Jack, the Lad
Every day Jackie’s alarm wakes him up to a randomly selected song from The Charlatans’ Wonderland album. Today it’s Judas and the scratchy synth-laden intro has sounded six or seven times before he gives acknowledgement to anything other than the snooze button. The last time he looked at the clock it was 5.41. Now it’s barely half 7. It’s been another predominantly sleepless night at The Playhouse on New Street.
I’m as deaf as the Iron Men I watch far from the squall,
but they see so much more than I do, even through
the gloom and dark of both ends of the day.
That raven black sky is pitted with the most beautiful
fire stained red and blistering orange,
as if a far off volcano had burst into life
and sending its majestic deadly plumage as far as the Crosby coast-line
High above the Iron Men seagulls battle bravely,
their squawking, bickering, distasteful arguing is unheard
Psychology assessment
the last of my three.
Ten minutes to go,
the last of my hour.
Here I sit, listening,
listening to the rustle of paper,
the scribbling of pens.
Some sit quietly waiting,
waiting for the test to end.
I sit here in a world,
a world that is mine.
The rustle of paper
becomes the wind.
The scribble of pens,
becomes the rustle of leaves
My desk is gone.
My class mates are trees.
The clock ticks loudly,
Although i could hardly hear it from my desk.
I walk forward.
The wind still blows.
The leaves still rustle.
The pyjamas are a dead giveaway my love
of the playful personality that hides beneath
the shell, what is unseen to those above,
the mischievous Bear, the honey stealing loveable thief.
Pink those Pyjamas are, a shade of salmon that the writer
may have thought impossible outside of a Scottish river bed
and they suit your complexion and your spirit as a Merseyside fighter
whilst taking nothing away from your overall street “cred”
Thankfully this Pooh is not of the cartoon variety
instead it is the one adored by polite society
I may as well be Ginsberg if that’s just how I should be viewed.
Perhaps I should shock the establishment with the odd profanity
dropped here and there and suggest that the taking of Peyote
might ease the conscious and open the mind
to generation upon generation
that has been taken for granted, abused and pissed upon
from every angle in the name of all things superficial.
I may as well be hung for causing outrage where there was none
and believe me when I have hurt myself a thousand times
The clock turns slowly. The hour is at hand.
The widow breathes her last damp lungful of air
and produces,
as if on cue,
a screaming, unformed and ravenous offspring
to whom we offer our services, pledge our loyalty and celebrate
its arrival like a Medieval first born royal son.
The cold, wet night is grey and quiet,
all is hush as the muted labour pains continue
throughout the night and I watch from the vantage
point of my front step, trying to light
in vain
Hush! Widow, you are dying now!
All you have achieved and discarded, will in Time
turn to dust that collects around the annals of long
forgotten history books, their lessons not heeded.
You are slipping away, the testament of the lengthy chains
that bind you to Humanity’s thought, even those that loved you
with a passion and romance filled spirit for the beige
you sometimes offered between the highs and lows
of what could be seen as a worryingly megalomaniac disposition.
However, like Lear, your time is ending soon
I saw a tower
It laughed me into submission
But that’s okay
I found I could still smile
I was in a tower
It talked me into submission
But that’s okay
I found I could still smile
I was locked in a tower
I questioned my submission
It was too late
They were rounding up my friends and family
I was brought from the tower
I smiled at the block
My legs wanted to give way
All I am is my love
I saw a tower
It laughed me into submission
But that’s okay
I found I could still smile
I was in a tower
It talked me into submission
But that’s okay
I found I could still smile
I was locked in a tower
I questioned my submission
It was too late
They were rounding up my friends and family
I was brought from the tower
I smiled at the block
My legs wanted to give way
All I am is my love
Finger hook pointing you
homo and boko and that
trees de-bought and we
well, I’m disappointed too
I rather not see you more
so don’t appear in my light
house, eyes to the side
how did you get on my crag
the seas surely should
don’t stay long on here
on the berg my resolve
with the must of the same.
Andreas Dahl