Category Archives: 52 Week Challenge

Poems based on prompts from http://fiftytwopoetry.wordpress.com/

Dovedale (52/39)

Amidst the clapping trees and booming hills
She stood

Frozen like taxes until her interest rate rose
Trying to catch the note of the strumming stream

As the whispering wind started rumours
She believed
She’d fall
Pregnant with fear
Her comfort zone was born

Bairns skipping over stepping stones
Each step changing tones
By this river I have known
She stood

Humming the note of the strumming stream
Thawing out thoughts of why

This filly affiliated with feeling afraid
Her feelings were frayed yet
She walked over water like cobbled stones were her disciples

Stepping out like her faith says
Converting the unbeliever inside her
Drowned in joy, I was

We sang the song of stepping stones in harmony
For admist the clapping trees, above the roaring hills
She soared

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Retrograde Doxology (52/11)

Oh black box of bountiful banter and bodacious badassery
Wonderful are your dual shocks in my hands
You give nightmares to the dream cast and cast dreams as virtual realities
Those who try angles just to square with you are caught in the circle of exasperation.
Only the soulless would not walk in San Andreas

From the rising of the sun to the scratching of the game will I praise you.
Homework cleaning, and proper sleep have died for you.
Knowing that football widows are but a testament to your handiwork
We men have Kingdom Hearts, it is the measure our soul calibre that sometimes….
The devil may cry at your mastery of Electronic Arts.

Being in your presence is a call of duty for which no medal of honour is deserving
We are not worthy but by cheat codes or insomnia we are made perfect..
Deliver us from the wrath of wives, parents and girlfriends oh keeper of our Final Fantasy
Guitar heroes and sing stars are but cherubims to your glorious gamesmanship

An ex boxer to a knockout king is but a nay sayer denying pro evolution.

You are more than a Vice City siren causing Silent hills to throw tantrums.
Bedrooms and lounges are temples where we crown you with prickly victories
Oh black box of conquests you consume time like a ravenous herbivore
Even after beating number 134 of a tekken tournament that has torn a man
We are found wanting more, of you

Left one, left two oh black box we are you regimented.
Right, one right two, sometimes our pride has been dented
With broad shoulders we accept this monopoly on our senses
Our mettle gears solid so we shift blocks like tetris.

Are you deity or a dynasty, with your 4th generation of believers
See 10, 000 reasons aren’t enough to proclaim that you reign in all seasons
With joy now receive us
We know eye toy preceded your move into greatness
Sega and Nintendo must bow down
All Hail The Playstation

Playstation

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Bearwood Pick Nick (52/8)

bearwood high st

Every Saturday morning when Des Lynam’s moustache was doing it’s final stretches during the weather just before Grandstand we found ourselves…

In sniffing distance of the Kings Head
Blunt’s shoes? you’d never wear them unless you smoked, were barely out of the cot or closing in on retirement.
Where cash machines are places of worship and the church on the corner is a convenience store outliving us all.
As chips a shade of oompah loompah that fish pouting glamour pusses would bathe in are trophy dinners.
If traversing that red and grey bricked hill to purchase 105 of the 5-a-day was deemed a winner.
I’d grow up fruitless, a damned sinner
See once raiding freezer heaven was finished….we’d head there……
To the land of the A-Team branded Cornflakes, peaches and rice.
Where stealth entry to this economically viable leviathan was vital.
Where purchases were disguised in Safeway’s and Tesco bags to avoid being seen as cheap.
There’s nothing special about this rabidly chavvy anti Monaco
16 years tasting traffic jams instead of tavern pies, doing bicep curls with bags of cabbages.
Drowning in trolley fountains and blue rinse eruptions at the temple of torrential tedium
This wretched hamlet conspired to feed me the beauty of Anneka Rice.
She was round the corner but hey, for every pleasure, there is a sacrifice.

