Fifty Fu**ing Two

Fifty Fu**ing Two

Well how do you do?

I'm fifty fucking two

I've never been this age before so I don't know what to do.

Do I belch and fart and frown in my Jim Royle dressing gown?

Do I scare everyone by wearing a smile round town?

"I'm sorry I didn't recognise you there

That really is quite a grimace upon your face"

I'm maturing like a fine wine, more a mouldy old cheese.

"Excuse me please, would you hold this, I'm going to sneeze".

So how do I explain this to the police?

Look Officer, it's a special day for me today and with that the whole station and canteen sang Happy Birthday.

As they pushed me in the cell and got the fat lad to sit on me,

 Gawd what was that smell?

Pizza and Curry fermenting in PC69s belly.

As they kicked me out and cuffed me on the ear and warned me not to read the Cambrian News and drink any more beer, I stumbled home in a state of fear.

Attenborough's Blue Planet made me realise

that I was just a speck of shit upon it.

A light came from behind the curtain, was it the cat I couldn't be certain, my eyes were still blurry from all the crying I'd done but no it was God who said

 "now stop this nonsense son".

I replied 

"Don't let Jesus hear you talking like that"

(being choppsy to God) 

 and then it dawned on me that I was the only begotten one,

 the bad poet, the no hoper from Grangetown,

 I was Joseph and Mary's currant bun.

But no, the Psychiatrist told me in no uncertain terms, 

to keep taking the tablets or I'd end up with worms.

To be balls pizzled frank I didn't like his terms.

So dear reader and shark lover this ode is dedicated to you

For sticking with me through and through

It's an honour to have you share my dotage and look I've saved you the postage.

Happy Birthday to me from you!

Filler Killer

I am the Filler Killer
I will kill you with my filler
I will don the ear protectors and set to work.
You agree to sit for the artist with no qualifications so in that respect
"You are asking for it"
I set you upon my easle Liesl.
You will be cut and moulded
I will play with you this day
Chalk dust, lime and water
Sprayed upon yewer taught and tight torso.
The gloves that came free from that charity will shape and curve and slap.
I was shit in art at school but I am no longer to be taken for a fool.
You say that I have more strokes than the Oxford & Cambridge boat race,
oops, I'm sorry a drop of oil upon your face.
I now become most enthusiastic,
I tell you to lie back and think of England and then you proceed to chunter on about Eton, Gove and Harrow.
Oh God, I am ploughing you with palette knife like a furrow.
My potting shed has become like an unmade bed.
Where is my bow of burning gold?
Where is my chariot of fire?
As you can see the last thing I did was painting by numbers
but I had a difficult time following the instructions.
By the time I've finished with you, you resemble the woman from the James Bond film covered in a fake tan.
I don't have the heart to tell you after the sitting that I'm actually a poet and a bad one at that but hey Donald Trump is President, one that looks like my Ginger Cat.
Shadows lengthen over the field of play.
You actually look quite nice, covered in clay.

attribution: David Hurn

The Wood Street Shuffle

The Wood Street Shuffle

Attribution: Stephen McKay

When I first came to Cardiff I went to see the Mersey Poets at the Sherman Theatre.
I had lived in Cardiff before when man first walked on the moon and maroon buses had sad faces.
So when I first returned to Cardiff I went to see Don McLean singing Vincent at St David's Hall.
From my bedsit in Canton, I walked in and turned left up Cathedral Road.
This mistake made the final performance feel more alive.
Cardiff is about social class and I have lived in Grangetown for the last thirty years.
This has also been a 'camgymeriad' as the up-worldly mobiles with neutral accents from North Wales might say.
My 'cyfoedion' are returning like euog up river now.
The old boys returning to the Gogarth of the Gogledd.
Social circles are funny things.
I never had one.
Just got pissed to make up for some inadequacy not realising that the out-worldly perfect were just hiding their fear.
I was soft and kind as a younger man, ideal for the poetic soul but not much good for digging coal at the face of life where hardness and brusqueness and rudeness were considered desirable traits.
"Useless, pathetic, cracked egg" my inner dialogue would remind me.
Took the opportunity to get educated
My curiosity had been sated but I still don't have a job.
Career less and rudder less but free (ish)
Over 50 now, outwardly fucked but inwardly on fire.
Quite different to when I first returned to Cardiff, outwardly fine but inwardly fucked.
A metaphor for our fine, bright and shiny Capital City?
Have you ever done the Wood Street Shuffle?
Something terrible must have happened down there once.
Buses unload their cargo but the pavement is dark with shadows.
If the BBC and HMRC are coming into Central Square you can be quite sure that they won't be leaving it like it is there now!
The formidable women from Shaws the Drapers are gone replaced by orange builders in hard hats who will move on to other projects once this is done.
I wonder which flag will be planted on top of these establishment buildings?
The Union Jack or the Ddraig Goch or both to keep everyone happy.
Lets just hope that one or two pigeons at least stay rogue amongst the gentrified conformists.

