Poker felts ablaze with anticipation, burn my palms,
Oh how I love thee, alas, love cannot be measured in chipstacks,
Full of a conjurers trickery, you turn boats into houses.

You maybe need to know something about Poker to really understand this. I thnk I got the syllable count right. I got 16,16,14, total 46, but I could be wrong on that, very easily.

Over at d’Verse, they have introduced me to the form of a Sijo. Not sure I did the form justice or not, but the fun is in the trying.


Only Rock ‘n’ Roll, But I Like It.

Over at dVerse on Tuesday nights, its open link night [OLN] and I read something there that I found stirred something within me. Victoria, posted a Sestina, a form of poetry I had never heard of. To me, its a remarkable piece of work. the form is so technical and strict in its purest form, only by understanding that form and reading the piece over and over did I appreciate just how good, for want of a better word, this Sestina truly was. Without knowing it, Victoria had thrown down the gaunlet and I took it up with something approaching gusto. I was determined I was going to write a Sestina of my own. Lets get one thing straight, this is my first attempt at a Sestina and I dont expect or want congratulating, or a pat on the back, I want critique, I want to know why the effort is poor, which it is in comparison to Victoria’s. What can I do to improve it and why. Are the repeated words well chosen, or would something else fit better? Tell me as it is, tell me straight, I am a big boy now, I can take it  in any form you care to throw at me.

As per usual, when I am struggling for a muse or inspiration, I turn to my first love, music. I took Let There be Rock by AC/DC,

Lyrics here

I sprinkled in a little Hazel O’ Connor, Eighth Day,

Lyrics here

I also added a dab of 10cc for the hell of it,

Lyrics here

So I had to find 6 words that form the repeat, this was my choice,


I then copied the form from a website of how the Sestina should be constructed and that was so I was able to follow the word repeat structure properly. The syllable structure needed a lot of work and thought, that was possibly the hardest part. But anyway, this is the result of my efforts, in a constructional form, just how I wrote it yesterday.

A On the first day, man made laserbeam lights
B On the second day, man made divine sound
C On the third day, man made pulsating drums
D On the fourth day, man made shredding guitar
E On the fifth day, man made awesome music
F On the sixth day, he named this music rock

F Headbanging frenzy, it’s classical rock!
A Suspended animation, strobing lights,
E Horned fingers, salute powerful music
B The room becomes a cavern of wild sound,
D Axemen, thrash their delusive air guitar,
C Wild eyed chicks girate hips to pounding drums.

C The pace quickens, rhythm sticks hammer on drums,
F There’s more roll to accompany this rock!
D Fingers ambulate frets of piercing guitar,
A Shadowless figures absorb shimmering lights,
B Mouths form lyrics, devoid of word and sound,
E When did this become the devil’s music?

E Note the electric crowd, high on music,
C Mellow on rhythm, the pulse of tom tom drums,
B Doors imprison this boom box wall of sound
F No dreadlock holiday here, just hard rock,
A The band played on below their name in lights,
D Lead by a lunatic, playing guitar

D Picking his riffs, at one with his guitar,
E Jams and licks, the man lives for the music
A Stealing the limelight, shunning the street light,
C Thunderous bass backed by resonant drums
F The crowd roar their assent, they came to rock!
B A heaving mass, immersed deep in the sound.

B Suburbia won’t tolerate this sound,
D They shun the music man and his guitar,
F Stale pop pours from their radio, not rock,
E Rock n Roll ain’t no riddle, its music!
C But they don’t like the beat of jungle drums
A They are blind, for they haven’t seen the light.

AB You shall see the light, listen to the sound
CD Feel the drums, sense the magical guitar
EF This IS music, this IS what we call ROCK!

So there ya have it. Thats my first attempt at a very difficult form, in my opinion anyway. I really like the form and I hope this could be the first of many. I am not realy a form lover, I much prefer freestyle, but that was before I found a form I particularly enjoy.

The Lonely Road

This is my tribute to all those affected by the terrible incidents in Boston, especially for the runners, because I know how it feels to put in the miles, the time and the effort. My heart goes out to everyone who has had to witness this cowardly act. I used to run half marathons and have lost count of how many Great North Runs I have done, the biggest half marathon in the world. So I know what it takes.

The Lonely Road

Tarmac, dark, foreboding,
Submissively listens, with
for the footfalls that will
inevitably arrive,
the runner must coexist alongside
The Lonely Road.

Horizons, twisted by heat haze,
permanent illusions, trickery
Sent to confuse aching muscles,
tired feet,
that continously stride
The Lonely Road.

