Two posts on a Tuesday? Yes indeed - to make up for my poor blogging last week, I thought I'd share a blog post AND a poem. Here's one that took a while to conjure up, but once I did the first stanza, it was written in minutes. If you want to to make me feel like doing backflips around my living room, please do share this poem and maybe give it a like or comment. Thanks for being patient!
 
The coca-cocaine parties
The weekend spews at 10
The cycle of sleeping and shagging
Repeats itself again
The brown, the crack, the weed, the smack
The remedies of her world
Are a far off cry from the glamorous life
Promised to the matchstick girl
 
A head of hair thatched upon
Walls of weak foundation
The chic new style to fill the aisles
And sweep entire nations.
She’s Bambi on ice in a dress so tight
It would make your mother hurl
But we live in a time where all women pine
For the look of the matchstick girl
 
The big old Pappa Razzi
Guard her every step
From the same hold-hand fanatics
That crave her vinous breath
The punks, the queens, the teenage dreams
Who buy their love with pearls
Stick close to her side and somewhat abide
They’re friends with the matchstick girl.
 
The Sunday evening voicemails
The daily text of pain
From a desolated mother
Who begs to see her again.
The pleas, the cries, the tears don’t dry
While apologies unfurl
For the sins, the aches and major mistakes
Made by the matchstick girl. 

We have finally arrived to the epic (okay maybe not) conclusion of this three part series. You can remind yourselves of what's come beforehand in in Part 1 and Part 2. But for those who have, let's crack on.

Ballad of a Hero – Kate Tempest
I have already given high praise for Tempest in one of my first blogs, but “Ballad of a Hero” is a great one to learn for its emotion and rhythm. It’s one you can feel the hurt and suffering in for all the characters involved: the inconsolable father, the distraught mother and the innocent child. Tempest performs it superbly – dig around for it on YouTube and you’ll find yourself a poetic treat.
 
A Subaltern’s Love Song – John Betjeman
This is a poem about hot days in the South London sun and a flustering middle class romance – and in my mind – one of the best poems of the 20th century. It tells the tale of a man besotted by a tennis player. Sure I’ve seen this tale before in a rather average rom-com....

The Charge of the Light Brigade – Alfred Lord Tennyson
This is another one that stuck with me from when I did LAMDA classes at school. The theme that hung onto me when I learnt this was blind optimism, 600 soldiers trying to cheat death in the field of battle. It’s basically 300, but a bit less heroic. 

Prayer – Carol Ann Duffy
I’ve never been an avid reader of Duffy’s work but I do enjoy this sonnet (yes it is an English sonnet – look closely children) for its smart rhyme and rhythm. It’s a poem to hold dear and remind you that we have a lot to be thankful for. Like a fresh wedge of cake on Sunday afternoons....mmm cake. 

Nightsong – Adrian Henri
Inspired by Lord Byron’s “We'll go no more a-roving”, this is just a nice poem to read out loud, despite it being about reminiscing the good times with an ex. Okay if you are going through a break-up, don’t learn this one by heart. Seriously. I don’t want to be blamed for rekindling thoughts of your failed relationship!
 
Coffee in Heaven – John Agard
A short and sweet poem to finish this list. I’ve added it not just because Agard recites it as a sweet little song, but also because its about coffee. I like coffee. Especially when I am writing. And now I’m craving coffee at 9pm....and cake dammit! 
 
And there’s my list of 20. What did you make of it? Have a missed out anything so glaringly obvious that it makes you want to slap me in my sleep? Then drop a comment and let me know what you think. 

Whey - I'm back. Here's a poem a wrote a while back after deciding to have a play-around with free form style.  I feel the poem kinds of explains itself. Don't forget like, share or comment if you particularly enjoyed it. 
 
I see him
With you
In this iron clad embrace.
His eyes
Scanning your drives and pathways.
 
His fingerprints
Forcing ink
Within your shivering sides
Overwriting all emotion.
His branding sinking in.
 
It kills the current in those deadwood wires,
The what-could-have-beens and dreams within -
Hacked by hardware overload.
 
And you show no remorse,
No joy. Not even a shimmer of warmth
Nothing earthly sprouting from your manner
No pounce, no chase to brighten your soured eyes.
You can’t just stand there -
It barely makes you mortal.
 
I’ve tried to salvage what’s left.
Hell, I can’t arouse you  
From this hibernated state.
But heaven forbid,
Find yourself a fortunate friend
Whose touch would set your soul alight again.

And to here's a friendlier kind of touch. For nostalgia's sake. 

A short and sweet poem I wrote about the morning after the night before. And lying in - I could use a lie in right now. Where's that bank holiday gone again? Don't forget to like, share and comment! 

you’re a snuggler
a tangler
a logistical link of limbs
that end up intertwining with mine
 
you kick me over some of the duvet
in the gentlest of gestures
and fester in the filth of your little sister’s linen
as the full moon sheds shame on our backsides.
 
but as the sun scowls through the window
that frames the four post
you wrap yourself in the sheets
like a sushi roll of biscuited bitterness
 
you natter to the bedbugs
the only ones who’ll listen to your curses
whilst me?
I’m basking in the warmth of a Sunday scandal.

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