I'd like to duly thank the honest hard-working WordPress Team For truly making this poor poet's last fortnight his fever dream, Since this poster's half-arsed drafts wound up Freshly Pressed I look on my new viewing figures and feel, in a word, blessed.
Suddenly my oh so sad email traffic saw a mad increase! This site inundated by emails? Will wonders never cease? And now, whereas once I called all WP 'improvements' a pain- (I hate your loss of Classic form!) Now I shan't- can't- complain.
Look, see my usual likely numbers for my typical average post? I'll be happy to see a handful- or two, double digits at the most, So to see my views so sky high, and my Likes at 200 and rising? Thanks, WordPress Team, for everything...'cept the advertising.
So though I honestly expect to lose these most welcome views- They'll stall back to earth, my high spot become yesterdays news- Still, for one short spell I'll not have writ these silly shi skits in vain, And I'm old enough to know I'm unlikely to see the Likes of this again.
'Captain, I dinnae think the Search Engines can take the strain!'
'Baby, even the losers Get lucky sometimes, Even the losers Keep a little bit of pride, They get lucky sometimes, Yeah, they get lucky sometimes.' Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers, 'Even The Losers.'
It's a happy birthday to the comely lass Come into this worlds one April Fool's Day, I can't let another Earth's rotation pass Without stopping for a second to say 'Thank you Lou, for marrying this silly dumb ass, I'm still a hopeless fool for you, and will ever stay.'
(For those in the Northern Hemisphere it may not yet be April First, but here in the Southern Hemisphere we're already there.)
Reverend: 'And if anyone can think of just one reason- Bride: 'Whoa, hold up there Buster, I'm thinking, I'm thinking...'
'I ain't got much but it ain't without trying, But I still got my girl so there's no need for crying So I guess I'm kinda lucky.' Hammond Gamble, 'I'm kinda Lucky.'
This day I sadly sat down at my escritoire To pen a farewell to a 50's French movie star.
So I say goodbye to ma petit cheri Brigitte Bardot, Slighter, svelter than the top-heavier Miss Monroe.
I recall those pics of her sun-tanning at Saint Moritz In a bikini so brief it barely covered her untanned bits.
But what cemented this boyhood crush that never quits? Watching BB in a double feature flick at the ol' flea pit Ritz.*
Ooh, how that pretty pout inflamed this callow young fellow, Lust just at the time a lad's interest in the lasses began to show.
'Twas all a poor besotted boy could do but admire her from afar... Now, in memory of my first blushing crush, sweet Brigitte, 'au revoir.'
*I can recall those two old films still; 'Viva Maria' and 'Shalako.'
'Brigitte tanning on the beach left me all hot and bothered.'
'What a perfectly apt movie title to be displayed.'
'It happened one summer, it happened one time, It happened forever, for a short time, A place for a moment, an end to dream, Forever I loved you, forever it seemed.' The Motels, 'Suddenly Last Summer.'
(After re-reading Denis Glover’s brilliant ‘Solitary Drinker’* and putting myself in his uncomfortable shoes.)
Double Trouble.
Here I tipsily stand, ruminating in the Men’s Room Barely aware of the rust-stained urinal’s spume, ‘Twas proving no quick dash to offload some booze, And proven no place to have worn blue suede shoes.
I felt I’d discharged my duty, and almost without issue; See, barely the need to spot blot my trou with a tissue? Still, this pit stop had not quite panned out as planned Mused I as I soft-shoed my way towards the wash stand.
I turned on the tap, only to feel a faint trickle, I know from old this ol’ spigot tends to be fickle, If forced this faucet can become a water chute- Put a dampener down the front of your pants suit.
‘Clothes maketh the man’ has long been my motto Way before the days I spent all night getting blotto, So after I dried my hands I straightened my tie up… Had I missed some little thing? I zipped my fly up.
Then I looked in the mirror above the wash basin, What old soak was that peering out from within? A once fine classical face, now fallen out of vogue, From ‘who’s fairest of ’em all?’ to unlovely rogue.
Had we once been acquainted with one another? I had a feeling akin to meeting a long-lost brother, Through my gimlet-eyed drunkard’s haze I peered… And an ever so slow dawning recognition appeared.
Now I know that red-veined broken boxer’s nose That clearly shows the scars of too many blows, My lasting legacy of too many long boozy nights, Of losing far and away too many bar-room fights.
It’s hard for me to swallow what the drink has done, I guess it’s hollow of me to say I regret my first one, I suppose I just must accept my fate, I can’t change me at this late date, I’ll be the guy in the mirror till I die, Yet I still can’t look myself in the eye, So I’ll sit ‘n’ sip Black Label for as long as I’m able Drinking myself blind under the Royal Oak’s table.
'Not a sight for red and sore eyes.'
*Denis Glover 'Solitary Drinker.'
Standing in the same old place He thought 'I know that silly face,' And there beneath the spirits shelf The mirror showed his silly self.
He saw himself with some surprise A sorry sod with headlamp eyes, 'Afore Ye Go' the slogan read, But he stayed on and stared ahead.
'I cannot stand this blasted place, I cannot stand my blasted face.'
The Public Bar was through the hall; It had no mirrors on the wall.
Denis Glover was a fine poet but sadly the gut-rot got to him. I met him in passing a long time ago. An eloquent wordsmith, but a little short and terse in person. (At least with me!)