Food and Sex

Food and Sex

Wales & England lost
A poem by Robert Frost
Wales thump Scotland
England beat Wales
Scotland see off England
Carry On Calcutta
Rugby loving
Mother Fucka
Jamie Owen Colonialists
eating biscuits
3 Nations Exit Brexit
Bounder's made a dash for it
Gove and Johnson covered in Baby Oil
David Davis lancing his boil
Hard or Soft?
Just like the egg you've been chasing.
A latte and some hard stares at Chapter
Plaid Cymru have just annexed Llanelli
To exclude the whole branch of a tree
Because the candidate wouldn't give them the key is rather petty
But whoopee just another day in the Bay.
Statues and Ice Cream Vans around Mermaid Quay
Stupid, rude families and their dogs are called Humanity
Single, middle aged men are pariahs on the state
But I refuse to become invisible because I do not conform to your norm.
Just because I have not bred in a bed
and given the NHS and State a head(ache)
Reduced to penning doggerel to celebrate our perpetual status as losers.
"Wales Wales dutiful I am to my country" said Humphrey
There will be some Welsh that are happier that England lost to Scotland more than they are disappointed that Wales lost to Ireland.
These are a problem because they see the enemy as Eddie
Jones and fifteen men in a chariot
where as we know that the enemy are within.
The Conservatives who kicked our Miners.
The Welsh Speakers who think like UKIPPERS
We need a cultural cleansing not an ethnic one
Capital City needs breaking into Cantons
Ganja smoking chavs eating lard-ons
Aspiring Millennials and Hairy Hipsters with Hard Ons.
The old, and I mean anyone over 50 should be left to die
Come on lurve don't cry!
We can't carry on like this cos the the service is full to overflowing.
Instead of voluntary redundancies we need Euthanasia. 
Bus loads going up to the Heath to be put to sleep.
Our script is to dominate and power play whatever bad poets say!
Collective Effort wasted in unhealthy competition when we could be co-operating on removing this obsession with
food and sex

Helter Skelter

Western Materialism is killing us

Shut up Red Button, stop making a fuss.

Did I miss the dawning of the age of Aquarius?

I want to be riding on Ken Kesey's magic bus.

Instead of the one that takes me in to work.

The alternative to work is Job Seekers' Allowance of £73.10
 or £57.90 a week if you are under 25 because under that age you don't count,
they want to keep you lean and mean and keen to get a 'mortgage'
but on that money you would need to go foraging in the bins behind Tesco because you couldn't afford
 a Steak & Shake or a Ben & Jerry's or a Frankie & Benny's or a TGI Fridays
or any other of these double act rip off merchants but
Jesus do you have to seek to avoid a sanction but unlike the Bible,
this Scripture from the Government states

 "Seek and Ye shall not find"
I was one of Thatcher's YOPS
I wish I had been a YOB
£25.00 a week in a brown envelope on a Friday
to say that you had earned £5.00 a day and five pounds then couldn't get you more than five pounds now.

I have been a cleaner, a bin man, a gardener, a youth worker and a teacher but now I am a carer!

