named and shamed

                                                                 Pity the city
                                                                 where your names
                                                                 just a brand
                                                                 too bland to compete
                                                                 with mass market hysteria.

                                                                 History wiped out
                                                                 in one fell swoop
                                                                 at the behest of a man
                                                                 with no time for the past
                                                                 blinded by the here 
                                                                 and the now
                                                                 the greed and the need
                                                                 for global expansion
                                                                 in this frivolous age
                                                                 the pages of time
                                                                 wiped from the memory.

                                                                 1904, no more 
                                                                 this the new dawn
                                                                 traditions forlorn
                                                                 a world of brands
                                                                 where style beats substance
                                                                 defeat to the purists
                                                                 who in vain

                                                                 believe in a name.
 

lost in life

getty images

                                                                No Mister Bobby

                                                                to place a loving arm

                                                                around those sunken shoulders;

                                                                no Gary with those death stare eyes

                                                                to mouth those words of the wise:

                                                                “’av’ a word wiv’ ‘im”

                                                                A nation does not share those tears,

                                                                this battle yours

                                                                and yours alone

 

                                                                in all its bitter solitude.

                                                                A Shakespearean tale

                                                                doomed to fail,

                                                                schoolboys own stuff

                                                                buried by the harsh realities

                                                                of the twisted knife

                                                                in life.

Devil in the details

Special ones
silver tongues

words of wisdom

smoking guns

compelled by love

second comings

home from home

saviours return

grey with wisdom

fuelled by rage

another chance

another page

devils scourge

new worlds unfold

the brash

the bright

forever bold.

Practice makes perfect

 You stared at that ball
with vicious intent

The look of a master

Who for hours had spent

Honing his skills

Far from the crowd

Where the greatest are made  

Learning the ways and the how’s

Where the real blood is spilt

The sweat it is shed

For the love of the game

Feet they have bled.

Ball after ball

After ball

After ball

The rest all long gone

You ignore their calls

Pursuing your dreams

Until the day it does come

When all of your efforts

shall be rewarded my son.

A lesson in life

Mind over matter

Lesser men would have crumpled

Fallen and shattered

Yet until the last

You gave your all

For the love of the game

You answered the call;

When it mattered most

All those hours alone

You stepped up to the crowd

And onto your throne.

Gone, not forgotten

For those of us cleansed

of devils red

a wry smile appeared

no tears were shed,

a window of hope

for the rest of us souls

who had our hopes dashed

by your precocious hold.

We lined no streets

to witness your passing

or hailed to the chief

bowing out in his glory -

your reign as the king

not a part of our story;

Instead we rejoiced

The king passed on the reins

but has his watch stopped

or does it tick on unhinged?

A new dawn may beckon

fresh is the day

will this now herald

the changing of ways?

Or will we be left

as so often before

outside looking in

left to implore

the if’s and the maybe’s

the ‘what could have been’s’

The great man is gone

still held in esteem.