Eastbourne Pier

The pier

That has witnessed

Over the years

So many amazing sights

The sea front barricades

And the bombs

Falling relentlessly on the town
In 1941

The three pound two ounce plaice

That Ian caught

On that particularly low tide

In 1964

The grand wedding

Of Steph and Joe

The sea scattering sunshine

Like a diamond

In 2012

Advice

I was once given

This brilliant piece of advice

And decided to act upon it

Live each day

As if it were your last

So, I made a will.

And I sorted out my kitchen drawer.

I overdrew on my credit cards

To my limit

And gave all my money

To a children’s charity

I ate four very large

Chocolate and cream cakes

And drank a whole bottle

Of booze

I phoned BT

and told them what I really think

about their service

I sprayed orange paint

On the windscreen of the car

That always takes up two spaces

So that I’ve never room to park

Then I changed all the clocks in the house

To different times

And, feeling pleased with myself,

Settled down for a snooze

Country Show

A large beetle

Scuttles across the wooden floor

As Stompin’ Tom Connors

Takes to the stage

I’m not expecting

A happy ending

My Very Best Poem

This is my very best poem

Of all of my poems it’s the best

Ask anyone who knows of my work

It’s rock and boulders above the rest

Its rhythm moves slowly – like a river

Not showy, like a quick clever stream

Its metaphor glides

Like a swan on the tide

(Well, not a tide… but you know what I mean.)

Its rhymes are subtle, internal

Using assonance, half-rhyme and stuff

It’s a ripe, stripy apricot, its palate is delicate

But its meaning is Teflon and tough

At first sight this poem is simple

Like a long road that hasn’t a bend

But the story it tells soon begins ringing bells

Of heartbroken lives on the mend

Take Simon and Claire, for example

And their hopeless and doomed love affair

For he fooled around in his lair, underground

And she was a Chippendale chair

And yes, this poem is nonsense

But – and this is the crucial bit –

At its heart there is… um… heart, and at its feet there’s a beat

And, as poems go, well, it is my best

No Ordinary Person

And should you see her

Walking up the road

Braced against the cold sea breeze

In her sensible black coat and scarf of pink

And her hat with ear flaps

You might not think that she was special

And she might nod, or smile

And that shaft of sunlight

Striking the shingle, like a jewel

Could be coincidence

And should you meet her in the library

You might not spare a second glance

But you might share an idle conversation

That turns to bookish things

And you might just begin to understand

The well of her well of knowledge

And should you mention, maybe on the bus

Or on Polling day, the plight of the poor,

The disadvantaged, the sick, the greed of the rich

You might be touched by her rage

And passion for justice

And should you see her with her family

You would wish for such a loving person

In your family too

And should you marry her

Why, you would simply think yourself

The luckiest man alive

I Am Your Christmas Present

And I hope that all your Christmas wishes will come true.

I am your Christmas present and I’m coming home to you.

I am the Christmas present for your loved ones far away

I am the fall of snow that arrives on Christmas day

I am the socks, the box of chocs, the tie you give to Dad

I am the Christmas joke that cheers you up if you feel sad

I am the chestnuts roasting around an open fire

I am the DVD Super-deluxe edition of The Wire

I am Mr Tesco keeping Christmas dreams alive

I am the grocer on the High Street hoping that he can survive

You may say I’m mass consumerism, but I’m only having fun

I am the future because IT’S ONLY JUST BEGUN

I am ten thousand Kindle books travelling by post

I’m the letter up the chimney, the X-box you want the most

I’m expensive silver wrapping paper covered in gold stars

I’m the CO2 emissions from six hundred million cars

Right now I am a turkey, but soon I will be meat

I am a child in the slums, I am a beggar in the street
I’m your credit card, the debt you know you cannot pay

I’m a baby in a manger and I just won’t go away

I’m the Minister for War learning someone else’s lines

I’m the money spent on missiles, spent on guns and spent on mines

I am the bullet heading for a young man’s head

I’m a message to his mother. I’m afraid your son is dead.

And I hope that all your Christmas wishes will come true.

I am your Christmas present and I’m coming home to you.

Christmas Visitor

Guess who’s coming on Christmas Eve?

His beard is snowy white.

We’ve got to get the house all ready.

It will be a pretty sight.

He’s my very favourite person

It was a shame he robbed a bank

But now he’s out of prison

It’s my favourite Uncle Frank