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Hello Britain, it’s me
Speaking to you Through a tube Made of grit and grim tangled Mangled digital conduits Green pastures I grin at passers-by’s In lockdown Britain And we all just hope that All will be fine one day ‘when it’s all over’ I keep saying, brushing that dirt off my shoulder, And they’ll be enough PPE Made on our kitchen tables, Making up for the shortfall, We should just be grateful. And a woman Walks up and down the street At 8pm on a Thursday Checking on who’s clapping Or not. And I think she’s great. And Britain is this the end? Is the how we’ll go, Singing and pretending That we’ll have Jam in Jerusalem, Until they send us word Hoping they’ll send us word. And we’re cast, Back to allotments And sewing and Coming together Heads down and up and iron From the gate, Taken, Tea taken from India And Zoos filled with other worldly Creatures where the sun never Sets. And these romanticised past times Are rose tinted views of past crimes That can keep us all checked and in line. Keep your head up and carry on, Hello Britain.
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When we hold hands, we’re making a statement
When we kiss, we’re making a statement, When I wear this, we’re making a statement, When I sigh and complain, we’re making a statement When I post online, we’re making a statement When I pursue a career path, we’re making a statement. Young people are making a statement. We’re all over the news, They’re fascinated by what we’re into, We’re twitter, instagram posts, and being peng, We’re going to be in charge but we’re not sure when, We definitely want something but we’re not sure what it is, We’re into grime music not rock, We’re LGBT+ as fuck, Young people are on protests, Young people vote corbyn, Young people don’t care, Are disengaged on what to do, Young people want more than, Any other age group, Young people are making a statement. We’re making a statement, in every action, We’re making a statement, there’s no detracting, From how much of an impact any ripple will have, However much we do, we’re careful it’s not bad, We’re challenging, putting ourselves out there, Every second we exist, it’s like it’s a dare, An affront, to be judged, to be explained, scrutinised, And if it comes out bad we’ll be despised, Denied access, told we don’t understand, Told, our future is in our own hands, Young people are making a statement. How quickly, how slickly a demographic is judged, The smaller the data, the more spectacularly smudged, A sample can be, That’s why when I cry, we’re making a statement, At high rate of anxiety and depression, making that statement, I wish that when I did something, for once, it wasn’t a statement. That it was just an action, entirely free, Not an expression of how I’m happy, Free me of my context, Take me out of this generational contest. But there’s no denying, Young people are making a statement. I used to think that everyone started a mess
And then just one day they were better Like a switch flicked on, creating the best, Person they could be. And I wish it would happen to me. I used to think that everyone started alone, Then one day, someone came along, swooped you away, And then together, you’d build a home, And that was it, And you got on with it, I used to think that everyone started a mess, And one day they were like, ‘not a mess’ Everything else would disappear, there’d be less Bad, more good. And you’d say ‘Oh, I’m a capable human’ But I’m not a mess, and I’m not completely together. I’m not with someone, but definitely not alone. I’ll happily exaggerate my successes, And moan about my woes, But if we don’t acknowledge we’re all messes, We’ll never make that home. (In three parts)
Part 1 - the body feels You see a story, Appear, a tragedy, You fear, the worst Is here. It started with… But that’s a hard question. Shock runs through the body Head tips toes, Where you are, what you did. Forever imprinted. Where were you when it happened? Las Vegas - breakfast, in the morning Las Ramblas, Barcelona - out cycling, just connected to internet, briefly, near Crosby London Bridge - on the sofa, Saturday, then talking in the kitchen. Arguing about armed police with a close friend. Manchester - Pub, Smithdown road, Liverpool November 2015, Paris - nightclub, London, friend’s birthday Je suis Charlie - ski holiday, Switzerland, just come back from slopes 7/7 - school hall, Yorkshire, girl in my year crying, I didn’t know why. Argued with family after watching ‘Hurt Locker’ year later. 