A carer gets £62.10 a week but for that money I couldn't care less BUT at least you do not have to prove that you are caring.

This is free tax payers' money.

It allows the government and them to feel as if they do care in this helter skelter of acquisition and free market capitalism.

Sheesh, this shit wasn't working in the 1950s, what do you think the 1960s was all about?

 It stops me looking for non existent, soul destroying jobs.

Have you ever tried looking for work in the Aberystwyth area?

"That's Wales lurve, yes West Wales, the furthest you can go!"

Half a page in the Cambrian News, Dental Receptionist or Relief Milker or of course you could go and mix concrete.

Professional banger of heads against brick walls.

"At your age wuss, you've actually missed the boat, you moaning old goat."

"Get a job or I'll punch you in the throat"

"Pay your tax or you will get anthrax."

Careers Advisor said

"You could become a performance poet, a hobo from Hoboken?"

I might just take her up on it

unless I get called a philanthropist

in which case I will just have to give up because

once you have been labelled one of them

you've had it I'm afraid
because you have failed
in your role as a man
of being
hunter
gatherer
provider.

Tyre Totem

Tyre Totem 

The tide has gone out in Aberaeron again but this time it's staying out on strike.
Everyone will have to start riding a bike and I mean everyone.
Even Elizabeth and Phillip at their advanced age will need a trike and stabilisers.
Because despite scrappage schemes and incentives the diesel and petrol fumes from cars are destroying the fragile eco system of this planet.
Henry Ford saw a profit.
Doesn't matter what Volkswagen do from gassing monkeys to lying about ignition keys their reputation remains intact with those who need to get from A- B.
Where did this obsession with the auto mobile come from?
The Cave Man didn't use one to kill his Mammoth so why does modern man drive ones the size of the hairy beasts with tusks. From Qashqai to squashed guy.
Some of these monstrosities on the roads would not be out of place in a Mad Max Film or Post Brexit Britain!
I don't even know who the Minister for the Environment is.
In Red White and Blue, what does it mean to you?
Where is the Green?
Where is the Green?
Where is the Green?
So old tyres litter the quayside now because we've all gone back to the Penny Farthing and the Go Kart.
Tourists arrive in South Beach on foot because has it ever crossed your mind that everything is just too damned easy in the 'so called' developed world.
Roll up in your car to Aldi and Lidl and fill your boot with £100 worth of piddle.
I'm not lecturing, I'm hectoring.
I've had my moments, but am now a proponent of NOT buying New Cars just to keep someone in a job because there will be no jobs on a dead planet.

Taffi Triog

Taffi Triog

Treacle Toffee

Limbo land, purgatory, call it what you will.

 It is somewhere between Aberystwyth and Cardiff.

 Could be Rhayader or Llanymddyfri, depends what route you take.

 Maybe I should stay there instead of making for one of the compass points.

 East or West and on occasion North. 

For a Welsh Nationalist I am heartily sick of Wales.

 I know its roads and why's and wherefore's too well.

 "Ni allaf ddianc rhag hon" 

Well I'm not so sure, just leave, never to return because its never going to be how I want it to be with everybody speaking Welsh and full employment with interesting, stimulating jobs and those staggered throughout the day instead of everyone clogging up the roads at exactly the same time in the morning and the evening!

9-5 what a way to make a living?

 Well Kenny Rogers has died and this is just an Island in the Stream.

 Every one speaking Welsh you say?

With English being so easy and sexy and available? 

Those words like 'Drive Thru' and 'Toys R Us'.

 The text talk seducing us like sirens on the quayside at Cardigan. 

The English Language is a whore, a piece of meat for sharks to nibble from. 

Solidarity Sisters.

 The only change that might come democratically is the single transferable vote. 

Welsh Labours' domination of the political landscape since 1999, 

and before that, is akin to the Sicilian Mafia.

 There is more corruption in Cardiff Bay than in Palermo.

 Is he writing poetry or prose this time?

 Who cares? he's fucked off I can sense that. 

For a Welsh Nationalist, I am heartily sick of Wales, its sticky rock melting in the summer sun, its Castle Walls soothing the uncomfortable tourists' breast. 

