Remember, Remember The Month of Movember

I’m raising money for Movember this year by writing “moems” (poems about moustaches).  I’ll do you one if you send me a photo.  All for the good of the cause (donations are always welcome!). My mospace: http://uk.movember.com/mospace/4045929

A rusty fuzz covers your face

A bristling coat, a prickling embrace.

Now Movember is here, it’s time to get rid,

And get that face fluff off your head.

 

Josh Jeavons at Jack The Clipper

So lather up, rub the foam in good,

Or go to the barber (like gentlemen should).

And little by little, the fur comes away

Till your naked face is in full display.

A scratch and a wipe and a scrape of the blade,

The foam is all gone, slap on the aftershave.

An “ooh” and an “argh” as the astringent stings,

A pat down and a rub; it’s the smooth face of kings.

 

As the days go by, your top lip may itch,

But don’t worry, it’s your mo and it’ll be a titch!

And as your mo grows, more people will ask

“What’s that on your face, is it coffee from your flask?”

And you can reply, with your chest puffed out,

“No, it’s not my drink, I’m no incompetent lout!

Rather, it’s my mo, he’ll be around for Movember,

Whilst I’m busy raising moolah for a cause you’ll remember.

 

Coffee Moustache

“This thing on my face is not a slug or a rat,

It’s my very own billboard, how’s about that?

I’m raising money for men’s health and my mo is my tool,

I’m Ghandi, Dali and Selleck – but a zillion times cool.

“I’m doing it for Movember, a worthy cause I say,

My moustache may look silly, but by golly, it will pay.

Plus it’s getting chilly and my face is getting cold,

Luckily, my mo keeps me warm even if it does make me look old.”

 

So gather, MoBros and MoSisters, unite in hairy bliss,

We’ll spread the word and won’t mind if we get refused a kiss.

For more information and how to get involed see http://uk.movember.com/

RSPCA Stray

I met this man travelling and he made me sad.

My Uncle’s songed four versions of it.

 

 

Your Mother told you to trust a girl with curly hair,

I’ve heard different and see toddlers stop and stare.

Followed round the supermarket, inspectors don’t believe my ticket,

After swimming in the river you shouldn’t have dared.

 

 

America was your land of dreams

You said you had a thing for it when you were eighteen

At 30 you wanted Asia, you travelled alone

You said I hurt your feelings when I walked you home.

 

 

You had that thing that women sometimes fall for,

Couldn’t swim, deaf in one ear, who knows what more.

A scruffy stray in pet rescue, you needed someone to adopt you

I didn’t have the key, others would have to open the door.

 

 

America was your land of dreams

You had a thing for it when you were eighteen

At 30 you wanted Asia, you travelled alone

You said I hurt your feelings when I walked you home.

 

 

Girls in the US didn’t want your name,

In Asia and Dublin things were just the same

Smoking joints in Switzerland, playing football in Berlin,

I don’t know what your doing, but I really hope you win.

 

 

America was your land of dreams

You had a thing for it when you were eighteen

At 30 you wanted Asia, you travelled alone

You said I hurt your feelings when I walked you home.

Mother’s Day Ode to Hilda

For my Ma, Hilda

 

Battle axe or battle maid,

I’ve never seen you look afraid.

You taught us how to go for it,

Vaselined shoes, faces clean with spit.

 

So today I’d like to let you know,

You’ve set the foundations for the distance we’ll go.

So cheers, Madre, you pushy show-mom,

When I have kids, I’ll know where to come.

 

x

 

Drums Through The Wall

He was born in July, like a new star in the sky,

He announced his arrival with a sharp little cry.

His brothers and sisters were all big and grown,

His dad had moved out but wasn’t far from his home.

He grew up in a street, surrounded by friends,

With flowers and wind chimes and rainbows and hens.

Spencer Street was a great place to be,

He just wished that still there lived his family.

The neighbours all loved him as their own,

Sheila next door used to come round and phone.

And like her own son, she had to sometimes scold,

But she did so gently so he understood what she told.

“You’re drumming is getting better”, she said gently one eve,

“And you very good, but sometimes people need to sleep”.

“Carry on with your drumming and you can be a star,

“But I don’t want to hear you through the wall, I want to watch you from afar.”

So he kept quiet with the drums, and soon the cat came near,

You see the cat didn’t like noise and cowered in fear.

Soon he and the cat were as close as could be,

They played on the carpet and danced on the settee.

 

You wouldn’t think it possible, but there was one time,

That boy and cat came together to dine.

Mum put cubes of cheese in a bowl on the floor,

And he knelt with the cat and ate with mouth but no paws.

