"weetabix" poems
Babysitting
for grandchildren yapping
and yipping and grandpappy silently
slipping away.
To bed at nine and out comes the bottle of wine,which
is ever so slightly
a bit out of line and
grandpappy's silently slipping away.
Then it's up at six
for hot milk and two weetabix,then some film show
on Sky or Netflix and
grandpappy's silently slipping,with red wine surreptitiously sipping
away.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
I hope someone was shot today
at four forty-seven *** em
somebody famous
with a famous death
I know where I was right then
(for once)
I don’t know where I was
when Kennedy got it
and I don’t know where I was
when Martin King went
(all I know is I wasn’t here)
I think I know where I was
when Lennon walked his last
(eating Weetabix eight years old)
and I know where I was today.
At four forty-seven *** em
I was ******* tomato seeds from a picture
of Doctor Thompson’s face.
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 7:51 AM UTC
I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
Take my hand to continents only known in the books,
the blue maps on tiny tables sat in stacks
ready for the lesson on Mexico, or thereabouts- third this week because
the timetable is weak, poorly thought through and cobbled
together out of half-dressed evenings in the lounges of
teachers; ones once loved by the master and mistresses, leaders
of the well dressed and caretakers.
Take my feet and walk with them, balancing
on borders separating language and currency,
the gymnast's beam looking out over the forestry,
its taller trees than you and me standing upon toes tipping
down towards the urgent ground, urgently warning to stay
upright and stick around, with her holding your hand.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
Conor's got P.E. , so his kit is washed,
I've wrapped his butties in foil, so they don't get squashed,
Pork Luncheon meat, in a crispy roll,
And a carton of Ribena, to fill that hole.
Jess starts College at One, so she'll wake at Five - to ,
Cheese and Pickle, will have to do,
I've had my pint of milk, with three Weetabix,
Got a Flagon of Cider, all the boxes are ticked.
A days grafting ahead, out near Billingshurst,
Laying bricks and blocks, building up a thirst,
And home to the hungry, back to the shops,
It's either Chicken Kievs, or half-price lamb chops.
Custard and Pie, hot milky drinks,
Then everyones asleep, except for me, who thinks,
About tomorrows butties, fruit and snacks,
Calories, nutrition, vitamins and facts.
Up at dawn, in an old bobble-hat,
Making food for them all, even the cat,
A tin of Tuna, he's well impressed,
Another flagon of Cider, another sweat-stained vest.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false
teeth!
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"out of the man
who makes the false teeth.
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
What's your code no passport connection four hundred years grandfather's father his father coming there first test DNA dry place immigrant country no code no almond milk and honey wet wipes gone eyes longing God in each of us what's your code which God fountain of mercy chopped tomatoes snug crates E5 what's your code he shot me in the head and legs smug nearly forgot thank you for calling the job centre your call is important stranger rich tea smooth no nuts unboxed leeks centre job wait what's your code hot sand busy thank you what's your code blue masks requirement professor of linguistics sir do you have Weetabix I Lithuania bless you Kuwait Syria Michigan Holloway Italy chef many interviews knives the knives needed all are welcome double yellow lines peas code your what's your necessary referral code appointment hurry sorry reindeer biscuit then joking we used to climb over and pick the blackberries no desk write the date and time sign what's your code Ukraine just wait for delivery..
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 9:22 AM UTC
Pasties and poo,what a mix.
Taste much better than weetabix.
Trouble is, it sort of sticks.
To my teeth and my plate.
But it still tastes great!
Mum says the poo is a kind of salami,
I think my Mum is completely barmy!
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
It's eleven 'o'clock.
Too early for lunch.
But,good for a nibble.
Carrots sticks.
Weetabix.
Lots of coffee.
Goes well at eleven, four, five, six and seven.
Much too late for breakfast...,
Who the hell says?
Eat when I feel, you know how it is.
(C) LIVVI
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 6:01 AM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false
teeth!
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is )
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Last time was this time that time, but next time like the first time we met the first time
gets better.
We set sprats to catch mackerel and fish for compliments while the whales sit on couches and watch television, repeats and retreats and it beats me how the sea cow gives no milk.
But this time brings time into focus again and I rise with the dawn to bring the then into now and the day limbers up as I do my bit and sit down for a tea, a cigarette lit, a cough with a wheeze, two Weetabix please and this time gets better every time that I'm sat here.
She comes about ten and by then things are done, the plates have been washed, the laundry is hung and we wait for a bus, the ten twenty-three,
to Putney, and on the heath, there we will be
like the last time but this time,
I remember the first time I met her when I thought to myself that this could get better and it did,
so you see,
while sprats catch a mackerel or is it the other way round it all follows on and back on dry ground you're bound to make a connection in the mystery of the lines that cross in and out of those times last the last times.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
MUCH ADO ABOUT SOMETHING
My Prospero, I admit
is, yea, badly drawn
& keeps falling off
his lollipop stick.
My Caliban, on the other hand
well drawn and forsooth...sticks to...his stick.
I wiggle each
character’s characteristic
and they come alive
speak the lines, I pray you,
trippingly upon my tongue
“Come to me with a thought!”
I command my paper people.
“Your thoughts I cleave to!”
they flash into my consciousness.
