goalkeeper

The goalkeeper stands tall between goal posts that
some times seem far away, but he is the hero
the man they have to get past to score.
I was once a goalkeeper, they put me there mainly
because no one else wanted the job.
I will show them alone I decide whether to jump
left or right, today I will be successful, nimble and
elastic, stoic in the face of the horde.
The goalkeeper stands tall, yet feels small goalposts
are too far apart it is beginning to rain, and he wants
to go home,

The goalkeeper has to be pretty tall
in order to capture and save the ball
He is bigger than the post
well in fact he is taller than most
which is no exaggeration at all.

Let me tell you what society will tell you:
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let me tell you something your parents will tell you:
Make me proud,
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Your life will be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let's look at the statistics,
Steve Jobs - net worth seven billion R.I.P,
Richard Branson - net worth four point two billion,
Oprah Winfrey - two point seven billion,
Mark Zuckerberg, Henry Ford, Steven Spielberg, Bill Gates
Now here comes the Coup de grâce,
Looking at these individuals, what's your conclusion?
Neither of them in being successful,
Ever graduated from a higher learning institution.

Now some of you may be like,
Money is only the medium by which we measure worldly success,
And some of you even have the nerve to say
"I don't do it for the money."
So what you studying for?
To work for a charity?
Need more clarity?

Let's look at the statistics:
Jesus,
Muhammed,
Socrates,
Malcolm X,
Mother Teresa,
Spielberg,
Shakespeare,
Beethoven,
Jesse Owens,
Muhammad Ali,
Sean Carter,
Michael Jeffrey Jordan,
Michael Joseph Jackson.
Were either of these people unsuccessful... or... uneducated?

All I'm saying is that,
If there was a family tree hard work and education would be related,
But school would probably be a distant cousin,
Because if education is the key,
School is the lock,
Because it rarely ever develops your mind to the point where it can perceive red as green and continue to go when someone else said stop.
Because as long as you follow the rules and pass exams your cool,
But are you aware that examiners have a checklist,
And if your answer is something outside the box then the automatic response is a cross,
And then they claim that school expands your horizons and your visions,
Well tell that to Malcolm X who dropped out of school and is world renowned for what he learn in a prison.

Proverbs 17:16
It does a fool no good to spend money on an education,
Why?
Because he has no common sense.
George Bush. Need I say more?
Education is about inspiring one's mind,
Not just filling their head,
And take this from me because I'm an 'Educated' man myself,
Who only came to this realization after countless nights in the library,
With a can of red bull keeping me awake till morning,
Another can in the morning,
Falling asleep between piles of books that probably equates to the same amount I spent on my rent,
Memorize equations, facts and dates,
Write down to the letter,
Half of which I would never remember,
And half of which I would forget straight after the exam,
Before the start of the next semester,
Asking anyone if they had notes for the last lecture.
I often found myself running to class,
Just so I could find a spot on which I could rest my head and just sleep without making a scene,
Ironic because that's the only time I ever spent in university chasing my dreams.
And then after nights with a dead-mind,
I'd den find myself in a queue of half-awake students, zombies,
Waiting to hand in an assignment,
Maybe that's why they call it a deadline.
And then after three years of mental suppression,
And frustration,
My "Proud Mother" didn't even turn up to my graduation.

Now, I'm not saying that school is evil and there's nothing to gain,
All I'm saying is: understand your morals and re-assess your aims,
If you want a job working for someone else then help yourself,
But then that would be a contradiction because you wouldn't really be helping yourself,
You'd be helping somebody else,
There's a saying that is: if you don't build your dreams, someone else will hire you to help build theirs.

Redefine how you view education,
Understand it's true meaning,
Education is not just about regurgitating facts from a book,
Or someone else's opinion on a subject to pass an exam,
Look at it.
Picasso was educated at creating art,
Shakespeare was educated in the art of all that was written,
Colonel Harland Sanders was educated in the art of creating Ken Tucky Fried Chicken.

I once saw David Beckham take a free kick,
I watched as the side of his Adidas-sponsored boot hit the patent leather of the ball at an angle,
Which caused it to travel towards the skies as though it was destined for the heavens,
And then as it reached the peek of it's momentum,
As though it changed it's mind,
It switched directions.
I watched as the goalkeeper froze,
As though reciting to himself the laws of physics,
And as though his brain was negotiating with his eyes,
That was indeed witnessing the spectacle that was the leather swan that was swooping towards it,
And then reacted,
Though only a fraction of a millisecond too late,
And before the net of the goal,
Embraced the Fifa-Sponsored ball as though it was the prodigal son returning home,
And the country, that I live in, Erupted into cheers,
I looked at the play and thought,
****,
Looking at David Beckham,
There's more than one way in this world to be,

An educated man.

Peace.

i


roger the goalkeeper
me and jennifer
strange triangle
we were..

we would get her stripped
to the vest..
and he run off and
play football..

