|  | |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | Saturday 09:00 - 10:00. |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | 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
 听
 
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | 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
 听
 听
 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
 听
 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 BeastDarling? 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
 
 
 
 
 |  |  |  |  |  | 
 |  | | [an error occurred while processing this directive] | 
 |