hello it’s me, how can i help?
whine & groan & moan & chelp.
“there’s summat up, it’s all your fault, sort it out or face a revolt.
i’ve been with you for years and years”
sad sob story, sniffles and tears.
“gimmee summat new, best that you’ve got, all bells and whistles, i want the lot!”
“but not reyt pricey, good deal, you know? paying just the same as five years ago.”
“and i want loads of freebies, chuck em all on, and if tha can’t, that’s it i’m gone!”
“tha wants HOW MUCH? tha’s gorra be mad!”
“i’m off to your rival, telling thee lad”
“they’re one pound cheaper, hundred up front” (he’s not done the maths, the tight fisted….. pillock)
“so cancel me now, or i’ll start to yelp”
hello it’s me,
how can i help?
you’re about as welcome
a fart in
to every one i have met.
and all of you i’m yet to know
to everyone who’s been taken away.
we’re so sad to see you go.
as we say goodbye to twenty fifteen
and enter this fresh year.
its ok to leave whats been,
and start this one, slate clear.
here’s to a great year to you all.
love from Me, The Enemy & The Boy.
reading about “call me dave” and his trip up to yorkshire, i’ve written another little poem.
they were up to their waists in water and sludge, by god they were having it rough.
he came in his wellies, the much cheaper ones, so that he didn’t seem as much of a toff.
the last thing they needed was his gurning mug, looking concerned for the massed rank of cameras.,
looking concerned, shocked and amazed. like they all seem to do (lying wankers)
showing his *cough* humanitarian side, with the minister for floods in Barbados
cos, you know, it is christmas, he’s earnt that nice break, and quite frankly, he don’t give a toss.
old dave went to york, it was up to his ankles. any further he’d have needed some waders.
then he buggered off home, back down to the smoke, one of life’s greatest ever evaders.
the people up here, they’re made of strong stuff, they’ll face it, get through it together.
and probably say, with a grin on their faces, “tha what, dunt be soft lad, it’s just weather”.
but joking aside, let’s hope they’re ok, and the water it drains, moves elsewhere.
and fuck the politicians and their front page snap ops, we’ve proved again, it’s the people that care.
stay safe folks.
it’s 5am christmas day morning and i have woken with some of these lines running about in my head.
i can’t seem to settle.
so instead of going back to sleep and forgetting about them, i’ve got up, worked out some more, altered a couple and put them down here.
To the 100,000 kids out there, having to sleep rough.
To all the steelworkers who’s furnaces are off.
To the miners no longer underground digging out our coal.
To anyone who finds themselves jobless and on the dole.
To all those poor poor folks who’s homes were flooded just recentley.
To those souls on this day of days with little or less to eat.
To anyone who is struggling with mental or physical health.
and to the 99 percenters who don’t own all the wealth.
you’ll do your best to make this christmas day pass as you always do.
and from the rest of us,
the fortunate ones,
our thoughts they are with you.
merry christmas people.
from Barnsley Sime and family.
are you the one that McFly wrote about?
cos you’re damn cute, of that no doubt
on your own, in the corner, just sat there
laughing at summat on your phone,
“five clours in your hair”.
the platform doors open, and out you do fly
with a wave of the arm and a loud plaintive cry
you chase down the train as it starts to pull out
banging the windows like some sort of lout
the brakes lock on screeching, it jerks to a halt
the passengers glaring, they know its your fault
the carriage doors open you jump straight on in
we’re ready, the main show is about to begin
limbs they are flailing and voices are raised
can’t hear what’s being said but what a display
the ticket collector or guard (is that right?)
he’s not backing down, he’s up for the fight
next thing we know you are no longer on
with a roar of it’s engine, the train it is gone
and off you go again shouting and ranting
face turning purple sweating and panting
you look like John Cleese when he played Basil Fawlty
attacking his car with what looked like a small tree
turn on your heels, you go storming away
for those of us watching you’ve just made our day
so on behalf of us opposite on platform 2B
i say mate, doubt you’d have loved Mussolini!