A few years later, he wasn’t a child alone

For his siblings were having kids of their own.

Now there were lots of them toddling around,

Having picnics in the park and crawling on the ground.

So after feeling like he was born to late,

Who would have thought it but there came fate.

And his the siblings who he wanted to grow up around,

Had some babies of their own who with he could bound.

A family is not just brothers and sisters,

It can be nieces and nephews and misses and misters.

It’s whoever you want for and care for and live for,

Or those who you sit on the ground with and want nothing more.

Martin

I saw a rat die so I wrote this ode in his memory.

He came up from the sewer, you ask me what for?

To have a look around, to come and explore.

He wanted to better himself, wanted to be free,

Martin was a different rat; a maverick was he.

As the bathroom flooded, the water rose,

The drain was the route that Martin chose.

With whiskers a-dripping and tail soaking wet,

 He was like a lone wolf, no other rat met.

 Martin wanted more than this life of his,

Lonely and dark, a rat’s time is.

And all of his friends laughed at his talk,

 Of light and openness, where it isn’t wet where you walk.

As Martin went forth with his quest for the new,

He heard a loud noise and hid in a shoe.

“Uh-oh”, thought he, he’d come the wrong way,

“Did you see something there?” he heard a man say.

 Martin looked around and saw ribbons and vests

 And a rat-hating, blonde girl perching on a chest.

She screamed once and again ‘til her face turned to wood,

Then ran out of the room as fast as she could.

With the door shut, it was dark, Martin was alone,

This is ironic, he thought, I could have stayed at home.

 But he had to think quick, as the door opened a crack

And a cat was thrown in, the door closed, all went black.

Martin dashed across the room and hid behind the bin,

He wasn’t coming out, the cat wasn’t coming in.

The cat attempted to reach him, extending a feeble paw,

But Martin made him jump back with his mechanical roar!

 Now I know what you’re thinking, this cannot be true,

A rat doesn’t roar, that’s what lions do!

But I assure, you my friends, whilst mice may squeak,

A rat is quite different, they are strong not weak.

But what Martin didn’t know, was that Russell that cat,

Had no interest in catching and killing a rat.

 In fact, he resented his owners laying down the law

Saying he wasn’t a real cat if he didn’t catch rodents and eat his meat raw.

So as he didn’t want to chew Martin or scratch him on the nose,

He just made lots of noise so that all would suppose

That out of catly duty he was ridding them of a pest

 Meowing loudly, they would think him the best.

Martin knew what Russell was doing, and he played along,

Ensuring that outside the room they knew a “battle” did go on.

Thought cat and rat, “This is fun!”

More more amusing than the chase and run.

But little did they know of the incoming caretaker,

Terry, the small and bald Londoner; a nightmare maker.

 The cat went out and Terry came in

Started removing furniture, on his little face a grin.

Martin didn’t know where to hide, so he dashed for the door,

And made it out across the living room floor.

But Terry was quick, and ran right behind,

Got Martin into a corner, shoes on the lino whined.

He went at him with his metal claws

But Martin wriggled away, looking for doors.

Now, I won’t go into what happened next,

For those who are fragile may become quite vexed.

All I’ll say is Martin met his end,

As Terry’s shoe went down on him again and again.

So let us learn, next time we see a rat,

They may want to end up as more than food for a cat.

Whilst rat worlds and human’s may never collide,

Let us try to live happily, underneath and beside.

RIP MARTIN

Martin the Rat

Nobody likes a Needy

A ditty penned by yours truly when I was feeling super needy and I couldn’t borrow a pet.  We’ve all been there.

You used to
look at me like I was it,

With a
capital letter, I was It, the Shit.

Not your
stars, you world or all of that,

but one who
held your interest, for a meal or a chat.

But something
has happened, I don’t know what,

Suddenly
that’s not the case, I don’t have a shot,

At getting
you to focus on me, notice me, have a joke with me

You’d
rather do something else, stare at my head over the TV.

How I wish
that you would stare at me, as if I were 4od,

Instead my face is tracing paper, not a window but not a tree.

My words
are not enough, it seems you’re in too far,

Instead you
shush me like my Dad did when I was noisy in the car.

It’s not
like you are deaf, you always have time for hip hop,

And isn’t
that just angry men moaning about money, guns and cops?

Surely my
words are nicer or at least easier to hear

My animal
noises are second to none and my jokes deserve a cheer.

But maybe
that’s where I’m going wrong, I don’t complain about the hood,

Eastbourne
wasn’t a ghetto and my rappings not very good.