Hour upon Hour,
Mile upon Mile,
Day upon Day,
the road is my lover,
my enemy,
my brother,
my only companion.

I know this road, intimately!
running shoes make love
to the ebony surface, that
seduces me, beguiles me,
like an addict urgently seeks a fix,
My only requirement being,
The Lonely Road

The Lonely Road is my life,
The Lonely Road is my soul,
Without The Lonely Road
I am nothing,
The road without me is
vacuous, destined,
interminably,to be
The Lonely Road.

Posted for OLN over at dVerse, the poets pub. Its taken a few knocks so we need to show our support for the team there. So try and spare a little of your time to post and read some of the other offerings on show by some very talented poets.

The Rambler [A Parody]

Almost to the tune of  The Gambler by Kenny Rogers. Its not meant to be offensive, its a laugh, but I will concede, I sometimes do have a sick sense of humour.

It was a warm summers evenin,
sittin on the road to nowhere,
When a stranger walked right past me,
then turned to ask my name,
I asked him who wished to know,
on such a pleasant evenin,
He just smiled a cryptic smile,
as he began to explain the game.

He said son I’ve made a livin,
out of readin peoples faeces,
Knowing what they had to eat,
just the day before,
So I offered him my last 50 cents,
and asked him for a readin,
He just laughed and told me son,
it’ll cost a dollar more.

I said, fella I dont have that dollar,
what am I supposed to do now?
Is there anyway I can earn a readin,
without paying you nothing more?
He tipped a wink and started to explain,
the deal he had before him,
He said son there is more than one way,
to settle up the score.

Take your trousers down son,
and bend over that low wall there,
I got it all in hand now,
dont you worry ’bout a thing,
He had a tube of KY jelly,
which he smeared along his member,
The rest he used quite sparringly,
to lubricate my ring.

With a little twist here, a little shove there,
he entered my tight anus,
Back and forth he rode me,
like a cowboy rides his steed,
I felt him cum inside me,
then asked what he needed for the readin,
He replied, its ok now son,
I have everything I need.

Son, you had bacon for your breakfast,
with egg and sausage too,
Peanut butter on dark rye,
and a chunk of cheddar cheese,
A hearty stew with dumplings,
followed by some chocolate ice cream,
I asked how do you know all that,
without inspecting my faeces?

You got to know your cheese from your pickles,
know if eggs were poached or scrambled,
Know bacon when you see it,
dont mistaken it for ham,
You got to know caviar from fish roe,
and the fish from which it came from,
You got to be able to tell,
if its chopped pork or if its spam.

Off he went with a smile as wide
as the river Mississippi,
Laughin’ hard I could have sworn,
he had some laughin’ gas,
All I got to show for the night,
was two empty pockets,
My last 50 cents down the drain
and a pain in my ass!

This is a ewwwwww exercise to see how many readers I can get to ewwwww 😉 How he did the reading, well, I shall leave that up to your imagination.
This is how the original sounds,

Posted at Open Link Night over at dVerse, the poets pub.

DJ Tino

Back in my school days [yes, I can remember that far back] a radio presenter arrived at our primary school to talk about  our local radio, what is was, how it worked etc etc. I am pretty sure that what he offered upon leaving was the usual pleasantries. He said, if anyone did the 17 times table and sent in it to his show, then they could help do his show one day. Me being me, I took him at his word, did the table, sent it in and reminded him of his offer. So I got to be a DJ type presenter for a couple of hours and I thought back then I did a better job of it than he did.

The man from the radio station was twee
He had no idea what to expect of me
I completed the 17 times table
Something he didn’t think I was able [of]
Then did his job far better than he.

Posted over at dVerse where our host Kelvin has challenged us to provide some sort of anecdote. I think this about fits the bill?  but I’ll let you be the judge of that.

Deafening Silence

I have thought a great deal about communication lately and how online, the written word can often be misunderstood because certain tools we use are not accessible to us when a person is 6000 miles away at the other end of a fibre optic cable.

When we speak face to face, there is a wealth of information before we even get to the words contained in the forthcoming conversation. Facial expression and stance tell us much if we only listen.

Many people talk and use their hands to express some aspect of importance or to enforce a point and we use that movement to assist us in understanding the point someone is trying to make.

But when it just comes down to reading and writing, it is often only the reader or writer who completely understands what is in front of them. What you read can differ in meaning to what I read. You may well interpret something I write differently to its original meaning. Its easily done, especially over this medium we call the internet.

The piece here is a product of those thoughts and I hope you can comprehend where this is coming from. The time aspect comes from the fact that we spend a large part of our lives communicating with each other via the mediums open to us.