Gwyl this or Gwyl that!

 Hwyl Fawr, goodbye to all the piss and pageantry of the Six Nations. 

The whining voices of pundits and commentators as if they were Gods

 but here in Wales they are. 

Bara, Bread & Circus butty!

 It's what I was weaned and suckled on.

 "Don't fight it wuss, give in to its sweet treacle"

 Taffi Triog! 

Wales is a piece of Taffi Triog full of Taffy diogs like me, all on benefits,

 waiting for the next hand out.

 

Bite too hard and you'll break your teeth 

and you won't be able to find a dentist on the NHS.

Siwgwr Brown ta Siwgwr Gwyn?

 Clefyd y Siwgwr.

Don't care, it's glazing in the spoon now and I will get the syringe to jack up my addiction. 

Sinking to the bottom of your Coffee Cup and sticking to the sides like a Westminster Power Grab because that is what we iz, a bit on the side, 

a bit on the left hand side of UK PLC.

 Taffi Triog yn toddi!

Three Men and a Concrete Mixer

Three Men and a Concrete Mixer

This should be a play but a poem shall have to suffice because I cannot be bothered and that was the collective look on the faces of the three men and the concrete mixer who I aspyed outside the shop that used to be a charity in Bath Street, Aber.
'Stryd y Baddon' a native might say. 
Hang on, maybe this should be a play put on by Arad Goch. 
The faces were priceless but bored. 
If chewing tobacco was still a thing then that is what one would be doing, the one looking longingly out to sea, shall we call him Mick!
He would rather be the Captain of a Tea Clipper or a Pirate in the West Indies than mixing concrete in Ceredigion amongst the Saturday afternoon shoppers.
I'm giving them all old fashioned names because waiting for a concrete mixer to finish is an ancient art that involves the incantation of seaweed and salt. 
Sid was the one in the middle and the one with his hand on the tiller.
He would be tipping in a short while with a supreme but laconic confidence.
Builders and labourers the world over knew Sid, for they were him.
They were the Boss, the man with the invoice and the gap in the front teeth.
Jimmy didn't want to be seen, he was more your moonlighting thespian.
His back arched, you could sense his longing for the concrete and its mixing to be over. 
The boys could have done the sand dance or the soft shoe shuffle while they were waiting. 
Gone busking perhaps as the thrifty three but they knew as soon as they clocked me that I would be writing about the photograph that I had just seen.
"There is no privacy to be had Sid, is there?"
" No Mick, these Playwright Poets are bleedin everywhere! It wouldn't be a bad thing if they took a turn on the concrete mixing instead of trying to fix our lives for us"
"At least we're earning and time and a half at that, unlike him who has probably had to apply for a grant"
"Yeah he's a wanker right enuff and he shouldn't really be raiding our intimacy like this. Worse than the tabloids that we read with a fever over tea."
fellas, fellas, I'm sorry but I am going to publish and be damned because your faces should be set in concrete, a kind of Mount Consti for 'labrwrs' instead of Presidents.

Casineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law

Casineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law

Wnaeth ddim byd stopio bachgen gyda chasineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law.

Iechyd Meddwl mai'r diawl Donald yn deud?

Sut mae iechyd meddwl yr Unol Daleithiau tybed?

Dim ond ni'r unigolyn sydd gydag iechyd meddwl nid y wlad na'r gymdeithas ehangach?

Dydyn ni ddim ond y canlyniad i gymdeithas ehangach ac os yw'r gymdeithas yna yn deud mae gynnon ni'r hawl i gario arfau does dim ots am y gwenwyn sydd wedi cael ei thywallt i mewn i'r twndis cyn hyn. 

'Nineteen' ganodd Paul Hardcastle am oedran y milwyr aeth allan i ymladd dros yr Unol Daleithiau yn Fietnam. Oedd hwn wrth gwrs yn rhyfel cyfiawn yn deillio o gymdeithas ag gweledigaeth iach?