******* had a dimple..
but i never gave her
a packet of crisps ..
my heart in bits..

ii

lily just dashed in
spread her sweet loving
made some delicate sign
drowned and was reborn
screamed the place down..
she says she forgot the thing
what was it ah..the wine..

All of the moves on a
chessboard of which
the permutations are
infinite, have been
witnessed at Camp-
Nou by the G.O.A.T.

Upon hillside tracks
and mountain passes
where herds pasture
on unsure footings at
cliffs edge in all types
of weather is the Goat.

Think of a goalkeeper
waiting for an indirect
free out of vision from
behind a wall of players,
imagine the thoughts-----
between predator & prey.


          ................
         |˚             |
         |              |


Tribute to Lionel Messi
Barcelona on his 7th Balon D'or.

we play with a retired professional but
none of the other kids mind—
his alcoholism has gotten the better of his muscle
memory and god doesn’t he look bad

the ball is an old piece of garbage made from
a kind of industry plastic
half-flayed alive by loving kicks
that expose the moldy gray rubber inner-
sphere like some soft eyeball

and, behind one of the goals, the
boy who plays goalkeeper only on Wednesdays
lounges like a pimply Greek sculpture—
unable to move as an epileptic fit lazily
puppeteers his body while the players pass the ball into his gut
and I step aside, too—
my stomach aches so badly for the crispy joy
of cold cereal I can’t play—

some days are like that—shed of their seriousness
because it’s more fun to play without a defense
even though we’re always losing **** it I just scored
a goal!

Johnny Warren after life all-stars v the Saturn stringers




Johnny warren got together an after life soccer team with players like Don Bradman, as well as 2Pac, and even Christopher Reeve, also Elvis Presley, and Paul Berenyi, and Brett Eggins, we're all fired up to give Saturn a total soccer makeover, Johnny Warren alan picked Scott McDonald as well as Billy Thorpe and Tony Campbell and Saturn was a team who had some very good names as well, who are John FKennedy, Robert Kennedy as well as Martin Luther King, Walter Burley Griffin who has lived on Saturn since 1980, earth time, and never wanting to go , because Saturn has really nice homes where he can be a good athlete, also Jack Dyer and Tony Grieg and Chris Mainwaring made up the numbers.
So the game started and Johnny Warren started the play, passing it to Christopher Reeve, who is trying to bring Superman in with a really beautiful kick up the centre which is blocked by Martin Luther king, who passes it to burley Griffin who stops to look down on earth, to hear what a stupid professor is trying to say he'd like, and used his powers with a kick which made the goal, to put Saturn in the lead 1-0, the kick off came and Johnny Warren gave a big kick up which was intercepted by Jack Dyer, who dribbled it up the field, trying to stop the interception, by the other players, and then after that he passed it to Martin Luther king, who began to dribble it down a few more times, and nearly got a goal, but he missed,and the ball was intercepted by 2Pac, who ran right to the other side and kicked it in the goal, and it was counted, and that made the score 1-1, and 2Pac very happy and went to the crowd, and said, me and Johnny W, go back a long way, in afterlife sports.
The kick off happened as Martin Luther king kicked the ball over to John F Kennedy, who dribbled it further down the field, and dodged so many of Johnny Warren all star players, and finally passed it and the Johnny Warren Allstars intercepted it and John F Kennedy tried to block 2Pac the whole way, and he did and then John F Kennedy passed it to brother Robert and Robert ran down to the other side, dribbling the ball as he goes, but Billy Thorpe, intercepted it and ran down to the other side, with the ball and passed the ball to Johnny Warren who missed from right in front, and suddenly Walter Burley Griffin got the ball and dribbled it down to the other end, and yes, he kicked but it was saved very nicely by the Johnny Warren All stars goalkeeper, yes, this game was looking very good, you see these are only 1 half games,,because Johnny Warren wanted it that way, as Paul Berenyi ran it to the half way line and passed it to Brett Eggins who ran it down and as soon as he got to the goal line, he passed it to Johnny Warren who snuck it in to 2Pac who scored the Johnny Warren all stars second, and that made the score 2-1, with 2 minutes to go in the match, and the reason why there is no half time, because the players are the undead, and they don't need to break cause they can no longer be killed,
And Martin Luther king ran it down and flicked it across to John F Kennedy who passed it to Johnny Warren who was so excited he booted the ball all the way to the other side, and 2Pac knocked it in, to make the score 3-1, yes and this was really exciting for Johnny Warren and then Margaret Thatcher came into the field and Paul Berenyi booted the ball so hard, It hit Margaret thatcher right in the noggin,,and despite trying very hard to hurt her, she can't be hurt, but people can try to hurt her if they want to, and then Margaret Thatcher, left, saying I want that Paul Berenyi in Mercury, and then Martin Luther King scores a goal and at the end of the match, the score was, 3-2 to Johnny Warren all stars, and Johnny Warren sat down and had a talk with Paul Berenyi, and Paul said it's the after life coach, she can't be hurt, but Johnny, said I know, but we need to be nice to one another, or you Paul Berenyi will be locked in Mercury for all eternity, and Paul said he'll behave, and was let off with a warning.

