slide down a slippery slope
And no, you can鈥檛 have ice with that
I mean the sort of slope it鈥檒l take twelve long, hard steps to climb back up鈥

Sometimes the Path of Least Resistance
Leads to the Place of Least Existence鈥

Don鈥檛 let excessive moderation grind you down
But think before you drink before you drown

(Doing the) Northern Rock

you put your savings in
you take your savings out
in
out
your high anxiety account
you鈥檙e not okey-dokey
you are insecure
even though they reckon they鈥檝e bailed it out
Oi!

You鈥檙e not okey-dokey
You鈥檙e not okey-dokey
You鈥檙e not okey-dokey

pointy finger
blame blame blame

Portrait Poem

Hold still.
I鈥檓 going to paint you.
Yes, with words.
A 鈥榩oetrait鈥 鈥 very good, I see what you did there.

Clothes on is fine.
I won鈥檛 be doing unflattered flesh, mauves pinks and blues
Depict your body as a kind of bruise

Just arty similes 鈥 word art
So, sitting comfortably? Hold still. I鈥檒l start鈥

Her forehead is a wide beach at low tide
Eyebrows two Swedish forwards way offside

Prosthetic crab claw fingers clutch her cardy
Their nails glimpses of ice cubes in Bacardi

Her eyes pools 鈥 No, wells 鈥 No, open invitations (yes!)
To be accepted without guilt or shame 鈥 good
Tch! you moved!
um鈥er eyes are invitations to a booth
to openly review a recent claim

Her breasts are鈥 glad thought bubbles鈥 that insist they be expressed鈥
You moved again! You did! I鈥檝e lost my thread!
鈥reasts鈥.um 鈥oastguards in souwesters 鈥 no! tch!

Okay, touch up the eyes:
鈥.eyes two blank forms each yet to be filled in
her jaw a door on a post-war public building (great)

That鈥檚 it. Yes, have a look. Don鈥檛 be annoyed.
I know I鈥檓 not Lucian Freud 鈥 or Beryl Cook
I beg your pardon 鈥 what did you say?
鈥淚 don鈥檛 know much about art but I know what I weigh?鈥
Don鈥檛 be like that! Anyway it鈥檚 not about you 鈥
It鈥檚 about challenge, technique, form and composition.
And also you kept changing your position.
I didn鈥檛 take you for a philistine.
Oh, can鈥檛 talk now 鈥 got Sotheby鈥檚 on the line鈥

Self-Made Man

He picks his palette up, and starts to paint
Invests the canvas with expressive oils
The tight off-white stretched cloth absorbs the daubs
And out of dull chaos a face takes shape
It鈥檚 recognisable, sharp and severe
His brush fulfils its brief, portrays the traits
The early random-looking lines cohere
By increments an image constellates

My father鈥檚 mother, as once drawn by him
In brown felt tip when I was in my teens
Beneath today鈥檚 still life the play of genes
Beneath the leaf - the twig, the branch, the limb

He鈥檚 traced me back, revealed the family tree
The embedded dna in dynasty

Next session鈥檚 strokes will see this overlaid
With features I can claim as just my own
The part of me that passes for self-made
Fresh-grown from seeds so very long since sown
In quiet fields which never quite lay fallow
Which never quite wake up, nor ever sleep

Perhaps the me that鈥檚 me is just skin deep

I hope he doesn鈥檛 make me look too shallow

Our Queen is not听 a Drama Queen

That apology from the 成人快手:
We鈥檙e sorry Ma鈥檃m 鈥 we meant no harm
One did not flounce out
Nor did one pout
And someone鈥檚 chances of a knighthood
Are seriously up the spout鈥

Poem Inspired by the Wearing of Bees

Today Philip McCabe is wearing an all-over apiary ensemble
That offers that warm swarm feel
With the fuzzy feudal buzz of clinging bee
鈥 Combines high tog-rating with ease of sloughing off 鈥