Tybed beth rydym yn gweld bob tro mae rhywun yn lladd fel hyn ydy rhyw fath o 'Karma' yr oes newydd. 

Rhyw fath o 'payback' i ddefnyddio gair Hollywood am beth ddigwyddodd yn 'Wounded Knee'? 

Claddwch fy nghalon yn ben-glin clwyfedig.

Mi fydd na sawl claddedigaeth dros y dyddiau ac wythnosau nesaf ag mi fydd rheolau arfau ag iechyd meddwl yn cael ei thrafod trosodd a throsodd. 

Efallai beth sydd yn dod yn fwyfwy amlwg ers 9/11 ydy fod y wlad ag y cyfandir enfawr yma wedi cael ei felltithio, ddim gan gan (song) na chwedl y brodorion cynhenid ond gan ei weithgareddau ei hunan ers Datganiad Annibyniaeth nol yn 1776. 

Beth ddaeth y dyn gwyn gyda fe o gyfandir Ewrop?

Casineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law.

Bardd Cocos ta Bardd Talcen Slip?

Bardd Cocos ta Bardd Talcen Slip?

Fi ddim yn un o'r beirdd go iawn

Rhy’ clyfar, rhy grefftus, rhy fedrus

maent yn rhoi fy efforts yn y shade ond wyddoch chi fod sgrifennu Wenglish fel hyn ddim mor hawdd.

Mae cael y cyfuniad cywir o air Cymraeg ag un Saesneg yn rhethreg

Rhegi dwi eisiau gwneud bob tro wrth foddi da'n tomen o lo.

Dyna ein hanes ni yn y bôn.

Gwneud mor a mynydd o benderfyniad y ref.

Pryd ar ddaear galwyd ef yn TMO, gobeithio fod cynnwys ei ginio yn GMO.

Dwi ddim yn dilyn y bel hirgrwn bellach ar ôl sylwi ar ei phlu, after all gyda knighthood neu tri, dydyn nhw ddim yn cynrychioli fi!

Rydym mewn rhiw 'limbo land' hyll o fyd ar hyn o bryd.

Neb yn siŵr beth i wneud na dweud.

Dynion a Menywod yn really afraid o'i gilydd.

Dienyddio dyddiol ar y sianeli digidol

Ysbryd Beca yn cuddio dan sgertiau Gang y Llawes Goch.

Pobol yn dadlau dros dal am ddarllen y newyddion

Popeth yn fras a phobol yn gas.

Mae bywyd fel ras, un yr ydych yn siŵr o golli.

Does 'na ddim gair am "immortality" yn Gymraeg , byw am byth, byth yn marw
oh oes bollocks anfarwoldeb, diolch byth achos

Ti ddim yn gallu cael dau byth yn yr un frawddeg.

Mae hwnna yn gwneud o dri.

Rheolau, dydyn nhw ddim yn berthnasol i fi.

Ffeindio pwrpas mewn bywyd heb golli dy hun ydy'r unig beth all cwblhau'r llun.

Felli pop pickers yn eich barn chi,

Pleidleisiwch am

1) Bardd Cocos

neu

2) Bardd Talcen Slip

Populist Poet

Turn up every morning in flowing robes and spin a few odes for the gathering crowds.

Populist Poet

It turns out that I am a populist poet
not popular because nobody has ever heard of me,
but like these politicians apparently
they go after the largest block vote
It's about having the biggest following.
I could become a cult poet, yes with an L, no you're not going deaf.
The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, the Osho of Poets.
that would be good, I'd like that.
Turn up every morning in flowing robes and spin a few odes for the gathering crowds.
Go on chat shows and have my bottom licked by Piers Morgan
and maybe I could return the favour to somebody else's organ.
Get voted into the Welsh Assembly as the Leader of the Poetry Party
Hang on Tonto that didn't rhyme!
You're a populist all right, you're committing crime (in broad daylight)
What about all these poor poets who take their work seriously,
you know the ones who can actually write,
when they see me coming, they flee into the night.
I will charge by the word and claim strict metre on expenses.
I will flaunt my wealth
I will turn up to the Senedd in a Rolls Royce and on the CD I'd be playing Max Boyce.