The game is played on a pitch,
or a field if you will.
With eleven players to each side;
some with extra special skill.
There is kicking and passing,
and sliding and tackling.
Three officials call the game
and some players tryout acting.
Shots saved by the goalkeeper
or blocked by a defender.
A corner kick sails in;
leading to a game winning header.
The crowd, so excited,
they shout out and chant.
Losing is a myth,
we know our club can't
A glory some know as soccer;
it's football around the globe.
Who will win the world cup,
and head home with the precious gold?

one reason why you're not read with a volume you
expected, jedi-know-how, you'll be easily plagiarised.*

when i first came to england i fell in love
with manchester united...
the 4 - 4 - 2 line-up

peter schmeichel (dane goalkeeper),
then ooh aah cantona (eric cantona baseball  cap),
original wembley white towers...
(white towers, charity shield
newcastle united)
so meh for the arch....
irwin... steve bruce... lee sharpe...
gary pallister... (7) eric cantona.... george best....
mcclair, ryan giggs,
cotton tomilisom, then roy keane...
then davies cole ****...
the neville brothers...
scholes and david beckham...
**** stuck to azkazam fudge, it's still perfectly refrigerated
in kazakhstan:

steve mcmanaman will tell you;
it's a random barricade question worth a shot
in the rubric of a sudden challenge.

Mr McParland;
our Primary 4 teacher lived in Newry,
Northern Ireland.
Not a City in those days,
but a dangerous border town.
He had wiry hair like a blonde Afro.

Pat Jennings;
world class goalkeeper for his country,
was also born in Newry.
Our man claimed to know him,
and went to school with the green giant.
We believed without reproach.

Yours truly;
age 6 & 7, in the years of the Hunger Strikes,
born in Belfast.
I was enthralled because Pat was of another
world to kids reared in our divided times.
A symbol of hope on an island of doubt.

There were eight or ten of them little boys, it was difficult to count them, for they kept swinging madly on their roller skates on the court hardly the size of a basketball court, sweeping along in a bunch after the ball with their sticks poised and stretching out tense for the strike, dispersing and twisting in wild patterns and then going after the ball yet again, straining forward for speed, navigating smoothly, dangerously, sticks clacking, shoulders pushing, shooting off the course and with maneuvers of the feet and the knees and the hips and the flailing hands recovering balance, laughing, and now from all corners converging on the far goal post to attack and defend, the goalkeeper strung bristling as a cat confronting an attacking pack, and as the whole court touched a beat to the imploding moment, there was this lady shouting from the sidelines, shoot, Rahul, shoot, shoot!

Imagine the worst soccer team in the world.
Now go deeper
and try to picture every single player.

I bet you think they're all ******, talentless ******, right?

WROOONG!

They are the most talented and witty players
on the crippled face of this earth,
each of them with 2 or 3 MVP titles in their pocket.

They are so good as individuals
that make a terrible team.

and, on top of that,
you get to be the goalkeeper.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWGE9Gi0bB0

you need not be looking / looked upon so aloft with the music, of course it's dramatic settling the heart to a frenzy - less happily endorsed feet dancing, alt. Jews in Europe rather than Muslims in a similar state of geographic - they call all appreciators of classical music fascists these days, it doesn't matter.... what matters is that the heart once danced, and the feet were wheelchair bound - but now the heart is wheelchair bound, crippled... and the feet dance, indeed, a dance of fiddled thumbs of a confused coliseum spectacle awaiting Caesar's nod.

~48 hours away from seeing *Nabucco
at the Royal Opera House;
i better get drunk before the opera,
so that i might cry at
the chorus of the Hebrew slaves -
gold-digger of tears at my christening;
that old hummingbird;
take a Scotch pouch of whiskey into
the toilet for a one-two impromptu
and a nutmeg past the goalkeeper -
whatever high European culture professes,
the countryside alliance will always
make peasants of us all.

