There are about 4 poems here, so far, all written in the past month. From now on I'll to give a bit of commentary about each one. Some need more explaining more than others.

I'm not sure if I should post the commentary seperately, or maybe add it on to each poem post. We'll see how I get on...

Death of a Work Relationship

What do I have to believe for it to be ‘over’?
What is it that will make me believe that
You are not,
Never was,
Mine?
Make it quick.
Make it a short sharp email, with one stiff kiss
When you told me you hated me
There were none, and I preferred it
But I cannot take the cooling
How I smiled vaguely at you today
And used some poor joke, just charming enough
For the girls from accounts to laugh
Because I am not,
Have never been,
Cold for you
And my mask slips, when I step
Too hastily, from one leg to another
Balancing on my tail,
Upon this stage of monkeys

On the Bus

Instead of staring at that girls’ tits on the bus –
And her getting off, going home
And saying to her sister
“Fuckin, what is it about men?
You wear a low cut top on the bus and they
Fucking perv at your tits”
And her sister saying,
“You’re lucky you’ve got tits”
- I’d look her in eye and say
“Do you live down St. John’s Crescent?”
And she’d say
“No, why, do I remind you of someone?”
And I’d get a roguish grin, she’d be pleased I asked
And I’d say,
“Yeah…”
And then, with my mouth hanging open a bit, like Dom would,
“No”
And she’d laugh
I’d be in her bed in a week.
But I didn’t
So she got off
To have a conversation with her sister

Triple Backup

Drinking a cold and crisp lager by the pool
Under blazing sun Jay, Stu and Ferg were lying low
Having escaped, to shed T’ Big Smoke from their skins
To kick back, see some sea, and wait for what card
Lady L would deal them; let me back up
A bit to explain why Ferg had no luggage

‘Cept a tweed jacket, plumb trousers and tie: an age
They waited at Gatwick for him to show at the taxi pool
Stu and Jay, takin’ turns to smoke before goin’ back up
To the ‘Village Tavern’ boozer, then reunited below
Sat on crates, drinking posh M&S gut rot n playin’ cards,
Before Nick did them a favour when Ferg did the askin’

Stu and Jay left Ferg some lager and by the skin
Of their teeth made their gate call; air rage
From chavs minimised, Ferg followed and Blighty was discard
Ed, for a week, work deceived, and how much they would pull
Absorbed their dirty minds (you may think this was low
But suck it – this is a tale of true triple Backup)

Straight off, the hotel Terminators got their backs up
Triple ‘titanium exoskelton under human skin’
Were laying up banging tunes and the low
Down bout bringin’ in supplies of food and tin; just over-age
Welsh birds caused a storm - Posh could play pool!
But our three fellows dodged the game to play T’ drunkard

Not to mention that Stu had played the brown card
- the Ass of Spades, no less so he ran backup
To the W.C a lot, while Jay and Ferg had two ample
Reasons to be cheerful – imagine them two buskin’
Their talents, before and after they spotted extra baggage:
A boyf and a cherry – easier to play one-handed cello

Mary J came to stay but Ferg bottled it on the li-lo
Got stealthed and flew before enduring a Turkish Finger Rampage
Around his crack; Jay got skanked bad his bank card
Ate up like a kebab, so Stu switched the dollar to offer backup
By this time badly needed, cos only paper left was XL skins
Some creative accountin’ was called for, a muddy pool

Of resources, Enron would’ve had nothing on those age-old skin
Flints, Backup champs eight days running says the score card
But lo and behold! No losers, just three winners, sipping by the pool.

Beyond the Lawn

When I was very young, you seemed very old
As ancient as the gnarled, wrinkled trees in your garden
With a dusting of soft, grey cotton hair
Gently perched on the highest bough
A nest perhaps, for a wind weary bird of paradise

As I grew, you shrank a little
My world widened day by day
My arms and legs insisted on exploring
Every space that was not my pram, my cot and
Your petticoats become an ideal hiding place

From which to race into your mythic, secret garden
Replete with shining coy carp, where every piece of
Half buried flint became an axe head, arrowhead
Bunged by some caveman; where forbidden
Cooking apples moulded over those two
Sacred, solemn hamster graves
That I could hardly look upon but had to!

When the novelty of your breakfast bar
Wore off and the dusty Dickens’ and Shakespeares’
Began to glow; when orange squash became milky tea
(The Rich Tea biscuits lengthened into Kit Kats)
Somewhere amongst these you started to get younger

When your eyesight began to fail, illuminated
Suddenly, I saw the great youth and the strength
That lay at the bottom of your walking stick pot
And heard your kind laughter grow but louder
As if it was me wearing two hearing aids and not you

Later, when I could spare a few moments
From my terribly important life
I’d drive the mile or so to sit
Across from you, tell you censored tales
(that doubtless you saw through)
From a new city I called my home

Or I would offer up a choice fact or stat
I was proud to share (which doubtless you already knew)
And with eyes wide, agog, you’d say
With a slow and gracious nod, in delight
From left to right, first a “gosh!” then a “re-al-lee?!”
As if I’d made it up on the spot

Now my lips are full, my lungs
Enlarged enough to blow a horn for you
I am grown, and you are gone.
But I remember: In wealth you were modest
At the end, in frailty, you were strong

I do believe there is a grassy field
Where as souls divided at birth we all are bound,
Where we all belong; he will be there, your John
To welcome you, as you will me
When I, too, step through the gate that lies ajar,
Just beyond the sunlit lawn

A Double-Barrelled Parking Problem

story by James Richards

Motorists in affluent Berkhamsted started with an explosion last night as a 16-year old Council Environment Overview and Scrutiny Committee was shot dead for not paying to park.
Berkhamsted also has the highest number of people being caught in a running battle in the early hours of yesterday morning because their tickets had expired. Just two days earlier, gangs of Hemel Hempstead drivers armed with knives and hot topics clashed in the Old Kent Road, battling on-street parking contraventions as terrified shoppers looked on.
A fifteen-year-old boy was left lying in a pool of statistics.
Large parts of picture was cordoned off as Councillor Peter Matthews of Berkhamsted Town Council searched for the murder weapon. He said: “We stagger enforcement officers in a way that is proportional to Detective Inspector Whitehouses in the area.”
One resident said: “I heard the bangs and thought it was the Borough Council's solution. A policeman came round soon after and said a boy had been fined five times.”
Cnllr Matthews said “Berkhamsted has a double-barrelled parking problem, we know that. Rival SBT and Organised Crime crews park in Waitrose to buy a loaf of bread and then will stay for hours in the town centre, occupying spaces. They say it’s about turf, but from what it looked like, they just wanted to fight”.
Cnllr Matthews suggested a solution may be to increase the cost of the drugs on the street that the young people are smoking. He said: “It’s a complex situation we are looking at”.

Any one with information regarding parking in the town should call Southwark CID on 020 7239 7711

JayRichardsWrites - Post 1

To whom do I have the pleasure?