I will turn up to the Senedd in a Rolls Royce and on the Cd I'd be playing Max Boyce.

I'd be wearing so much bling, the accountants they would sing,
give this cult (poet) with an L, the First Minister's Ring.
Carwyn with head bowed leaves for Bridgend a broken FM and instead of the usual suspects,
the Speaker offers me some biscuits and I'm up there giving it large.
After an afternoon's sail round the Bay in a barge I give out the orders to the others.
Dafydd El and his huge tongue is given lavatory duty.
Labour's Terracotta Soldiers are run ragged round Mermaid Quay.
UKIP are disappeared, concrete slippers and fish in the knickers.
This Populist Poet begins a riot.
The Homeless from the back of Debenhams are allowed to stay scot free,
they have the run of the Senedd and are made tea
by Tory assembly members who don't know whether they are coming or going under the FM with the skeleton head cane.
No British Royalty is allowed anywhere near.
Mrs Windsor I fear is not very dear.
Every AM is paid the average wage of Wales namely £19,000 and the £48,000 saved per member goes into teaching poetry.
The Poetry Programme will be broadcast every day out across the Bay.

The Poetry Programme will be broadcast every day out across the Bay.

North Korea will envy the totalitarian state run by PP.
This will be Poetry for the People by the People.
Unfortunately for this Populist Poet he began to believe, like Welsh Labour that he was untouchable and didn't realise that anti-bad poetry sentiment was spreading throughout the land.
So with the next election, Populist Poet was thrown out
but not before the erection of a golden statue, summat with a bit of bite,
a life like representation of flies around shite 💩
The Prose Party had won a landslide, it was time for short stories and novellas to be heard
but all was not lost for populist poet, he got a job penning odes in a Christmas Cracker Factory.
Before disappearing into anonymity
he turned to the press and gave them the bird
and announced in pidgin Wenglish "Fe Godwn Ni Eto"

On Ilkley Moor Bar Cat

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leeds-43045322

https://www.quora.com/Why-do-people-snap-fingers-rather-than-clap-at-poetry-slam

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?

"I'm now a Shoreditch 

Hipster Bar Cat baby

buzz off back to Batley daddyo"

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee?

I'm a Shoreditch 

Hipster Bar Cat baby

I'm a Shoreditch

Hipster Bar Cat baby

I'm now a Shoreditch Hipster Bar Cat Baby 

Tha's been a 'tomming' Mary Jane?

Now trendy boutiques and vintage shops are more my  thing

Tha's bahn' to catch thy deeath o' cowd

"Shoreditch is an arty area adjacent to the equally hip neighborhood of Hoxton. Young creatives and trendsetters fill the fashionable clubs and bars that surround Shoreditch High Street, Great Eastern Street and Old Street. An eclectic dining scene features everything from trendy chain restaurants and smart gastropubs to artisan coffee shops and noodle bars. Vintage and design shops are plentiful."

Then us'll ha' to bury thee

"Offering a unique Kung Fu kitsch setting, this bar/restaurant is known for its great cocktails and Dim Sum. Expect all of the classic Chinese cuisine, including wontons, spring rolls, tofu and prawns."

Then t'worms'll come an' eyt thee oop

"This bar features exposed brickwork and has a hip decor that is complemented by mismatched chairs. There is a food truck in the garden, while it also has a large selection of craft beers."

Then t'ducks'll come an' eyt up t'worms

"This large venue has a lot of graffiti-style artwork, giving it a very unique feel. It has a comprehensive snack menu, while there is also a gallery space where budding artists can showcase their creations."

Then us'll go an' eyt up t'ducks

"This Brazilian-inspired cocktail bar serves an array of beers and tapas-style food. At the weekends there is a live DJ who plays until late into the night."

Then us'll all ha' etten thee

"Taking you from day to night, Shoreditch High Street is lined with independent shops and an eclectic mix of restaurants, gritty bars and pubs."