Deafening Silence

The second hand ticks silently on its merry way
The minutes and hours of another passing day
The silence is deafening to my sensitive ear
I only witness the passing of this perculiar year

Bound by time, a seemingly innocuous chain
Gagged by a decennium of absurdity and constrain
Words become my enemy, belie the indubitable truth
Contorted sentances, paragraphs twisted, uncouth
Tittle tattle, gossip, false prophets word
Communication lines, tarnished and blurred
Language, written, spoken, cannot be returned
Yet another example of opportunity spurned

This never ending spiral of conversations left
Speech impediment, affiliated theft
Signs, speak of nuance and meticulous refinement
Deprived of words by this habitual confinement

The echo of a distant whisper, a receeding voice
Privilege denied, no freedom of choice


I implore thee, shatter this silence
So I may listen to your beauty
One more time.

This is really aimed at someone who pissed me off recently, but dont tell them I said so ok 😉


There it is again
that friggin finger that pokes and
prods each and every day of
the goddamned week,
and twice as often
come the Saturdays and Sundays of this
forsaken existence.

ceasless noise,
blood splatters reek
of cordite,
grenades, rip roaring
numb my brain,
shit, the bombs
bigger and better as
each new one arrives

Hack, slash,
Stab and impale,
Swordfights, gauntlets
thrown down in endless
armies of thousands, ready
to sack a waiting world,
its unbearable!

No, no, no
i beg of you
boom boom boom boom
enhance the bass, graphic
the equalizer, balance the bins
tweak the tone
boom boom boom boom
guitar heroes all
one day
one day soon
i shall wreak my revenge

I am the warrior
I am the mage
I am the hero
of the age
i am
who you choose me to be!

I pray for a power surge
an early death
for today
peace and tranquility
mine to but dream of
for even death
is better
than this life i

I have zero idea if I have got this anywhere near right. but I had a bash anyway. Over at d’Verse, my #1 poetry hangout, Anna outlines what Negative Capability is about in poetry. Its all a little over my head as I had about no formal education from about age 11. I have read it over so many times, anymore and I will just confuse mysef even further. I have read a few offerings by others and kinda followed their lead really. Hopefully, even if this does not quite fit the requirements, it might just raise a smile.

x box

Acid Days

I managed to miss the Mad Lib week, so please excuse me for this being a somewhat latecomer.

I asked the forever supportive Victoria to provide me with some words to play with and this is what she left for me.

N- Karma
N- Sound
V- To play
V- To seduce
V- To shadow
A- Creative
A- Strenuous
A- Resting
R- Mutant
R- Image

I am still confused how what came to mind actually came to mind, it was one of those out of nowhere moments, somewhere between deja vu and a flashback. So, this is the result of that 30 minutes of completely lost time where I am sure, if someone put a gun to my head, I still could not tell them what happened. Wierd.

The question may, or may not arise,
To play or not to play?

I read the words, but the image,
Was lost to my sight,
I was absorbed in this creative wonderland,
Only words lay before me?

Ah, music,
Demonic melodies,
Maniacal guitar riffs,
From the age of the electric dawn,
Sound in the deep recess of the hour,
The creative minds,
Of axemen and bards,
Seduce the follower, toward
Unfathomable melancholic meditation.

Drums, throb with a strenuous rhythm,
I swear, Bonham and Moon were laughing, their
demented howl,
A lycanthropic disguise?
But no, I wont get fooled again,
This aint no stairway to heaven baby!

Somewhere, a silver bullet band played my tune.

The question, though
Was never in doubt to these monsters of rock.

Cast its eerie shadow beyond our manic twosome,
Resting in its periphery,
Sat Jimi alongside Marc in a purple haze,
Those metal guru’s of history,
Watching, The Voodoo Child metamorphose,
Into the miscreant mutant,
Of the unholiest Black Sabbath.

Who told you hell aint a bad place to be?

Someone out there,
I know not who,
Maybe the fool on the hill?
Called the karma police.

The arrests were brutal,
In their intensity,
The acid days,
Were long ago banished,
Into legend…..

John Bonham: Drummer with Led Zeppelin, sadly deceased.

Keith Moon: Drummer with The Who, sadly deceased

Monsters of Rock: A open air rock concert held at Castle Donnington racetrack. Applicable to Bonham and Moon as well.

Jimi and Marc: Hendrix and Bolan of course.

Karma Police: A song by Radiohead.

Other song titles are in there as well, some you will recognize, some maybe not.

Posted over at d’Verse, the pub where the poets hang. Come join the fun and read some awesome poems penned by some awesome poets.

