The Poetry Marathon

Mr Free Cannabis – a name granted to him by the poll of deeds,

Tricked the council into watering cannabis plants for twenty years

After a community effort to contribute seeds,

And give them a new home inside his shop display

Which comprised

Of a bicycle and a trailer hooked up behind –

And became the whole scene of the crime

Where the plants were seized and due to hemp-phobia

He was informed the seeds could no longer grow here,

Despite having featured in the In Bloom awards one year,

Yes – that very same display!

So for Mr Cannabis it was a very sad day,

And all the others who had dropped seeds in the tubs,

To see the end to their much-loved shrubs.

One of the most difficult challenges I faced as a cosmonaut

Was to become completely bilingual

A requirement made necessary by the fact that we’d bought

Several craft components from engineers in America

And so if we needed ever to communicate or signal

A fault or some other such esoterica

Then it would be necessary to use fluent English –

The language used in these crazy lyrics

Far more far out than anything we’ve learned about out here –

Just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year

And it’s true – I wish you were here,

Ticking away the hours that make up a dull day,

Floating around our milky way –

But you know honey, why I did it,

You know – money, it’s a hit…

And you know when I come cold and tired

It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire

For I have become comfortably numb

All the way out here, in this space hub.

A table for two,

Is something quite new –

No longer the lone diner,

Mistaken for a mystery shopper

Or some kind of food blogger,

No – I have company –

Something quite new to me –

And you know, I could make a meal out of you,

Drinking in all that you say and do

You make it seem like the right thing

To move on to duets when dining

I want to hear your stories and theories

Over dinner

And I ought to make it clear for ease –

You’re a winner

I’ll happily end my solitude –

To have you intrude

To pass the salt

And end my revolt

Against love.

I’m not certain quite how to adjust to this new level of disgust

That you feel daily without all the drugs

This new clarity that has ended the hilarity

And now it’s all shame and regret and reflection

With the odd painful confession

And sometimes I just

Miss the old you

A taboo.

I’m the hatter, hatter, hatter, hatter, hatter,

Listen to that catter, catter, catter, catter,

He doesn’t know whose madder –

Me or the March hare.

What nonsense he will chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter,

Pay no mind – I don’t know who put him there,

Really and truly he ought to adorn a chair

And act as a cushion like Mallymkum there,

A chair? A dresser? A table? A desk?

Oh – wait one moment for I have a test –

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

You don’t know the answer?

Oh, you must be a chancer, evasion romancer

How will I ever learn

With so much tea in the earn?

Come, come, let’s drain it at once,

Let’s throw in some cakes and iced buns!

No girl, don’t eat them – you see

I meant throw them in the earn

To flavour the tea!

Mallymkum come here – do something for me!

We must lower you into the pot

So you can tell us how delicious it got…

No need for dread – we just need your head,

It’s full up with treacle – try this tea instead!

The devil himself is known for Stealth

An with this reputation before him

He travelled down to foil the Welsh

In the county of Ceridigion

Eager to strike a deal with anyone

He came across an old woman who dearly wished

To be able to cross the river with a bridge

Which in just moments the devil could build…

But though the woman was old

He bargained for a soul

Of the first living thing to make a crossing

Certain it would be the old woman herself

But wait – what was that she was tossing?

Was this in act of stealth

To throw over the bridge bits of bread

To be chased by her one true companion –

A loyal and lively little spaniel…

So this was the soul the devil had earned

Crossing the bridge he wished he had burned

And due to his embarrassment and shame

He vowed never to visit Ceridigion again –

To this day Devil’s Bridge stands…

Built by Satan’s own greedy hands

The traffic begins to croak like frogs
In the  rush-hour chorus of the evening

Stop

Start

Red

Green

Lights changing unco-operatively like ripening tomatoes

Beginning at green

Giving the perfect excuse for letting off steam

From under hot stuffy raincoats

Hot under the white collar

Wrapped round their throats

Crammed onto trams

Speeding towards retirement.

A year was not a year

Any longer

Or any shorter

It just wasn’t clear

But the nonsense about orbits

Had been pure fiction it seemed

And 365 days meant no more or less

Than 112.

How could this be?

How could we no longer know how long we

Had been in existence?

And when did we start counting?

And why?

On whose say so?

The anxiety was mounting

We needed to know

The reason for the lie –

Was it decided arbitrarily?

Did nobody argue contrarily?

Would we now have to divide time

By a different number

To unencumber

Ourselves from this fallacy

About our galaxy?

I’m not sure we have much in common Gary –

I don’t collect samurai swords

Or live with my Mammy,

And I can see you’re very proud to have been to Benidorm

But to be perfectly honest, it just makes me yawn…

No – I don’t watch any football –

I have no interest in it, not at all…

Do I want some naughty fun?

Not with you, no – And don’t call me hun,

Oh, we’re all like this are we?

Well, that’s reassuring to know it’s not just me

At least on that one point

We both can agree.

A hand on the small of my back

A handsome lover gone off track

And what he had yet to understand

Was that all the while through the smallest crack

His heartbroken love waited to attack.

One night too many left alone,

She’d donned her cloak and left the home

Crept along by the brimey foam

Getting herself battered and blown

Down to the inn that she’d been shown.

His hand fell away from the place it had found,

As the handsome lover hit the ground,

Confused I had spun around,

My coy smiles turned to frowns

As without a single sound

His heartbroken love had served to confound.

It had all happened in the shadow of the jig,

She’d acted mean and smooth and quick

Oh, for it had taken grit

To end this heart-wrenching conflict

With a slice in the stomach, right to the pit.

Now never let it be said

That no tears were shed

When suddenly he bled

But not from his lover as she fled

Right back home to their marital bed

Still stained by the deed – bright and red.