#poems # poetry
See the silks and bright red cap.
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Say hello to another bookies.
Read the headlines and sad backstories.
Making friends with my little pony’s.
Saw the offer with 4 free bets.
Three fell down. One off to the vets.
Moneys gone and i’m no richer.
That’s when the truth will surely hit you.
Non stop messages by emails and texts.
Help yourself to more free bets.
Seeds planted into their heads.
Grow into weeds.
When cruel words are said.
Seeds planted into their mind.
Spread like weeds.
When life’s unkind.
Seeds placed into their minds.
Grow into flowers.
When words are kind.
Seeds placed into their heads.
Show as flowers.
Within a flowerbed.
Verse- My brother can’t get satisfaction.
Sisters trying to get a reaction.
People talking about selection.
There’s no love and no loving connection.
Monies tight, It’s too tight.
Poverty, well that’s not right.
I can’t lighten up my home.
I can’t warm my cold cold bones.
Chorus- Try and dance away my blues.
Wearing holes in my dancing shoes.
They cut away at my heart and soul.
Putting me down in the deep deep hole.
Verse- Brother talks about taking action.
Sister says, where’s the compassion.
Thinking upon reflection.
Identify myself at this election.
Monies tight, It’s too tight.
Poverty, well that’s not right.
I can’t lighten up my home.
Trying hard to warm my cold cold bones.
Chorus – As above.
Verse- We gotta stand together.
The way is now. It’s now not never.
I’ve got a voice and going to use it.
I’ll walk the walk and yes i’ll prove it.
Because monies tight it’s too tight.
Poverty, that’s just not right.
I can’t lighten up my home.
I can’t warm my cold cold bones.
Chorus x2
55 He takes great pride.
To dress as though he’s colour blind.
In the pub he’s mostly seen
In the strangest mix, of orange and green.
Blue training shoes will get him there.
The red flat cap so derigueur
A striped T Shirt, ooh lah lah
A total fashionista faux pas.
Her day was rudely disrupted,
When husband Frank died.
She had appointments for broken nails.
For white hair to be dyed.
The cause of his death.
Was a sudden, cardiac failure.
Two seldom calls to saddened sons.
In Canada and Australia.
A stranger to the immaculate house.
Frank spent time, in the shed.
Tinkering with anything electrical.
Awaiting a call to be fed.
The one day spent together.
Was at Sunday Church.
Where grey haired powdered widows.
Gathered to gossip and besmirch.
Frank would always sleep alone.
In the children’s old bedroom.
There on the the windowsill.
Plastic flowers, still in bloom.
Now it’s Church on a Wednesday.
Half a mile from home.
The last time spent together.
She traveled back alone.
Like a man with no shadow.
Frank, left hardly any trace.
An unremarkable forgettable life.
An unremarkable forgettable face.
I dreamt I had a fishing boat.
Trying hard to keep myself afloat.
Sail the seas with my first mate.
To save me from sinking, like a weight.
No champagne launch, just salty water.
The boat was named The Fisherman’s Daughter”
She would protect me on my journey.
From wrecks and mermaids that still haunt me.
Cutting through the rising tides.
White roses painted on her sides.
Never caught and never kissed.
She guides me through the Northern mists.
Then all went quiet without intention.
Salt water inside the diesel engine.
I span the wheel and nearly sank her.
She lowered down a saving anchor.
Sat waiting for the tide to turn.
There’s so much that I need to learn.
How to navigate to safer water.
Within the arms of the Fisherman’s Daughter.
There’s a stranger who helps me out of bed.
Washes my face, and makes sure i’m fed.
Some days she holds my hands and cries.
Looks at me with unfamiliar eyes.
I ask her if she will come again.
Everyday she replied, and so I wait till then.
I asked her if we had met before.
Everyday, she replies and I forget once more.
There’s a stranger who tucks me into bed.
She says a prayer and kisses my head.
I close my eyes and in between
The darkened hours I forget my dreams.
There’s always a price to pay.
The road you choose each and every day.
The choices that you made, dont disappear or fade.
Always a price to pay.
There’s always a price to pay.
Another load got added everyday.
Ribbons turned to chains. Happiness to pain.
Always a price to pay.
We will stand naked, all the same.
No matter what your fame.
Running out of dreams, just got started so it seems.
Better sing hallelujah.
For it’s my judgment day.
Sing hallelujah.
On this my judgment day.
There’s always a price to pay.
When wrong turns are taken on the way.
So sing a song of woe. Now all the doors are closed.
Always a price to pay.
We will stand naked, all the same
No matter what the name.
Throw the unmade plans.
In the fires that now dance.
Better sing hallelujah.
For it’s my judgement day.
Sing hallelujah.
On this my judgement day.
You are mine, you filthy swine. All poetic verse and bluster.
Never Sparkled or shook A Vac. A stranger to the duster.
Sitting on your arse, contemplating verse. A biscuit in your hand.
The tables full of coffee cups, A tasteless bitter brand.
Would you float, your Kagool coat. Do what’s right and proper.
Give me a lift on the gear shift. Of your Yellow Raleigh Chopper
Will you write, romantic shite. You know I like that loads
Be my Willy Wordsworth. On our rocky roads.
I want to be, your mushy pea. One of your five a day
Your go to, green vegetable. To process in anyway.
You are mine you filthy swine. We were made for each other.
Play your cards right sunshine. There may not be another.
Smoked like a kipper,
in the local Tan and Go.
Its 76 degrees outside,
and not a cloud on show.
A ten yard drive to the Co-op.
Park in a disabled space.
Have one last drag, on the tired fag,
hanging from your face.
Crushed velvet pink track suit.
“Angel” written on your arse.
The only heavenly body,
to embrace your hidden charms.
Anthony Cooney Visit @TnGTheBand on twitter.