'I promised my wife and children I'd never touch another drink As long as I live but even then It sounds so soothing to mix a gin And sink into oblivion.' Cold War Kids, 'We Used To Vacation.'
Dear folks, I'm sorry I haven't written too much of late But my last three posts are all down to someone's demise,* I don't want to be that guy whose posts sadly solely relate To sending off some hell-raising Rock Star who ups and dies.
No, I do not wish to be the one perpetually known As that fu- half-wit who slices too close to the bone.
No, I don't care to become the one you will turn to to officiate At the wake of some Pop Culture icon who few would eulogise, God knows I'm no Saint who can stand before Ye who congregate Telling tales of the dear departed and leave you dabbing your eyes.
I just cain't seem to find that dark funereal tone. (I guess the last laugh will be on me, at my own.)
I don't want to be 'that twit who buries the past' to be my fate, A troll who finds the Grinm Reaper's visits reason to crack wise; Plus, to sit here waiting to write droll obits feels like tempting Fate, Who knows who's next to join Tom, Hulk and Ozzy up in the skies?*
I do hope the Reaper can leave big bad Keef alone, I don't need the grief of writing up that Rolling Stone.
* First was my dark little tribute to Ozzy, then a flying farewell to Hulk Hogan, then a sad fade-out for Tom Lehrer. All one after the other, at a quite frightening pace. That is quite enough for me to deal with for a while.
'C'mon Boney, let the circus roll on for a few more years.'
'After all is said and done, Gotta move while it's still fun, Let me walk before they make me run, I'm gonna walk before they make me run, Gonna find my way to heaven, 'cause I did my time in hell, I wasn't looking too good but I was feeling real well.' Keith Richards, 'Before They Make Me Run.'
What a scary sight that Black Sabbath showman was, Though he played up his dazed crazed image, he'd admit, But slowly sobriety and family time wore the edge off Oz, Recently you can't say he was bat-shit crazy... well, a bit.
Whatever, last night the darkly painted face of 'Paranoid' Moved on from this vale of tears, into the wild blue yonder, Or p'rhaps, to take a brief sabbatical off in some black void? We'll leave that judgement for Gatekeeper Pete to ponder.
'Gawd- why can't all decisions be black or white?'
'Don't forget me as the colours fade, When the lights go down, It's just an empty stage, OK.' Ozzy Osbourne, 'Ordinary Man.'
(I'm sure Ozzy wouldn't mind a gentle bit of ribbing? He was real good guy, and at the end of the day he will be missed.)
Now the good old Pope's tenure has ended He's off on his well-earned eternally long rest, Up to a high Heavenly reward he has ascended, One supposes the Powers That Be truly do know what's best.
Now the wise old men of God will meet To select, elect the one best blessed to lead, Slowly discarding Bishops till the job is complete, Privately pontificating if they may be the guy to meet the need?
Now will they usher in some man, kind and forgiving Or one who'll defend the old dogma for all he's worth? And Lord, forget not those humbly eating, praying, living Who serve good God but remain sidelined down here on earth.
Now is it a cardinal sin of man's pride to hope That you might become the mitred chosen one? The best of all the blessed brothers, the next Pope? God only knows, but it's a stone-cold certainty it won't be a nun.
Now, men of Rome, it's time to raise your voice, Though now the old ways and means still hold sway Surely the end is nigh for the Gentleman's Only choice, Some happy day all in the genuflecting flock will have their say.
Or, even now, is that heresy?
'High time for a new chapter in a church averse to change?'
'Still walking that narrow line Between seeing God and wasting your time, You always had such an easy heart It's right about time you played another part, You're still waiting on your day to dawn.' Sons Of Bill, 'Big Unknown.'
I really tried to see in New Years day But the thirsty first night got in the way.
I woke up this fine bright new day of 2025 Painfully aware of being awake alive, I'd quite merrily seen out the last of 2024; This morn feeling the full effects of the night before.
Last night I rowdily brought all my good cheer out, But this morn I feel that was nothing to shout about.
I fervently hope when I rise to toast in 2026 I will have learned gin, rum and Champers don't mix, I want to see in one new year, not hear of it anecdotally, Maybe next year I'll simply see in the year teetotally?
'Ummmm, I forget what the day is.'
'Stay in bed, stained sheets, My head hurts, I repeat.' The Motels, 'Total Control.'
(Just another very quick one- Happy new year folks. Any comments- sorry I'll get to them when I get a millisecond of free time!)
As the baby's breath begins to bloom I think back on that so sweet perfume Cloying up a closed and cheerless room; Brought on my hay fever, most inopportune, Sniffling ruining a perfect Spring afternoon And the service of a brother gone too soon. .
‘And another Boomer bites the dust.’
A tad maudlin? Yes. So? One or two bad sad days in what has been a pretty good and happy year’s output is fine by me.
'Limitless undying love Which shines around me Like a million suns, It calls me on and on Across the universe.' The Beatles, 'Across The Universe.' (A favourite of my brother.)
Date Stamped.
Born before me,
Gone way before,
I won't ever see
His like no more.
That remains crystal clear.
Born this day
Many moons ago,
It hurt to say
Goodbye too soon, bro.
Dry up, stupid tear.
So this September
We're here again,
To stand and remember.
'Time Heals All Pain?'
Nope; not this year.
Learn it fast, son- life ain't fair.
(No attempts to force humour today. Tomorrow’s another bright new day, and I’m sure the sun will rise as per usual and cheer us all up. Soon enough.)
Obbverse 