Solid leather ball
heavy when wet
muddy pitches
unlke today's perfect grass
I played goalkeeper
got knocked out a few times
when charged
Not allowed now
Considered barbaric

It's been a long, long time
Since I went to school
Therefore, my memory of those days
Is hazier than a cloud of fog
However, whatever I do remember
I remember vividly, as though it were only yesterday

Such as, committing the biggest faux pas of my school years
When I was in the fourth standard
By wearing a t-shirt and jeans one fine day
While everyone else was dressed in uniform

Disturbing the whole class by talking about cricket
And thus getting a nice scolding from the principal
When I was in the fifth standard
Crying in front of the whole class
Later during the same year
Exam tension getting the better of me

Enacting the role of a princess in a cartoon show
While on the way home
During the seventh standard

Failing in quite a few subjects
At the beginning of the eighth standard
After switching from CBSE to ICSE
Being forced into a trekking adventure
Thanks to the annual cross-country races

Scoring an own goal as a goalkeeper
During the ninth standard
Failing in a record number of subjects
During the same year
Thanks to my obsession with cricket

And last but not the least
Making amends for my past failures
By clearing the tenth boards with flying colours

I can go on and on
But I think that's quite enough for today

My first memory of him is when he was playing football, and I got hit by the ball. I got a severe injury on my forehead. He felt guilty and came to apologise. I said nothing.
Later that day, he sent me a request on facebook. I accepted it and threw cutting words upon him, called him a loser and what not.
I said 'Boys are monsters.' He used to think that girls are two faced *******. He told me this and I cried, I don't really know why.
We both used to make fun of each other, but I never unfriended him.

Once I told him that I am ill and he said, he doesn't care. I cried, I don't really know why.

As days passed, he started annoying me more.
One day I was walking with my little sister in the park and he was practising for his football tournament. Suddenly a wild cat came and started chasing me. I was screaming and asking for help, but he kept playing. I was saved by a guy that was not him and I cried, I don't really know why.

Came December, it was my 18th birthday. My friends threw a surprise party for me. My parents gave me a lot of presents. He didn't wish me a happy birthday. I cried, even though I don't know why.
He became friends with one of my classmates. She told this to me. When I got back home, I cried. I don't really know why.
A year passed on. It was now time for him to leave for Manchester for his training to become a goalkeeper. I pretended that I am very happy over the fact that he is leaving. I went to the airport with my friends. I kept talking to him. When it was finally time for him to fly, we agreed to go our separate ways. We both cried, we both know why!
Those tears we shed, spoke volumes.
He finally went. His training was 2.5 years long. We used to talk everyday, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for hours. Life was good and weird at the same time. I waited patiently for him to come back, though, my heart yearned to meet him.
Finally, his training got completed. I thought, that's it. I thought, my wait is over, but how untrue it was. 3 weeks passed, and it seemed as if he doesn't have a plan to come back. A part of me died everyday waiting for him. Whenever I used to ask him when is he coming back, he always responded with 'soon'. Soon seemed like forever. I got furious, and asked him 'Would you come back when I wouldn't be there any longer?' After that I threw away my phone. It broke into pieces, but I didn't feel sorry for it, because my heart was in a much more miserable condition.
He flew to Pakistan the very next day and came to my place as soon as he landed.
I had locked myself in my room. Someone knocked, and I said 'I am alive, that's all you need to know. Now leave me alone'. I didn't know it was him. He said, should I go back then?
That voice. That voice was very familiar. I couldn't believe it was him. For five minutes, I stood still. I didn't open the door because I feared it might not be true.
Finally, I came out. Lucky stars, that was not a dream. He came back. He came back for me, for us. I was so happy that I cried.

Then I told him how my life turned upside down after he left. I used to look myself in the mirror, but didn't recognise the face staring back at me. My laugh used to fill an entire room, but then I drained my energy to act like I am amused. Those three years I spent without him were terrible.
He said, we'll live together forever and forever is a lot bigger than three years. I looked at him and asked 'forever?'. He said, 'forever'.
We both cried, we both know why!

Today we got a phone call from our 7 year old son Ayyan's school, and they told us that he hit a girl with a football.
We both laughed, we both know why! :p

Life
I, a constant wave
Am a hearth

Love
Stars encircling us clearly
Beautiful
I struggle to see things
As they really are

Child
Hands from all sides
Offer me eyes
I learn my own

People
Elemental wholes
A fractional tug
So I clutch the strings
They’re like trees

Freedom
Beyond here
Goalkeeper isn’t in sight
But they might be
Soon

Living*
Breaths, waves

THE DON'S MIND.

Play with words like an toy,
Shoot with words like gun,
Stabbe with words like knife,
Rise like sun in the morning,
Bright like a moon at night,
Be your own light,
Stay focus like an soldier,
Be strong like waves,
Bounce your words like basketball,
Hit your words like a tennis,
Kick you words like ,
Keep your words like goalkeeper,
Never lose shape of your word,
Stay strong with your work

THE DON

The football dream

Jesus, the famous trainer for Benefica
football club came to me in a dream
said: I didn't stop drinking beer he
Would not endorse me to be the club's
next goalkeeper.
After a week not drinking sitting on
my training bike in my den, Jesus
Appeared again: said I was too old
for a goalkeeper, thought to play
in the midfield would suit me better.