9/11 - sitting on floor watching cathode-ray tube TV with mum, she said ‘things are going to change…’ Karrada bombing, Baghdad, Iraq, July 2016 - I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Tragedies can’t be ranked, Or emotions evenly split, Pain bears more weighty, When preventable, And the feeling running hasty, Through body, rush of blood, I always remember, mostly, Where I am or was The day it happened. Part 2 - The Tragedy Will Be Saved By Your Online Hero Your online hero will save the day. Express what you feel in the way That you like. Your online hero. Your columnist Your tweeter-ranter Your lived experience victim Your political outsider with the right words Your bold statement. It’s yours, it’s your online hero. They tell me Targets are as follows; UK - France - Germany - Europe - USA And motivated by; Islam - Lone wolf - Christian - Far right - Organised terror cell. But we should; Not victimise Islamic groups - Give police protection - Increase surveillance - Work with communities - Bring the fight to them - Mourn our losses - Realise it’s all our fault - Not cause so much offense - Acknowledge that nothing’s appropriate - Complain that nothing’s appropriate - be less Western-focused - Again, repeat; UK - France - Germany - Europe - USA - Syria - Israel - Iraq - Palestine - Turkey - Turkey again - Syria again - Iran - Afghanistan - Iraq again Tragedy’s can’t be ranked, Or emotions evenly split, Pain bears more weighty, Pangs the body, and splits, Your insight, your view, After all it’s all reduced, To a few words in a moment, Pub time, misspoke, causing sobbing, No space left for resolving, Containing the world’s problems. So thank god for our online heroes. Part 3 - Compartmentalise It eats you up and spits you out, You fall as far as fretted knifes, You splay and yell and hurt, Alarm, you open 5:33am. Day drags on dreading death, Hangs carcasses in corridors, The last post yells out save me, And you depart for home. The sweet embrace of couch and rice, Feels fake and turns the knife, Take emotion and fill a bathtub, And sink, Compartmentalise. I’ve been making my Linkedin profile really good.
I’ve been squeezing every drop of wit into twitter. Damn, blam, wham, I’m smashing this here instagram My facebook feed, would, make tears fall and hearts bleed, But I can’t see them skim or read ...it A thumbs up like is all the pleasure I need With hashtags, I try to be specific, and that gets me the google analytics, Satisfies an algorithm, And get myself into a rhythm, Thrusting harder and stronger, Into hearts and minds of those who wander, Though this vast swamp; the web, The internet, the social network, Full of trolls and jerks Where all the souls are hits, And the hits are quick, And quick hits make stars rich But leave souls feeling sick. Maybe I’ll become a quick rich hit misfit By posting this poem on instagram. Guh guh guh, ha ha ha,
Puh puh puh, la la la Take syllables, utter verbal impressions Create words, put them in succession, I add one word to another to another, To another word Make a phrase, make another, Just to be heard, Build a sentence, then a paragraph, Pages, chapters, segments, theories A million thoughts, and take these thoughts, Thoughts go into words Words go into books Books go onto shelves Shelves go onto walls People help themselves And take in the words they read Spout them as they please As and when they need! Dinners parties, coffee shops You never know who's name might drop Larkin, nietche, Richard Dawkins, It will make us far less boring Sometimes words makes the way Onto the web, And tear a hole in reality. Lips, fingers, toes,
Flicking through prose, Breathe, inhale, push, Ending with Woosh, Lips, fingers, toes, Get rather cold, Ends, hearts, head pain, Strikes, hits, again, Bite lip, not good, Lipsalve, as should, Bite lip, repeat It looks discrete, Smile, it’s fine Laugh, in time, Hot, in sheets, Think, in morn, Ah, the dawn, Breakfast Must dash Booked cab Been fab Again? Nah. Texts more, ignore Annoyed Avoid see there, don’t care, Bumped into Run into, Hot air chat Into that Out of thought Must have caught, wind they’re here, Two months passed, in thin air, Despaired alone Keys, wallet, phone, Out once again, Interest, drink, name, Nerves, sweat, hot room, Lips fingers, toes. Offer me a lift in your car, no thanks,
On the way home from the bar, no thanks, No, I don’t want a taxi, Or be crammed into your backseat, Can’t you see, i’ve got my helmet with me? I’ve got an alternative means of transportation, One which admittedly causes perspiration; Yellow tabard, thinsulate gloves, Trouser clips on, enough’s enough, No, I can’t take the London tube, Applying my chain with lube, Because in a few seconds I’m taking the road, I’m saving money but it’s freezing cold, Pedalling along claiming it’s alright this, that’s right, I’m a cyclist. I’ll overtake you at the lights, Slow you down as I turn right, Jump up on the pavement, you’ll anger at my derangement, As you’re pumping out toxic fumes, I’m burning breakfast as I zoom, Past you stuck in