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Sprung (52/10)

daffodils

She handed me Daffodils
Like acid rain curating a rock face
I crumbled
My eyes like barren barrels filled with fatherly fermentation
Her smile could not smell my in sense
If posession is nine tenths of the law, then holding them I was broken
Sometimes silence is the truth unspoken
Yet when she planted those daffodils, my future exploded
I became a golden goal den
Yearning for the day, when daffodils aren’t the only ting I’m holding

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19 Stone Smile (52/9)

19 stone smile was bad, like Mike in 87
Until I met the real miss jackson with her hips and twisted melon
Quiet dog and a fruit cake for whom love was a never.
18 years were two words and (an) escaped life sentence
The mirror separated the pedant from the peasant.
In the future an atheist would bring a Christian to repentance
Dating was a time of the month, lust seemed so feral
It was perpetual rebounding until I found my level
If you’re travelling without moving, how do you know haven’t settled?
The love of love was a drug and for pot I never kettled
Not a man united but experience made for a read devil
Making music without producing, I lied to heavy meddle
Hope my nemesis forgives me for being the herb to her petal
Not everyone’s cup of tea but she knew I deserved better.
Would have loved sons but clouds didn’t produce our weather
My love story’s a challenge
With every page I’m counting blessings
I thought my 19 stone smile was bad like Mike in 87
I was a child then and a child then
After 36 months of emptying my vessel to find my forever
I grew up and realised she was simply the start of the lesson

With the examination my ties were shredded
In 6 years of wrestling I’ve done turn buckle swallow dives
My heart learnt to swallow knives
To see if they would cut it I found myself to lose my mind
Sometimes you need a bare soul to grow into your shoe size
Now my 19 stone smile is someone’s 10 or 25
As my smile
Is now mine
For life

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Flagged Offside (52/7)

United 92 away

I was just young and black, in gold and green cuffs.
Sent to the wolves, a young cub full of cereal.
I was a serial offender, great pretender
Midfield or defender, I couldn’t remember
I just handed out oranges.
Water boy before The Waterboy
The captain was the manager’s son
A right little Lord Fauntleroy
Bib master, ball boy, cone king
Occasional substitute, should have swapped oranges for another fruit
Dammit I was everything!

Was there something they weren’t telling me?

King of the spelling bee wasn’t helping me
This thing called football required a different type of memory
I could dance better than any white kid raised on chicken, rum and reggae
I had the running man perfect but with a ball?
Ermmm okay…
I was not Steve Staunton or Stan Collymore
Ladies and gentleman in one game I nearly scored
I was young a foolish villa fan
But could I run with a ball?
Could I hit it true like I gave a damn?
Not even Obama would say Yes He Can!

For St Faith and St Laurence I was offside on the touch line
A whole lotta heart not skill was my punch line
When I tried to read the game I was tongue tied
Aston Villa couldn’t inspire pride
When they passed to me they looked petrified
Why couldn’t the clumsy demon be exorcised?
I was too much of a saint to pray abusive parents drank pesticide
Wearing claret on my sleeve I became blue
Praise would be wonder land but cats just asked
Who…are …you?

I am the black Vinnie Jones
A Roy keen to see red
Devil in a new shirt
Not that ugly black red and green striped
Muller branded
Would look better if puked yoghurt was splashed at.

Villa Park will never will be better than my hell on hallowed turf
Old Trafford is more than a theatre
When I watch them I am a dreamer
Scoring Hughes screamers
Weaving the blood of ogres with Ryan’s wing wizardry
My long legs will be David Gower’s bat on a tricky wicket
When that ball comes I’ll know where to stick it
Call me Michael Ricketts and you might hear crickets
I will be a chocolate Alex Ferguson with the master plan
12 years old I will be the man because I am
A United fan

They’ll no longer scold chocolate green and gold.
Paid my dues in the freezing cold
If I tackle you, reach for that 3 digit call
999, see you at City Hospital
Not arrogant just better, yes I’m that bold
I’m a united fan, don’t you know
Trap a ball, head it
Let’s take it slow
One day I might have Tor Andre’s flow
I might score a great goal or swing and slip
Then again…. running for number 10 …
I might just end …in the premiership

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Plating The Storm (52/6)

storm

A thousand bitter lemon crystals river dance on my lips
Bittersweet like the memory of a broken engagement on valentines day
I can only wince with the rhythm and blink for breath

Trinidadian scorpions fire lasers at the roof of my mouth
My pupils flash hazard warning lights the colour of a vitmain C overdose
I am gushing with fire like a stroppy volcano on a sugar high

Is this the revolution or is snow the solution?
Am I wholly ghost?
Is this human?

Rubbing my eyes would only increase the burn
From what insights can I learn?
I could shout at a twister
Enlist the incestuous expletive
Become the hands full of brassiere ripping energy
Yet this rain I’m in debted to

See my mandible is now prance able
If this is dance or die then I am ready to rumble
Get my shoes and set the table
Plunder me with the fantasy of Venus and Neruda
This I demand
Now that I have tasted thunder

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