Kicked Around

The football game was over the players had gone
to the changing rooms, the winning side talked eagerly
repeating themselves endlessly while the losing side
was subdued silently blaming the goalkeeper.
The football itself the one they all chased was left on
the field and it was raining, it had been kicked so much
it was rather breathless and now it was getting cold,
it bitterly thought I'm round without me they couldn't
play proper soccer but would have to use a rugby ball.
The lonely ball hoped a boy would come pick it up and
take it home to his room; his mother would shout telling
him to clean it he promised to do so but didn't.
The boy must be a studious type enjoys doing homework
and the ball is tired of the sporting life.

Soccer:
With every pant the clouds coming out of his mouth continue to get bigger and bigger,by each breath the determination he has as he runs up to smash that ball letting all of his anger and worries out just to see the goalkeeper dive with worryness as he sees the ball glide into the back of the net you hear the crisp sound of the net make contact with the ball and in the back families jump up and down with pride, cheering and screaming #18 #18 as he runs up to celebrate with his team thoughts run through his mind looking towards the sidelines he sees scouts impressed with his performance,writing his name down to be drafted with a deep breath of relief all the hard work has been paid off that his dreams can and will become true that he has finally made it his mom happily screaming wont have to wake up at 5 am to work and come home to make dinner everyday now because # 18 has finally made it life is hard but with dedication and motivation anything can become possible

Let me tell you now, I’ve never picked up a bass guitar in my life
the guy stood stage side, cool as hell, his looks as sharp as a knife
surveying the crowd, picking the best, which girl is coming back to his room
town to town, gig to gig, thanks for the ride, I won’t be back anytime soon

An aura of disdain, a secret never to be told under that cowboy hat of his
reeling through the catalogue, hit after hit, hiding has no place in showbiz
A breed to contend, so lets never offend that man who has a different point of view
we could all have been a plumber or a copper, but the line-up for this role is a very short queue

Comparisons are strange and never the same, from deep sea diver to football goalkeeper
hey, a job’s a job no matter what you do, even home brewer to a honey making beekeeper
So what if you’re an oddball, the world needs its variety
from 6 strings to 4, its hardly a chore, he gave up on the piano and its keys
because that’s the way it is and the life I now live
simple, sometimes exuberant but always content,

That’s it,

Bass player me

JJB

Barcelona played chess
with a ball, created an
optical illusion for the
fans, mesmerised the
camera's not to mention
Sevilla's goalkeeper who
was looking for the bean
under a shell, but, Messi
checkmated Monarchally.