But music
isn’t the food of love, sorry duke Orsino,

Rather FOOD
feeds your desire, from steak to a dorrito.

I wished
you looked at me like you do your kebab,

And even
when it gets messy, you don’t scold, you dab.

Oh to be
that greasy meaty mix, the one that you adore,

You would
hold me gently in a pitta, nibble my edges and gnaw.

You’d gorge
yourself on my flesh, my very scent you’d inhale

You’d
submerge yourself in my fatty embrace and rush to tell the tale.

I never
used to be like this, I used to be carefree,

But now I
find an early life crisis has found its way to me.

I thought
this happened much later in life, 40 years down the line,

When after
being married so long, its ok to stop trying.

I ate 4
toffee crisps today

Why, you
ask, I don’t know, I say.

Something
to do, something to mention,

It made me
feel sick but it got your attention.

Oh God,
that proves it, I’m mad as a frog,

I’ll out my
handbag in the over and start talking to the dog.

I’ll go out
in my pyjamas, like I’ve escaped the ward,

I’ll
believe I’m Micheal Jackson, or the Queen or a lord.

Ladies Lido

My Uncle songed it.  He songs everything.

 

Everyone thinks the lady’s pond in easy,

Never any queue nor male eyes a-sleazy

But what they don’t know is what lurks within

Alcohol free, tits out, lack of din.

We arrived at midday with beers and a vest,

To a warped utopia, old nakedness

Lez-be friends I wanted to be

But non of the ladies wanted to friend me.

Chorus

But the Victorian water will always be fair

Bottomless, bottomless but thankfully not topless.

Swim like they did in the 1920s, yeah

Let’s get hysterical and talk about Freud!

Should I strip off my protective bikini

Mother Goose and chicklets, dreamy scenery

Thrilling conversation, laughing is a riot

She’s looking at me and saying “be quiet!”

Ok, Yes I will obey the sign

I’ll keep the noise down, my sounds will be mine

But in return, you naked old prune

Respond to the signs that say you can’t be nude.

Chorus

But the Victorian water will always be fair

Bottomless, bottomless but thankfully not topless.

Swim like they did in the 1920s, yeah

Let’s get hysterical and talk about Freud!

I like nakedness as much as Eve and Adam

Before God came down, like a clothing madman

Get naked if you wanna, at least for a while

Everyone would be happier wearing nothing but a
smile.

But a note to the naked, the ones at the pool

I accept your lack of clothes, let this be the rule

So on this day, when I want to laugh at the ducks

Let me do this in peace, without your look of muck

Chorus

The Victorian water will always be fair

Bottomless, bottomless but thankfully not topless.

Swim like they did in the 1920s, yeah

Let’s get hysterical and talk about Freud!

The Big Bad Wolf Never Blew Down a House of Wool

Whilst there is nothing new about room installations, there’s no doubt that the prospect of a room not made out of the usual mortar and carpet gives us something to write home about.  The 2010 Milan Furniture Fair went paper crazy with the “Paperboard Innovation”; a room made out of cardboard including elaborate artwork, lamps, shag rugs, clocks and a dog, made out of the humble material whilst the Lainio Snow Village in Finland allows guests to stay in a room made of ice complete with illuminated frozen art and snow walls.

But how about a room made entirely out of wool?  Knitted out (ha geddit!) with the latest mod cons, the life sized replica includes a TV, an armchair, a cat and a piano made from hundreds of balls of donated wool which 25 volunteers spent three months putting together.

Designed to raise money and the profile of homeless charity, Emmaus, the people from Goodwill Co-op donated their time and efforts to the Brighton project.  Emmaus, a charity that offers homeless people work, a home and a chance to rebuild their lives in a supportive environment, relies on donations of furniture and household goods to sell in their shops across the UK.  And rather then make a tea cosy or blanket to sell, the volunteers from decided to really pick up their needles and raise their game by stitching together a fabricated living room.

Monica Crowe, an Emmaus volunteer told the Argus “It kept growing and growing as we thought of more stuff to fit into a living room”.  The frames of the knitted furniture were collected from skips and with reduction of landfill being the name of the game, the woolly living room is a novel way to do so as well as raising awareness of Emmaus.
If you fancy hanging out in the knitted living room, stroking the knitted cat and playing knitted table football, the room will be on show at the Emmaus  Brighton Community Centre from 7th-29th May, as part of  the 2011 Brighton Fringe Festival before touring various arts venues and Emmaus communities.

And keep an eye out for future projects – a knitted kitchen or bathroom!

Emmaus Brighton Community Centre,
Drove Road,
Portslade

For more on Emmaus and their projects, see the Emmaus Website.