“Ariel, my Ariel...”
fine-tooled from foil
that comes from fabled Consulate
& Woodbine packets.
“Ah, my trusty sprite...”
dangles from a purple thread that
is borrowed from
me **** sewing basket.
All is well
in this my make-shift
Shakespeare theatre
made from Kellogg’s
Cornflakes packets.
See the great **** crow
under the proscenium!
Weetabix boxexs
construct the wings.
Rows of Nite lights
serve as footlights.
And, so...let the Masque begin!
I hum bits of Adeste
Fideles....then sing
as Prospero & Ariel
do their thing.
“Solua domus dagus!”
my voice rings out
but see how
dangerous a nine year old knee
can be
to paper theatre.
The floodlights being knocked over
the stage flames in amazement.
My patchwork Globe
of Cornflake and Weetabix boxes
burns to the ground
only Ariel survives
in an all too blackened shrunken
crumpled piece of foil.
I exit
( pursued by a clip on the ear )
the profession of producer of
the plays thereof the only begetter of
this ensuing story
lost, alas my lack, to me!
But wait, is this a football I see
before me?
Then play on Dinger Dwyer!
And ****** be him who first cries hold!
We cry ******** and let slip
the dogs we are!
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
In between stations Max said,
getting over operations
or mending bad relations
or ending hateful sensations,
waiting for the next fix
or eating lumpy Weetabix,
no more first time around kicks
just depression
or other's oppression,
waiting for light to come
or someone
or just the numbness
or deep caress,
or carelessness
or hopelessness,
wind in the willows
or at windows,
seeing time age
as it goes,
the highs and the lows,
the fat dame with no name
no fame
with her shame
who to blame?
in between life and death
waiting the final breath,
the last wreath
or the brown crumpled leaf,
and the sun going down
on the broken ill
no more laughing clown,
in between light and dark
searching for a spark
fearing the spider or the shark,
no more joy or lark
no more *** or drink,
makes you wonder
and makes you think
makes you whisper or shout:
what the fuck's it all about?
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.
The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it.
Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false
teeth!
Then turning left into
Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.
Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.
Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists
do then
poor things.
Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door will live again
some streets away again.
Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
( Philomena her name is)
a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.
It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's
as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.
Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"
But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.
The 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.
"I am, a stride of a time.
A very short space of time
through very short times of space."
A horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by
timelessly.
Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."
My Molly who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
Yes.
Jun 15, 2023
Jun 15, 2023 at 6:46 PM UTC
We must have
forgotten
someone
anyone
no one?
well then we'll go on
thinking that
we've forgotten
something
anything
nothing?
and the clock does a handstand
at half past six
I stumble to the table
and have two Weetabix
it's usually three,
but me
I'm forgetful
and forgot to buy more,
at seven twenty four
I close the front door
on my way out
wondering what next.
Jul 20, 2024
Jul 20, 2024 at 6:45 AM UTC
Now this depends on the colour of the pill
The one to make you high or the one to make you ill
If you're in the mood for searing riffs by Jimmy Page
Or you think that **** belongs in another age
Along with the teeth picking tunes by Jimi Hendrix
You'd rather sit in silence eating your Weetabix
Those six string gods such as Clapton and Chuck Berry
Now for a game of domino's with Pete and old Terry
The jukebox here plays the modern from Gaga and onto Oasis
The barmaid likes the older man, let's hope I meet her analysis
She puts on some older songs, The Beatles and The Kinks
Reeling off some other stuff, miss it if you blink
Then the rumour does come true as she catches me with her eye
Back to hers with some cans and a kebab,
Rock and Roll will never die
JJB
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 10:39 PM UTC
Start life in a pushchair
end up in a wheelchair
that
doesn't sound fair to me
I'd like a parachute.
but we rise as we fall
keep our eyes
on the ball and
the game plays out as it will.
If life is a 'Gif'
I wonder if
but then I don't.
So for me
it's back to the Weetabix
the Sticklebricks
and plasticine
and taking forty winks in
the time it takes to
take five
because
I have a microwave bed,
(old jokes are the best)
modernity's killing me
but slowly and in an
old fashioned kind of way.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE
red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick
one feels like a fish
swimming through it
sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish
Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of
the visible."
he turns right
into Upper
Dorset Street
pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes
the false teeth
then turning left into Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES
here in its run down state
though still shining
in its fictionality
soon they will knock it down
and what will the tourists
do then poor things
sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door
will live again
some streets
away again
ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of
the visible."
I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
(Philomena her name is)
a cottage cheese
with pineapple
on a Weetabix base
it is a 16th of June
somewhere
in the 80's
as I retrace
my own earlier
Joycean footsteps
rat-a-tat-tat
on Bloom's door
"Are ya there Leopold?"
but the bold Leopold
doesn't answer
the 16th of
forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."
the sun smirks
at such
Joyceisms
"I am, a stride of a time
very short space of time
through very short times of space."
a horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by timelessly
ahhh "...the ineluctable
modality of
the audible."
my Molly
who is really
a Philomena
spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her
and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
***
For Jemmy de Joist whose day the 16th always us and the words give him their gifts. This is my little bit of living in his moment and walking the streets he walked.
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 7:31 AM UTC