it was only supposed to have lasted
from the 22nd March till tomorrow,
the 19th of April...
               but looking at it,
I'll be spending an extra month in
this once, formerly, town with
a bright future, communist red,
where, once upon a time,
buildings that could house:
   2 x 10 x 4 = 80 families sprouted
out of thin air,
like steroid mushrooms after
the first rains of autumn...
              and the local team played
in the ekstraklasa...
    and this that and the other...
now... civitas emeritus...
town of pensioners and
niedobitków... the rest of rats
jumped ship...
          once around 17,000+
men employed in the steel works...
now? plenty of greenery,
the odd alcoholic teaching tango
and enough empty space and timeless
vacancy to fill up...
the ongoing retirement of 20 odd years
of my grandfather... 2ho's brain
is slowly being eaten away...
by, as he says, in the pospolity zór...
leń... no killer proteins just yet,
but something tells me being the last
person standing among your
friends, nuanced friends and
all the formality of acquiantences
can do the head in.
   small town, small business,
I don't even know if I can be bothered
to hit the road and head up to
Marienburg...
       honestly pains me, but I wish
a ******* termite would climb into
Sienkiewicz's krzyżacy...
the book is killing me...
   and even if I did make it to Marienburg,
i'd come back and still find
the grueling grill and the żelazna
                     dziewica about
to poke my eyes out...
   classic, yes, pillar of
literary national pride, probably,
necessary export? in film alone...
    plus
   - I heard termites find paper like
some sort of Oriental delicacy equivalent
to man and the world and his
whorrish-glam Harrod's oysters...
   only Arabs and Harrod's and that
**** pile of glitter is like puke on canvas
by *******... a question of conneisours,
or car boot sale enthusiasts of Essex County.
- just one more month,
far far away, from the dirge of London,
and the subsequent outer suburban
    labyrinth of weeding out middles and clues
and classes in counting hairs on
the heads of brooms, contra: violin bows...
and never to my liking the spectacle
of spring on that ****** island...
cherry blossom so rare,
unlike that street in Bonn,
                               Spring on the continent
in general, not to mention the eyes
becoming more and more used
to the monochrome homogeneity...
with me, as the sole importer,
the sole Marco Polo who came from
a vicinity of the East End Caravan
with 'indu spices, and cooked the old
farts curry...
                           plus the intresting news
regarding an organisation, O.N.R.
                                  i never thought they might
exist, good to know that there are
exteme, fringe groups out there,
worthy contenders with the mainstream
mullets...
                      and yes, Marienburg
will definitely continue to look better on
a postcard than in real life...
                                 a walk in fresh air,
a beer and sandwich an I'm off to the land
of Nod... dreaming of sleeping
and waking and finding something
between a stash of: pearls,
        eggs, silver eggs, silver gooey tadpoles,
silver-azure frog spawn...
      and then falling back to sleep in
my dream, and subsequently waking
to my grandfather nagging my grandfather...
which ends up with a cigarette
and a consolidatory piece of
mole mound cake for each of us...
       and the day is spent...
                I'd have to be daft not to "hide"
in this outpost, learning more and more
about the: kashubians, der pyry...
          hanysy (warsaw shlang für
scheiße, schlauß) / silesians...
     rzeszowskie rubieże...
      zór mazowsze (masovia)
                           krakusy i czystosze...  
and what about that cwaniak
warszawski, z prahi, ten... andrus?
swa-vo-merrh, piszem sławomir...
tak samo jak ten goalkeeper a t'
'amtem in crux: golkiper...
                          prosze bardzo, prosze prosze...
gramatycznie to raz,
                       a fonetycznie, to dwa.
I mean, why would I leave this outpost,
when there is absolutely no reason to
write any form of existential angst...
where I can be told:
born on the 15th of May,
          the day when Saint Sophia takes
to blooming lilac, when lilac wakes...
back in England you really have to scout
for spring, then again daffodils are not
trees... plus there's this missing natural
orchestral harmonium of successive waves
of some other botanical form finding
intrest, as if an reborn whisper of curiosity
and joy...
             which, your garden variety
of English... doesn't really tell you...
unless it's spring, you couldn't tell a difference
between it an soggy summer...
or for that matter, bland Victoria sponge.
but what I don't miss in the least is...
leeching drunk to the internet's blank pixel
slate...
           even I know that a sober poem
is sometimes required,
which doesn't exactly dissolve the otherwise
entrenched darting juxtapositions
and Dr. Braillesurf's stipend and in genral
streuenhirn...
        in general the Internet and fame,
based on two songs...
donkey's years since I last heard
   rizzle kicks' mama do the **** -
released in 2011, views 17+ millions...
don't ask me how an algorithm took me
to the other song...
  only heard it today
released in 2007... only heard it today...
panamore' misery business -
views?! 153+ millions, yes, that an extra
000 added to the first song...
           and still 11 years later...
     it's this sort of oddity that makes
me believe in the local government,
small cities and in genral the village life...
the neighbour and the gossip angst of
these people...
                 some say: at least they'll come
to the funeral...
                          looks like
I already found the string of planets
de Saint-Exupéry's Prince Petit visited...
and my own among them...
   good to know, that it's a small world
after all, and not some competition
to transmit a radio broadcast from
either the zenith of the Himalayas,
        or the nadir of the Marina Trench.

I came from one of those
football team families.

We had our own team,
there were fifteen of us.

Seven boys, our oldest
sister was the goalkeeper.

It was less of a job for my
mother, we cared for ourselves.

We all learned to bake, with
Odlums™ self raising flour.

'''Muriuki, murerwa , Evans, Benjamin,dennis,bundi,ken,kinyua,festus,mwendas',simon all present
Year is 2004😅
All of us were shirtless showing nonexistent abs
Ronaldinho was our mentor
Our ball tailor was bundi; 😂😂 of course was made of polythene and sisal
I was the goalkeeper
Once caught grains of millet one by one -myth they created to make our opponents fear me😂😂'''

In my dreams
They skim across the turf,
Like white swans,
Weaving patterns with the ball of brown leather.
Mackay with chest puffed out, strong and hard
Blanchflower threading the ball through enemy lines
To the Welsh wizard, Jones
Who turns on a sixpence,
Leaving the defender flat on his back.
The ball floats into the box
The crowd lurches forward as one,
Willing the burly Smith to plant it into the net.
It groans as the ball is punched away by a desperate goalkeeper,
It spins high into the sky
And for a moment,
It is lost in the glare of the floodlights
But one man keeps his eye firmly on the ball
The tall, noble Norman leaps into the air
And we hear the thud as he heads the ball back
From whence it came,
Thousands cheer and then weep with wonder
As the Ghost, White, appears from nowhere
To cosset it with his right and flick it with his left
Into the path of Greaves who turns to acknowledge the roar
Even before it crosses the line.
He runs to the centre circle,
His hand outstretched, to thank
The mighty centre half
Who stands like a sentry at the castle gate
All in white – white shirt, white shorts, white socks –
Apart from the cockerel sewn in blue onto his heaving chest,
Which encases the throbbing heart
That now beats no more
Except,
In my dreams.