That's wheear we get us ooan back

"Oh Christ of Cats take me back to Yorkshire and get me away from all this pretence" 🙀

The Hobo from Hoboken

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/dec/08/true-traveller-reader-wh-davies-nicholas-lezard

The Hobo from Hoboken

How many homeless sleeping under the stars?
How many drunks cursing the bars?
Got people going way back in Cambria Wisconsin and then Oshcosh, then last heard of in Fessenden, North Dakota.
That's a hell of a name ain't it, Sarasota?
One of my favourite books 
' The Autobiography of a Supertramp'
William H Davies of Newport riding the box cars and losing his leg, selling matches and writing poetry
"What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare"
Walking the lanes or rather hobbling! 
Staying in Doss Houses and Writing
Hobo short for Homeless Body? Dunno
Tramp, vagrant, bum, these guys were heroes to me and then some.
Taking the trails, vague memories of Wales, meeting the indigenous,
white man disingenuous. 
They provided the fire water to drown sensitivity.
Making native American's rootless, 
their plan was to bring others to Turtle Island to pick cotton.
From Tubman to tub thumper, 
"I have a dream" echoed down from Mount Rushmore leading to civil war.
Perhaps it's a good thing that we don't live very long,
you gotta find your own way,
write your own song.
The Buke and Davies the Duke described the hustling amidst the bustling.
Always just one step ahead of authority and conformity, slavering like hounds who wished to squash the spontaneity out of them like a beetle on a sun drenched sidewalk.
I doff my cap to the Hobos of Hoboken
I hope that my few words spoken will salute the spirit of the open,but not broken.

Anglo Welsh Verse

Anglo Welsh Verse

You're probably beginning to wonder by now if the Clown Bard of Bridgend is starting to lose his grip on reality (again)
You can't help noticing that he's penning some doggerel that should really be floating down the Seine because if I really did have some delusions of grandeur I'd be penning me poems in Paris and the Louevre
In a garret not in a turret of one of Edward I's Castles.
They start off bright and breezy but tail off rather sleazy.
"You're not hurting anybody that's true but you are making us rather blue churning out ode that should be forbode"
My aim is to find that Anglo Welsh verse which will make people reverse, park their cars and listen up to someone, previously considered perverse.
'A fo ben bid bont' say the words of the old chant.
'If you want to be a leader be a bridge'
that one's on a magnet on my fridge.
I'm one of those guys who is hoping not to be noticed in real life,
I don't want to end up with a trouble and strife who is with me because of my words.
It won't be my dress sense because I am really rather scruffy.
It won't be my bank balance but it could be my kindness because I'm still renowned as a soft touch.
Some people suspect I might be gay, but that really isn't for them to say.
They really shouldn't speculate as to over whom I ejaculate.
Physically and sexually with women but emotionally I relate to some men,
namely other bad poets and billy no mates.
I am not the strong and silent type.
They tend to kill themselves.
'Syrth y cryf ysgeulus, saif y gwan gofalus'
I think that I am more anxious and neurotic and withdraw from intimacy because of its simplicity.
Being with one person for the rest of your life is something that was a problem for Camus and his wife.
"If you want monogamy, marry a Swan" but I would imagine that those down at the Liberty would have something to say about this polyamory. 
I don't want another man's kids as my own although at my age the seeds are probably sown.
I could be Jaffa although it wont be shown because I practise my sex saffa.
I lost all my hair in 99, the chemotherapy was a symptom, not a sign.
Then to cap it all I lost my mind in 2005. What rhymes with that?
Oh yes Prison
I am a prisoner once again now because I am a carer although I can't see how shouting at the elderly out of frustration for £62.10 a week can be considered anything close to care,
but I am there because my conscience won't allow me to be elsewhere.
Who knew that this poem would end up autobiography but again it shows my homespun philosophy.
Tell em a little, give em a clue because anything I write has little value.
I'm not being modest or self effacing but if people rated it, they would be chasing, me with their cheque books and bank cards and demanding that I sign my books of so called poetry.
That is for another day because suffice to say
today is the North London Derby and Wales play England at Twickenham.