At least we still have Jeremy Kyle.

Secrets.

I wrote a poem to say on the radio today, but I decided to do others instead. This is it though, hope you like it!

She was a woman on a mission,
A career-driven, power hungry gorgon,
1st class honours, Classics Degree,
Doing everything possible to achieve celebrity,
She
Couldn’t wait to thrust herself into the world,
And sink her fangs into some innocent assistant,
Paralyze an intern or enchant some heroic champion
With her calves of bronze, golden skin
And that divine rear,
She was a near-goddess,
And success was just a cigarette paper away.

Yet,
Everywhere she went,
Every agency she applied to,
Every tv station, every corporation
Repeated the same line.
They would stare at her feet, avoid her eyes
And tell her she could never be one of their elite,
Because she was no Trisha,
Nowhere near the calibre of Jeremy Kyle,
And certainly not talented enough to even think about Piers Morgan,
The fact was, she was perfect for any reality or chat show,
Except
She had
A face
For Radio.

Medusa was mortified.
She needed to tame her serpent hair,
To warm her cold demeanour, to calm her petrifying stare
If she were to achieve her goals.
But the nature of her features was set deep within her soul.
So this ambitious young woman
Took the advice of those who hadn’t dared to meet her glare,
And became the best damn radio hostess on air.

Men melted at the sound of her voice caressing the airwaves,
The nation besotted, young knaves across the land,
Sought the beauty behind the microphone
In the hope that they may take her hand
Or at least get a quick bone in a club toilet.

Critics likened her to Banksy, Quasimodo, Katie Price,
Always trying to hide her face.
Elusive, slippery, always escaping any chase,
She was an enigma.
And when finally they caught her features on camera,
And the whole world looked deep into the emerald lakes that filled her sockets,
Hearts stopped, lungs froze and skin turned to granite.
Curiosity killed the cat, and half the population,
Because of the media’s fixation on the creation of fame.
Medusa, distraught, she wept,
Because she had a face for radio, some secrets are best kept.

A History of Alchemy

A poem written on the theme ‘Avarice’ as part of Southampton University Poetry Society’s 7 Deadly Sins series:

A History of Alchemy

He was it.
And they couldn’t believe it.
These men of science,
Men of great power
And giants amongst their peers
Had spent years trying to perfect the art
Of turning the worthless
Into the one thing that their heart desired,
Into something that would mean their lives had been worthwhile.
But somehow, this man who consorted with gods
Had become it.
A living philosopher’s stone.
A man with a power immortal,
The ability to change chair to throne
Hat into halo, OAP to golden oldie.
His people became transfixed,
Now less a King, more a pied piper
Followed wherever he went by a hoard of magpies,
Crowing his praises
And adoring his every creation.
With a nation malleable in his hands,
He shone, majestic,
Hailed as a visionary,
‘the new Prometheus’ the scavengers roared.
But their king, had little of the foresight
That kept Prometheus from Pandora’s hex
And after wandering in fields of gold,
The golden gift became an affliction
As greed turned to frustration
And frustration to death
And for his avarice,
He suffered for years
and ended up just a worthless old man
with donkey’s ears.

Newspaper Blackout 2: A Royal Wedding Gift…

What a nice thought though haha.

Newspaper Blackout 2: A Royal Wedding Gift…

What a nice thought though haha.

First attempt at Newspaper Blackout. My thoughts right now:

Poetry is a total bitch.

Ben x

First attempt at Newspaper Blackout. My thoughts right now:

Poetry is a total bitch.

Ben x

NapoWriMo - 9

Penned quickly, an ode to my dog :)

Ruby

My dog is a poet.
The way she rhymes woof with bow-wow
Just amazes me.
My dog is a musician.
It may be atonal
But it’s loud and exciting.
My dog is a model.
She’s skinny and doesn’t wear much
But she won’t be seen on a catwalk.
My dog is an actress.
Her impression of a dead dog is second to none
And she has the most amazing puppy eyes.
My dog is an athlete.
One hundred metre specialist,
But bring a towel if you want to play cricket.
My dog is Indiana Jones.
Sometimes deals in sticks and rolling stones,
But mainly in bones.
My dog is an artist.
Painting masterpieces in mud
On a cream carpet canvas.
My dog is anything she wants to be.
But above all, she’s my sidekick
And the best friend I’ll ever have.

Ben x

NapoWriMo - 8

Bit of a shorter one today, and a theme which I might try extending soon but here it is… Can’t think of a title right now and there may be a few more jokes I can get out of it but I think short and sweet is nice…


Gary Glitter is out swimming again.
They say he just got back from Venice,
And has been a public menace
At all outdoor swimming facilities since.
He’s been doing the breast stroke a lot apparently
And generally enjoying himself.
Nobody likes a lidophile.

Ben x

NapoWriMo - 7

Cheating a little bit today, but this is a slight reworking of a poem I did in Rye in about 30 minutes. We were given a series of questions from everyone else in the group and asked to write a poem using those questions. Of the 6 I think I was the least adventurous as I sort of reverted to type, but I did write an angry poem about current affairs (sort of), about a recent event, one with hardly any punctuation and no exclamations, one with a relevant title, no animals, memories, dialogue and a sort of moral. Enjoy.

A Currant Rant

Bought Ribena yesterday and
felt like I’d been graped because
it’s those bloody blackcurrants again coming over here and
putting our precious whitecurrants out of a job
and I felt insultana-d that I have to pay so much to help them
because they’re immiplants and I’m not a raisinist
I’m barley even opipionated
but there’s a fine vine between being a citrusizen of this countree
and being a berryfit cheat
as well as stealing my money through increased juice prices
and to be honest I won’t be buying Ribena anymore
especially seeing as my violentil stone of voice
got me banned from the shop.

Don’t even get me started on wine.


Ben x

NaPoWriMo - 6

Ok, so inspired by Mr O Dangamouse yesterday evening, this is number 6 for you all! Enjoy…


I was plagued this morning.
Other than the boil-like spots and the dying of livestock
That accompanies my advancing teenage years,
It shocked me when my water turned to blood.

Pre-shower formalities, I clocked a stream of red,
And having just risen from my bed I wasn’t too aware
Of the implications of the flow which was coming from my inner plumbing,
And so continued to go about my morning ritual,
Trying my best to keep it in the bowl
And not on the rim or the floor either side,
As I am not generally famed for my aim
And being tired never helps my cause.

The trickle from my shower
Did little for me,
And following thoughts of Pharaohs
And after concluding that they probably preferred The Bangles to Desmond Dekker,
I turned my attention to the lack of power,
Wondering whether I could install a series of hoses to improve the flood
When HOLY MOSES!!
I PISSED BLOOD!
I’ve been urinating away my vital fluid,
Swiftly creating a new red sea, from my currently claret coloured wee.
I don’t want any infection or STD,
So maybe if shut my eyes and pray I’m not sick
And that it’s just my body playing some bizarre trick
because I’m slightly hungover and that’s the most logical explanation.

But no, the can tells a different story,
and this is too small a thing to just Passover.
I need to see a doctor because I just can’t fall ill,
And I don’t particularly want my parents to have to mourn
The demise and death of their firstborn.
I slaved and I slaved
And eventually got a GP appointment for tomorrow,
To prevent my cruel exodus and trip to an early grave.
And brought myself to accept the fact
That at some point every man, every woman, boy and girl,
Eventually everybody has to die
But slowly as I thought a little harder I came to realise
That things often aren’t as bad as you think they might be,
Especially when you ate beetroot for the previous night’s tea.

Ben x