if the ball went to the opposite corner
it remains to watch with eyes
cheers to the player
loneliness to the goalkeeper

the score is written to the sign

- title -
yeti-jabba
- body -
no jabba-jedi:
no yetti: igloo makers. 502 bad gateway bypass

i knew a band the name of sister machine gun
existed since... the original Mortal Kombat movie
came out in 1995...
i remember buying the WONG album
in the Our-Price: a sublet of ****** Megastores...
you know... a time when men could have
a second outlet... a music store...
now? what's left? football stadiums?!
   it was like going to church back in the day...
you're spend an hour browsing through
the CDs... i really think the vinyl revolution:
the 2nd coming of vinyl happened too late...
if it happened just a bit earlier...
there would still be a HMV / a ****** Megastore
on Oxford Street... instead of what they have
now... some cheap *** shop that probably
sells fake Primark clothing, items under £1...
mobile phone skins... whatever women buy
to hoard... or to simply spend money on:
that isn't food...
                              oh man... the memory of HMV
and ****** on Oxford St... it's another dimension...
but at the time... the music industry wasn't really
focused on reigniting a man's need for vinyl...
liquorice spinning disks...
   if they jumped in early... figured out the market...
coupled the selling of vinyl with... a digital code...
so you could also download the record you just bought...
personally? i'm a man...
there's never too many books in a personal library...
my own library? could shame the public library
of Romford... my record collection?
that too could shame the public library of Romford...
from what i heard...
****** people get paid 40zl for stashing a(n) Ukrainian:
per day... so the fact that there are not currently
over one million Ukrainians in Poland...
that the population of Warsaw has increased by a 5th
in side... follow the money:
people are actually getting paid to hosts these poor souls...
the poor souls are also given an allowance...
i think i once wrote as a joke:
that Orc joke... racial stereotyping Orcs that's running
runs on the internet: they're Africans...
in Middle-Earth... where's Mordor?
east? right... right... the Ural Mountains?
the Mongolian Invasion... are the Orcs "black"?
or... a hybrid of the Mongols and the reinvented people
the Mongols conquered?
who conquered the Mongol onslaught on
Egypt? the Mamluks... what's that famous quote?
the people of the steppe conquered the people
of the steppe... since the Mamluks (Mamelukes....
Mameluks) were slaves of the Caucasian region...
north eastern Europe... blah blah etc.
but we used to have an outlet...
going to a football match these days is a chore...
i sometimes watch it on t.v.: but i can decipher
the chants of the away fans...
on the t.v.: your support! your support!
your support is ******* ****!
  who the **** are you! who the **** are you!
or at Fulham... esp. at Fulham...
  just before the goalkeeper is about to kick the ball:
oooooooh.... you're ****: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa(s)h!
sizzle ensemble...
what a tiresome day... woke up at 7am...
had a coffee and a sunset...
a cigarette too...
       went into town for another coffee and a burger
egg muffin at McDonald's...
ate the wrap on a bench in the sun...
crunch... crunch...
           when i my grandparents had an Alsatian...
we're feed it egg-shells... sprinkled over meat...
right... i'm a dog now?
woof...             woof...
               sure... no problem...
i'll eat this extra fibre...
                     it truly is a ****** gig... leave the house at 8am...
come back at 8pm... well... 9pm...
pay £10 for fuel... earn? ****... maybe £40?
it's extortion... but... i can be fazed when i'm
in a good moon... i get to watch a football match for
free... and i get literary fuel...
     yeah... trouble this time round...
not that grand... 4 Ipswich supporters bought tickets
to enter the Oxford Stand...
a minor punch-up... i was yawning throughout...
not that i'm boasting... but yawning while the crowd
gets all exited... when the away team score...
turn your back on the home supporters
and smile at the tourists...
         that usually calms them... eye  contact...
chimpanzee ****...
                    and when the home team scores...
turn your back on the tourists... pretend to be crucified
for about a second... smile... just smile...
make eye-contact...
              i should have been born to be a *******
bus driver... back where i was born...
i always wanted to become a bus driver...
        i should have been a bus driver...
**** me... a aiming at becoming a chemistry teacher?
slightly boring... if you told me:
become an English teacher...
   then again... whatever...
time eclipses...
            it's good to be tired: you reach a ****** of relaxation
that's otherwise unavailable...
plus... me... tired? i'm *****...
all those selfies my would-be g/f of a *******:
duck lips... spectacles: hot teacher fantasy...
they worked the first time i came home
and ****** off "suffering" from constipation...
on the throne of thrones... eased up into some cleavage
and *** photographs... then looked at the photographs
she sent me of her face...
yeah... nice... second time...
i had to have a quickie... with Teanna Trump
and Harley Dean... because... lately...
i'm all into that interracial ****...
                     blondes put me off... botox blondes...
fakery blondes... bleached **** and *****...
if she isn't... licked by the sun a little...
the whole world is going full Brazilian: mind you...
i'm tired: but i'm *****...
but there's not chance of me having ***...
i need to let off steam... anyway...
but the first mistake the guys at Our-Price made was
selling me the "wrong" record...
the Mortal Kombat soundtrack... with bands like...
Sister Machine Gun... Type O Negative...
when it came to buying the Batman Forever soundtrack...
no... i didn't ask for a sly... a substitute...
to the CD i originally wanted...
i didn't want any U2...
    that was when i was still playing with figurines
of superheroes on my bedroom floor...
giving them ****** narratives...
well... when you're a boy... there are not smartphones...
not internet... you play with toys...
i didn't need a ******* batman forever soundtrack...
with U2 being invoked...
the Mortal Kombat soundtrack?
that... that was... i have to admit...
an overlord moment of someone seeing me and saying
to themselves: this boy... needs to have his knowledge
of music... expanded...
but with the batman forever?
i was actually after Elliot Goldenthal's
     Fledermausmarschmusik.... that's... what... i... was...
after... to play with my ******* toys...
oddly enough... each time i *******...
i get a whiff... of Khedra's scent...
i ******* into her: by her own permission...
now... hmm... sniff sniff...
             i smell her body through my: "junk"... *****...
get paid come the first few days of April...
i'll follow up with her: so... that... dinner...
and... the night spent in a hotel room... that's on?
otherwise? sure... i don't mind the hour...
i'm not a Duracell bunny...
it's not like there' a magic ultra-violet button akin
to the political commanders having a magic red button
for the nukes: when it comes to hard-ons...
lucky for me: the right sort of demure...
it's a great sort of "fake"... just stand there...
tensing your shoulders... itching to punch your shadow...
by way: punching yourself... fold your hands...
i don't even have to get a *******
by giving fans the "direct" treatment of authority...
just cross your hands... stand sort of proud...
sort of tall...
better have retained my status as a roofer...
thank god i'm only doing this to get non-familial
references...
on the way back from Oxford...
we sort of just... grunted... the least amount
of conversation i ever experienced...
then again: there were no women in the car...
there were only four guys...
         some comment on traffic:
any update on your grandpa?
                     yeah... that wasn't too bad...
the shift...
                          the supervisor was relaxed
texting while driving...
     put the heating on... real high...
then put the cooling real low...
thank **** he turned it off...
   some traffic on the M25 after four cars crashed...
Dan: so, Matt... what are your plans for tonight?
Matt: oh you know, Dan... just chill out...
have a drink or two... when you get to be 35...
clubbing with girls that are 18 is not much fun...
no cultural references that stick...
i can't be mindful of keeping minors in check...
blah blah: and more blah blah on silent mode...
why do people always seem to want to talk
to break the tension?
surely... just shutting up and being content
with oneself: with one's own presence on silent-mode
is enough to satisfy others: yeah, i'm here...
and yeah: i don't have to somehow feel uncomfortable
by something having to talk... right?

