Poems

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Given Name

... and if I should
betray my course
and angle sail
against the tide
the wind will back
it's song return
my footsteps to
the beaten track
laid down at birth
in rows of genes
to guide the hand
and tilt the heart
in truth or dreams
the very same
I cannot change
my given name ...

© Matt Ottewill 2000

 

The Psycho Of Sidcup

Somewhere on a Sidcup street
Flower beds all clean and neat
A house of pigs a house of sheep
Two families polite and sweet
A nicer lot you couldn't meet

Now Mr Sheep he has a son
Called Max a quiet and lonely one
The apple of his father's eye
And though he wouldn't hurt a fly
His special love is DIY
He likes to let a hammer fly

Trotting into B & Q
Max sees a girl that he once knew
Recalling that her name is Jill
He goes at once to find a drill
The girl is watching from her till
Max settles on a hammer action
Guaranteed for satisfaction
Pays by credit card transaction

Desperate to find a mate
He asks our Jill out on a date
But Jill remembers Max from school
When he was young, unkind and cruel
And thinks it best to play it cool
So Max returns without her number
With a temperament like thunder

Angered by our Jill's rejection
Starved of kindness and affection
Max considers vivisection
Takes his tools into the shower
Needs a minute takes a hour
With his torso dripping wet
He contemplates his socket set
He hasn't used his sander yet

At home behind the party wall
Loretta and her husband Paul
A pair of pigs to please the eye
Poor Paul's no good at DIY
And now with garburettor broken
Many angry words are spoken
It will cost if they must send it
Maybe neighbour Max could mend it?
In a hand polite and neat
Paul writes a note to Mr Sheep

Next day with introductory letter
Max pops round to see Loretta
Hoping that he won't upset her
Kicks the broken garburettor
Soon it's working good as new
He asks what else there is to do
Kitchen units to be fitted?
Wit and hardboard to be pitted?
She declines our friends advances
Sensing danger in his glances
And though he feels she's been unkind
Our Max pretends he doesn't mind

But when at last he turns to go
And say his final cheerio
An inner anger starts to grow
(For sheep are full of hate you know)
His innards are so tightly wound
A quick release just must be found
He hurries home his mind is set
He smokes a final cigarette
And lays his plans without regret

The job has been precisely timed
At once the garden fence is climbed
He parts Loretta's kitchen blind
His Black and Decker has been primed
He's let that inner spring unwind

When everything required is drilled
And all the cracks and holes are filled
Our Max for once is really thrilled
And very little blood's been spilled

When Mr Pig returns to find
What Max the axe has left behind
There's little more than bacon rind
For Max has been a tad unkind
He's cleaned the walls and floor and blind
And left his masterpiece unsigned

Somewhere on a Sidcup street
Flower beds all clean and neat
A house of sheep sits down to eat
A bowl of grass a bowl of meat
(Unusual but not unique)
For animals as you should know
Live their lives completely unburdened by delusions of morality and guilt.
And good luck to them I say.

© Matt Ottewill 1995-2002

 

Top

Don't Be A Thing

I wake up, you walk in
You'd look better right now
If the light was dim
You're no fun, it's no joke
I'd set you on fire
But you don't smoke

You wanna talk to me
I just can't wait
You're a long way past
Your sell by date
You think Little Cliff Richard
Is the rock 'n' roll king
Slow down baby, don't be a thing

This is now, that was then
I'd meet you at twelve
If you could count past ten
You might blame yourself
If you knew how
You're gonna reap what you sew
With an idiots plow.

You wanna talk to me
Well say 'Goodnight'
You make love just like
A Tyson fight
I thank God you can't dial
And make the phone ring
Grow up baby, don't be a thing

You're a ...
Heartbreaking money making
Glad rag body breaking
Fingers in the till fake
Always on the make
With a bad luck charm school
Dirty sense of fun
And I'm gonna have to shoot you
With your own gun

Hats off, to the ladies man
The fish wasn't born
That you can't catch
With the public face of a private eye
Looking for gas with a lighted match

You look good to me
With my eyes shut tight
I'm gonna write to my
Local MP tonight
You better wise up soon
To the mess you're in
Wake up baby, don't be a thing

© Matt Ottewill 1988

 

Suspicion

How many times has she felt this way
Trying to remember if she heard him say
He would be home soon with a bottle of wine
He hasn't done that in a very long time

Suspicion takes root
Food gets burnt
To accept betrayal
Is a lesson well learnt

The double standard of an old cliché
If he rolls in drunk there'll be hell to pay
In a cardboard box her marriage vows
Her mother tells her it's too late now

Suspicion takes root
Food gets burnt
To accept betrayal
Is a lesson well learnt

Into the night
With the kids and the kitten
Out of the house
And the battle of Britain
Waiting for the bus
In the pouring rain
As Daddy wakes up
In the bath again

Cold cold truth of a hot affair
Confirmed by footsteps on the stair
Tentative steps in slippered feet
Her face to the wall
She pretends to sleep

Suspicion takes root
Food gets burnt
To accept betrayal
Is a lesson well learnt
Suspicion takes root
Food gets burnt

© Matt Ottewill 1986