Anthony Cooney Visit @TnGTheBand on twitter.

Under a blanket, a blanket of snow.

Wrapped in my blanket as it’s 5 below.

Sleeping and dreaming while Christmas lights glow.

In my frozen blanket, feeling low in the snow.

Once Christmas presents, came wrapped in a sock.

Now I am presently, wrapped up in a box.

Freezing and sneezing, Mary always says hello.

Mary’s an angel, without a halo.

Sat in the precinct where I usually beg.

I empty my pockets for a smoke or a Greggs.

But the footfall moves quickly and the North wind will blow.

There will be no eye contact and no cash in my bowl.

I was given a red hat, white trim with a bell.

I’ve various health issues but look seasonal.

Some will give friendship, cigarettes or meal deal.

Some fill my cup but others will steal.

Shutters slam shut, shop workers leave.

The pubs start to fill on this Christmas eve.

I search for a doorway with security light.

This will be, my place for the night.

Merry Christmas to you, have a happy new year.

I never planned to be here but got lost, as it were.

Sitting here watching the Christmas lights glow.

Have you any change? for a change? but the answers still no.

#carrysparechange.

80’s Disco.

Watching the punks and skinheads, putting down their mark.

As they Pogo and Moon Stomp, to Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.

Electricity, will spark tonight.

A table overturns. The switch to start the fight.

The DJ is laughing as he turns up the sound.

The savages circle. A free punch from the crowd.

Too many local head cases joining in the fight.

And the bouncers don’t fancy, their chances tonight.

It’s an 80’s disco, hell cats and devils.

It’s an 80’s disco, perfumed not so pretty.

It’s an 80’s disco, violence on another level.

It’s an 80s disco, armageddon in the city.

An empty glass followed, by a bottle and a chair.

I was right that tonight, there was something in the air.

Bypassing the debris, young drunks take a chance.

Grabbing any girl closer, for an awkward last dance.

It’s an 80’s disco, black eyes and ripped shirt.

It’s an 80’s disco, bloody noses and mascara.

It’s an 80’s disco, so drunk it doesn’t hurt.

It’s an 80s disco, a violent melodrama.

80’S Christmas Disco.

Watching the punks and skinheads, putting down their mark.

As they Pogo and Moon stomp to Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.

Electricity will spark tonight.

A table overturns. The switch to start the fight.

The DJ is laughing and the musics grows loud.

The savages circle. A free punch from the crowd.

Too many local head cases joining in the fight.

And the bouncers don’t fancy, their chances tonight.

It’s an 80’s disco, hell cats and devils.

It’s an 80’s disco, perfumed not so pretty.

It’s an 80’s disco, violence on another level.

It’s an 80s disco, armageddon in the city.

What’s that noise? Saxophone and Sleigh bells.

“Its Christmas everybody” Noddy from Slade yells.

Girls grab the boys and they all singalong.

Boys kiss the girls, happy Christmas everyone.

At number four the key was turned, a house which was built between the wars.

It looked older than I remember. A fleeting viewing with an impatient vendor.

The house feels cold, a smell of damp plaster. A floorboard creaked as did each one after.

Red wine carpet, covers hall and stair. Threadbare in the middle from the wear and tear.

Within a month the house was cleared. Of carpets, doors, and oak walled veneers.

The bedrooms first then we work our way down. Plastered walls are now a wet, terracotta brown.

In the hallway behind, repainted Anaglypta. A pencilled history of a brother and sister.

In feet and inches, dated each September. Then off to school, would they remember?

Son and daughter stand against the wall. The sound of laughter fills the hall.

We mark their heights then the wall is papered. Awaiting the next custodians redecoration.

Cracks in walls, can be filled and painted. Carpets changed, rooms decorated.

Each soul remains when, the house becomes a home. From persons living and persons gone.

I called my cat Alexa,
I thought it would be fun.
But every time I call her name.
The lights turn off and on.
The curtains close,
The door bell rings.
The radio plays,
The microwave pings.
I won’t repeat the same mistake.
I’ll never be so silly.
Im going to call my next cat.
Something simple such as Siri.

We are getting tired of politics. Too many public school boys on Eton sponsored ego trips.

We are getting tired of politicians. Planning summer holidays around fact finding missions.

Adding to the confusion of a Great British illusion. The spider spoke up. We are not corrupt.

A pound for the carer. A pound for the nurse. A seat for the cheat in the house of lords.

We turn out backs on politics. Too many pocket liners charging for their egregious fix.

We turn our backs on politicians. Introducing friends on fast track decisions.

Adding to the confusion of a Great British illusion. The spider spoke up. We are not corrupt.

A pound for the carer. A pound for the nurse. A seat for the frauds, in the house of lords.

Get out the cameras
Another awareness week.
Hand out an award.
Then give it a tweet.

At compassion and caring. You say you’re the best. But I’m sat here crying. Remote from the rest.

Ticking all the boxes.
While i’m stacking them up.
Glossy teamwork photos.
Don’t show my dirty cup.

I don’t want to hear
Of another awareness week.
It only reminds me. Sometimes I’m sad and i’m weak.

No fanfare no fireworks. No simple hellos. No smiles to acknowledge. Nobody else feeling low?

Ask me quiet question. It could brighten my day. How are things going? Hello are you ok?

Staring skulls in misty shadows.

Skeletons scream from moonlit gallows.

Vampires vacate from graves so shallow.

Ghosts glide over the haunted hallows.

Bloodthirsty bats bite and swallow.

Superstitious sorts with cross and mirror.

Flying flies have holes to burrow.

Spying spiders espied the horror.

Granite gravestones bathed in sorrow.

Haunted haggard witches wallow.

Castle corpses in chains all follow.

Moonlight marching towards tomorrow.

Get rid of the cattle.
Get rid of the flock.
Invest in plants.
Invest in the crop.

Reduce CO emissions.
To induce world health.
One cold summer.
Then we eat ourselves.

Get rid of the herd.
Get rid of the brood.
Invest in seeds.
Invest in fruit.

Reduce CO emissions
To induce world health
One warm winter
Then we eat ourselves.

International men of mystery.

They won’t discuss their history.

Dark haired guys with sallow looks.

I assume PAYE and on the books.

No introductions as they start to wash.

They point to a sign “ No plastic only cash”

Safe in my car though it’s hot and clammy.

Then a face appears behind a soapy chamois.

Big blue hands, with skin sore and cracked.

I fail to not make, direct eye contact.

Then a crooked finger is pointing straight at me.

Making a circular motion “give me money”

Next time you’re passing through our town.

There’s no need to shop around.

The cheapest car wash on any street.

But never ask for a credit card receipt.