My Way To Hell [and back]

Those good folks over at d’Verse have offered up two prompts this weekend. Brian asks us to find some adjectives and nouns and verbs and all that other language stuff to include in a poem. Gretchen asks us to think about music and what it means to us or makes us think of etc etc. That, is obviously the right choice for me. I am often inspired by music and often include some band or song lines into a post. If you look back through my 190 odd posts so far, you will see how many relate in some way or other to a song. Even the title of this piece plays on a song title.

There are two versions of the song I love, although there are numerous versions more I have never bothered to listen to. Each version says something unique to me. I shall not venture into that  here though.

Today, I nearly died,
I must have cried, a thousand tears,
or more,
And yet, its very clear
That the road ahead
Will twist, each gut wreneching turn
until I find, the right direction,
But, although I’m down,
I am not out,
I am also proud, to say
I did it my way.

To plummet or not, I am never sure,
Is the grass always greener,
On the other side?
Once, these tears subside,
Will life,
Again have meaning?
Senses numbed,
Thoughts suffering defeat,
Despite, dark holding sway,
I’ll do it my way.

The bitterest of pills,
Taste of honey,
When consumed,
Without, emotion,
The first cut,
Is often the deepest,
The scars, still bear witness,
Revealing their tragedy,
Beside life ebbing,casualy
Calmly away,
I did it my way.

There’s no regrets,
There’s no more tears,
I cried them all,
Across many years,
This once empty shell,
Houses my soul,
The fire blazes bright, yet
Life took its toll,
Throughout it all,
I learnt, to stand tall
I declare, unto the world,
I did it my way.

The two songs tell a completely different story in both imagery and lyrics. I have my favourite, but I am not saying which it is. You can decide that one for yourself 😉

The Devil Went Down to Gateshead [A Parody]

The Devil went down to Gateshead
In a search of a pint of Brown
He hadn’t secured a deal in days
And thus he was feeling down

He walked into the Blue Azure
Asked the barman for a bottle of ‘dog’
The barman slowly shook his head
And replied “We only serve this grog”

Well the Devil he became mighty pissed
He started to rant and rave
He told the barman “Your soul is mine
As soon as you reach your grave”

The barman said ” Devil let me tell you what
You can have my soul today
But only if you drink ten pints of Scotch
If you decline, then be on your way”

Well the Devil thought it over
And he said ‘I’ll take your bet
I can drink any mortal under the table
This is one you’re gonna regret”

The barman slowly stood them up
The devil began the show
He supped the first in one long gulp
Only nine more pints to go

The second one was nectar
“I like this brew” the Devil said
He downed the third with a grusome grin
Feeling slightly fuggy inside his head

The barman, he had seen it
So many times before
Supping three was nothing
But wait until number four

The Devil looked slightly shaky
As he started number four
The rumbling in his belly grew
The barman knew the score

Before he started number five
The Devil knew that he’d been beat
His belly grumbled mightily loud
As he staggered to his feet.

The barman said, “The bogs that way
Turn left and then turn right”
The Devil was in a hurry
He desperately had to shite

The barman said, ” The drinks are on me”
The drinkers raced over to the bar
Not one asked for a pint of Scotch
They all knew what the results are
The Devil he was still crapping
Until the bar closed that fateful day
The barman shouted “Devil man
Time you were on your way”

The Devil bowed his head in shame
Because he knew that he’d been had
He took a rueful look at the barman
How had he been conned so bad

The barman shouted, “Devil man
Come on back if you ever want to try agin
I told you once you son of a bitch
Scotch is the worst beer theres ever bin.

The barman said, ” The drinks are on me”
The drinkers raced over to the bar
Not one asked for a pint of Scotch
They all knew what the results are
The Devil he was still crapping
Until the bar closed that fateful day
The barman shouted “Devil man
Time you were on your way”

Brown is Brown Ale, something Newcastle is very famous for.
Dog is another local name for Brown Ale.

Scotch is a local beer that many believe has the best laxative properites known to mankind.

Bog is another name for toilet in some areas of the UK.

There is/was a bar in Gateshead called something very close to the one mentioned.

Gateshead is over the Tyne Bridge from Newcastle to the south.

And this how it should sound,

This should be posted over at the dVerse, where you will find many a poet posting their work for us all to browse and comment on if we so wish. Please feel free to offer any comment you like on anything I do. If you think its crap, please say so and why, I really dont mind. From being told something is crap, I learn to do better next time. If you enjoy or like what I offer, I am always grateful to read why.

Toodle Pip