Greetings, bonour, what’s happening?

Welcome to Lager Time.

I’m a bit rough this week, you know the coo: sore throat, cough, headache, tax return. Could be worse.

Three new poems this week. Couple of cynical ones with a lighthearted one to finish. All poems below

On the large-ups, here’s a link to Dan Cockerill’s site when you can buy his books. He’s who inspired me to do it myself. HIs most recent is Democratic Pirate Ship, it’s very good.

https://www.danielcockrill.com/shop

Catch me live at Poetry & Poppadums 27th March - at Karamel, Wood Green London FEAT - Murray Lachlan Young, Skye Lilly, me and ho sted by Paul Lyalls

If you’re intersted in me coming to do a gig, run a workshop, get in touch.

That’s it for now

Have a banging weekend

Paul

TWO TEAMS

Two teams are huddled together on the grass, as

three boys stand on the sideline

both teams are screaming at these kids to

pick a side

up until this point, the sides

picked themselves

two kids pick, leaving the last one left to choose

he looks at them both

this kid knows that both teams have

wankers in their ranks, loud-mouth

pricks he would rather avoid

he also knows that either side would

accuse the other of harbouring

dick heads, yet will deny, or try to justify the

existence of their own

this kid also knows that both teams can

play and both have players who can

pick a pass, time a tackle, finish in the

box, split a defence, keep their cool and hold

the line under attack

he knows they also have a

couple of hotheads

they both play a different way, of which there

are merit to both, he thinks

decision time

they’re still screaming at him to pick, but

he realises that this is the only time he’s ever

wanted by these lot

neither are interested in what he has to

offer, they just want him to make up the numbers

he knows they’ll both deny this so he tells them to

do one and looks for another game, because

there’s aint the only one being

played, despite what they

think

Prairie Oysters

show me something for the heart

something for the soul

I’m tired of the claims and

the feel-good messaging

snake oil supplements, organic, free-range and expensive

it seems the supposed betters among us have it figured

self-care routines; long baths and little

books of wisdom

loving the living and the laughing

they got the pieces on the board but are

they just pretending to play?

I don’t know how to play

I’m scared to play and

their type of talk makes me want

to run away and drown in lager and

keebabs

I know where that one goes, hence

the original question, nothing

seems to do it

I’m going to fast to slow down

too angry to relax

too cynical to mediate

too sprung too unwind

too skint to change my diet

trudging through life with

brain fluid close to boiling

belly corrosive too touch

feet fearful of standing still

fists full of theory but lacking the

minerals for fury

where’s that sweet salvation

they all speak of

or is it all just prairie ousters

lacking bollox?

PLUMSTEAD CABARET

Got down to the

Platform at

Plumstead

London Bridge

Bound

Eight minute

Wait

Reached for the

Blower

Stopped

Decided I

Wouldn’t

This time

It’s just too

easy

Instead, I

I went eyes

Left

to the

Steep bank

Flats towering

Over

I spied this squirrel

Darting in and out

The weeds and

Trees

Watched

Those

Little human-

Like hands

Picking at

Bits of food

With the

Erratic

Urgency

Of someone

Desperate to

Get out the

Office on a

Friday

It scrabbled down to

The platform

All nimble

feet

Looks at me

Then scarpers

Behind the

Waiting

Area

I was just thinking

To myself how I

Enjoyed that

Moment

When

it

Reappeared

with a

Second

Squirrel

They chased

Each other in

Front of me

Tussled a bit

Till the other

Darted

It was like an

Unexpected encore

After a surprisingly

enjoyable

show

Almost

Forgot

About

The

Twitch

From the

Pocket

Distractor

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