shut the **** up...
"promoted" to the shotgun position in the car...
i like silence... i like not talking...
plus? his grandfather is faking it not having
cancer... so... any insight? any new details?
my grandfather died only 2 years ago...
relatable language...
but my grandmother was a *****...
come again? a different sort of language:
i have no sympathy for her...
she made my grandfather die feeling like:
no one cared for him...
           her son? m'ah... "unkhle"... will not leave her
feeling much more than she already invested
in...

what the **** would i need the typical high street for?
more... shoes? more clothes?!
more mobile phones?!
                 you ****** off with the music shops...
i don't need Oxford St. to exist...
it's a bit like finding the Church going extinct
a second time...
            hell... whiskey sells in shady parts of society...
i don't date: i never thought about dating...
after finding the right sort of ****
in a *******...
      i stopped thinking about that bogus dream...
it's great... let's create a funnel of experience...
some will get through: some will not...
totaling society: some crash...
     come burn... come Braun.

Sportsman

I don’t care so much about football
that fills the screen so often in this mad country.
I do sometimes watch the highlights but
not the whole game which has long dull moments
when the players pass the ball to each other
and nothing dramatic happens.
I played football too as a boy, goalkeeper I was,
I took it personally when my team lost and walked home alone.
I didn’t want to play, but the others said I was good
didn’t feel like this when the horde came running to
my part the field, wanted to run away and the ****** ball hurt
when saving a goal.
One day I took my uncles gloves he wasn’t pleased, but let
I pass he couldn’t use them again to impress the ladies.
Finally, I found sanctuary in the local library they never thought
looking for me there.
I disappeared in the maze of books friends never found out
it was a great time, so much I had to discover,
still does, come to think of it.

.        __
.        |guinness|      
.        |___|

I could have been an
athlete, my stamina
and agility were not
in short supply, but
after missing a goal,
I was told that next
time I should go for
a pint, I did just that
and the first poem I
ever composed was
on a Guinness Mat!









Ps

I’m still writing my
mind is very sharp
& active but I hear
the goalkeeper is
on a Zimmer frame.