Elsewhere in the Entomological Eco-Outfitters Catalogue:
Why not try our Exoskeletal Erotica?
There鈥檚 the Ladybird Lingerie line
鈥 When they feel the flames of passion they fly away home -
Or Stag Beetle Boxers 鈥 They鈥檙e perfectly safe,
though they might nip a little and some say they chafe 鈥

We have a range of symbiotic styles to fit every level of integration and intimacy

Evening wear:
The Lepidopteral Lounge Suit
Sharp as Moss Bros, cut from Moth Cloth
It鈥檚 not made-to-measure but it settles to fit
Gets a little fluttery under the streetlamps
But it鈥檚 lovely and rustly when they鈥檙e sleepy
Though some will say it鈥檚 creepy, we say:
Hey, it鈥檚 also crawly

So sleep tight, mind the bugs don鈥檛 bite (really)
And remember:
Never mind the quality, feel the itch鈥

Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD)

He stands the far wrong side of safety鈥檚 door,
Must pick the lock to be allowed back in.
For him the minefield is no metaphor 鈥
Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold still. Now, breathe again.

Here is the warrior with the gentle touch,
A soldier鈥檚 courage and a surgeon鈥檚 care.
Adrenalin enough, but not too much.
Fear is a friend. But still he has to dare.

Each movement is an act of conservation,
The moment鈥檚 taut meniscus can鈥檛 be broken.
Forced calm of concentrated concentration 鈥
The demon in the box must not be woken.

Cells brace against the latent darkening blast,
The first mistake you make will be your last.
Move slowly. Look. Inbreath. Feel. Prod. Outbreath.
Rising relief鈥 鈥ot today, Mr Death

Feral Beast
Darling? What鈥檚 that snarling? Oh, that鈥檒l be the media
I don鈥檛 know, I think it just gets nastier and seedier
It鈥檚 out there prowling, scavenging scurrilous scraps on which to feast
At least Saturday Live shows the sensitive side of this ravenous feral beast鈥

Let鈥檚 Hang
They hang in the air with the greatest of ease
Those aesthetically pleasing and relaxed young women on their stationary trapeze-i

They hang there like bats do in caves or in trees
With gorgeous red welts on the backs of their knees

Without stars or spangles or greasepaint or glitter
They dangle at angles and slowly get fitter
(It鈥檚 not true 鈥榶ou only slim when you鈥檙e swinging鈥欌)

But though plainly as gainly as those in tight clothes
Who swing to and fro for the punters below

They will never be caught by a muscle-bound boy
Like some lycra-clad sequinned executive toy

They hang there asserting a cool independence
Like calm hanging baskets, post-feminist pendants

They hang there quite humbly, not seeking applause
On their stationary bar not too far from the floor

They strike graceful poses though no-one can tell
Which herbivore鈥檚 that鈥 it鈥檚 quite like a gazelle鈥

They dream of being super-heroes 鈥 Batgirl, or Catwoman
In fact any one will do so long as it doesn鈥檛 turn out to be Splatwoman鈥

Ballad of the Tropical Systematic Botanist
He鈥檚 a plucker, he鈥檚 a picker
He鈥檚 a cutter, he鈥檚 a snipper
He knows too much about ginger and when given room to roam
He gathers great big armfuls of brand new botanic samples
And he presses them and logs them and he brings them all back home

It鈥檚 the only form of logging ecologically acceptable
He doesn鈥檛 care if each new leaf鈥檚 disgusting or delectable
Toxic, psychotropic, soporific or medicinal
His quest is non-judgmental and completely unconditional

When he turns over a new leaf it鈥檚 always pretty literal
鈥淥oh, not seen that one before鈥︹

With his eyes on the horizon and his hand around a rhizome
You鈥檒l see him bleed but you won鈥檛 hear him moan
With his ankles cut by switchgrass, far from home and Alan Titchmarsh
He鈥檚 a foliage-focused Indiana Jones

Yeah he鈥檚 a mild-mannered tropical systematic botanist
听听听听听听听听听听听 But at the end of the day
He鈥檚 a pretty determined-looking mild-mannered tropical systematic botanist
听听听听听听听听听听听 So don鈥檛 get in his way



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Fi Glover

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