traffic, Stuck in your 4 wheel automatic, Me on my two wheels, grease and chain You in a metal box, protected from pain; Overtaking me with a couple of inches, I try and catch your eye but your windows are tinted, I’ll sprint this, distance to the pelican crossing, A family crosses, so you’re just about stopping, I pull up close, cite the highway code, the rules of the road, You say fuck off, you won’t do as you’re told, i shout ‘just because i’m exercising whilst commuting’, I look around, everyone’s horns are tooting, Dopey eyed morning drivers, fired up to get angry, I’m doing a good thing by cycling, can’t they see? Do they not understand my philosophy? I don’t get why they are so cross with me, I take a left turn, go down a side avenue, And think of how this poem could have taken a different path too, I could have started with; ‘I'm fooking fed up with drivers, environment polluting connivers, trying to knock me off my saddle, Every day’s a fucking battle, Petrol pumping tin can bastards The art of careless driving; They’ve absolutely mastered’ But I wanted to capture both sides Moderate my anger and opinion Because I’m a smug, Fleece wearing, privilege bearing Guardian reading, clean air needing, Bleeding heart, healthy food fart, Exercising, tory despising, D-lock welding, Self-righteous, Cyclist. Apply here,
Nothing to fear, 40k a year, No particular skills required Take a test, that’s right you’re hired Everyone will admire, You in your business attire. You’re achieved the dream You’re on the Aldi grad scheme You’ll go far, Shoot, take a car, Four-seater with space for one There’s no time for the concept of fun We’ll remove the inner youth and, Make you ruthless, Sign up here, Efforts to escape are quite fruitless That’s right, You’re on the aldi grad scheme Making efficiency saving slicker, The scanning at the tills get even quicker, Saw job at a glance, Took it by a chance, Desperate to make some plans Didn’t we say 40 grand? That’s one expensive full body fake tan You’re on the Aldi Grad scheme Take the money, Forget about sleep You’re ours to keep, We’ll direct where you put your feet Your thoughts give us rewards so innovate like you’ve never done before, But don’t think too much, don’t doddle Unless it’s in the aldi framework model, Keep you well-fed But keep you lean Become an affordable-outlet selling machine You know what I mean You’re on the aldi grad scheme Travelling every week, Your non-crease suit begins to wreak, New place each month, It’s a barrel of fun, In your bare bones flat, Microwave dinner for one, Prick the plastic For your one man banquet The ritual’s begun, Dinner trays and sky-soulless plus, Lasagne today, But it all looks the same, Mush nuked within an inch of life, That’s right, You’re on the Aldi grad scheme So let’s get competitive Take this company-approved sedative Got a soul? We won’t let it live Aldi are in your bloodstream When you pee we are watching you When you poo we are sneering at you When you marry your love; woman or man We’ll be the one’s funding your family plan. Put your name down, to join the team, You’re on the aldi grad scheme Throw away your skinny jeans, Denim jack and bandana Don’t listen to Radiohead, Listen to Ed Sheeran, Whilst eating Danish sweet meats, And drinking imported off brand lager Don’t touch those classical poetry books, Here’s a box set of joe wicks dvds Settle down Drive down To slough, For a regional sales meeting, You’re on the aldi grad scheme ‘You are the liberal elite!’
Sandra yells at Michael across the street Michael stares down at his thin jumper and brogues and responds; ‘Who me?’, But secretly, he is full of glee because all attention is good attention. ‘Yes, you! I know your arrogant, smarmy type.’ She reiterates the point, and he replies quite polite, Unsure if this is a general point or specific to him, ‘You must have me mistaken for someone else’ ‘No! It’s definitely you’, again, forcing him to reassess himself ‘What gave it away?’ he says, as he searches his person for clues, ‘Have we met before? If not, how do you do?’ She exclaims back; ‘Stop being so nice, you faux social clown!’ The high street shoppers all turn around, And are now watching the spectacle unfold Inside his head Michael scolds, His friend Octavius for setting him up on this date, ‘Shall we go for a drink then?’ They enter the buzzard and the frog And Michael jokes about ordering champagne, Sandra doesn’t laugh. Michael orders G&T Sandra goes to the toilet, for a wee, Michael awkwardly shifts in his chair, Leaving her there, to pick up the giant bar bill. As he walks away he wonders still What was it that gave me away? As he itches his recently etched on, Back tattoo of Tony Blair. |
poetry.All poetry is written by Alex Ferguson.
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