I think I’ll tell you about Sally Evans She was striking out notes that she wrote to herself Tore them to pieces and hid them away In a Bandaid tin on the shelf in the shed
I was sixteen and my hair was curly I had always imagined her words were about me So I pieced them together like cryptical crosswords And found to my shock they were not.
“Graham has dumped me… God I’m so sad” Johnny’s all right for a laugh but he’s a bit of a twat I’m three weeks pregnant I know it’s not long My parents will kill me but in truth I’m more scared of the bomb”
Two cold war kids on a horsehair mattress Listened to Shackletons drone… They were hunting the subs in the North East Atlantic And we were too scared to go home.
But Sally wasn’t up the duff And the Berlin wall tumbled down soon enough. I got birthday cards… but not this year Just an odd little jigsaw in a Bandaid box.
“Alan has left us The kids miss their Dad Kevin’s all right for a laugh though he’s a bit of a twat. My kids six months pregnant… she’s never at home. And I’m nearly fifty years old and you know I’m still scared of the bomb.”
“I think you loved me… well I wanted you Though we never said so… That would have been cruel And what was that plane called we heard every night? The one you said watched over us Sometimes I miss the bomb”
Let’s look at this Forty-two- a- penny shrine, Its overpraised, chaotic lines That start with tea and yellow trucks, And flukes and random bits of luck. Oh and bits of sciencey sounding stuff That do connect but not enough.
It lacks the risky weight of science. Just gags eked out across the stars A paperback for airport bars Vanilla TV scripted just for you Who rhyme with number forty-two
Too slack to even make it forty-six (And give it universal Chromosomal Human meaning)
1980’s babble Fishy Kinder egg bland chocolate Without the present Or the flavour Do yourself a favour Don’t panic
Will the moon sail up and will the moon shine And tell me dark secrets and if I tell her mine? What a stupid request Because the moon is quite deaf.
Will the moon sail up and will the moon shine? She took of some clothes So I threw off all mine Which was patently dumb Because the moon is quite blind.
Were we were destined to be second best, Paranoid and in a mess? Good love some times ends like this.
Will the moon sail up and will the moon shine Or cover our bodies in angry quicklime? She has so many lovers and so little time For us.
Was it you and me or the stars Which made us curse each other’s names?
You and me. Wherever we end up Whoever we love just know there is one who still thinks well of us.
You ask Will the moon sail up and will the moon shine? Will the moon sail up and will the moon shine Sweetness?
Time after time After time After time.
Another two hander. Originally a song but I think it sort of works here. It’s actually meant to be optimistic!Art by Dawn Illing
Why ‘End’? End as in die? Does a poem end? It can if no one hears it Or loves it Or thinks about it Or talks about it Or it gets buried by time Or jealousy Or malice I do not wish an end to your poems End
To tease a man who writes ‘End’ as a termination to all his poems
Ten No. 6 A packet of chips The sound of The Beat playing ‘Stand down Margaret’ Two on a Fizzy doing fifty! Going down the hill And we’re all lit up On a Castrol night With the two stroke thunder and the gravel rash Grease under your nails That will never come out
SPEEDWAY! Took you speedway every time SPEEDWAY! Tuesday evenings Friday nights
Oh lover I’m still down at the track It’s dark down here and I’m burning up Got my head in a bucket Chewing on a wasp Mad for the crash of your face in my face Down at the track down by the river We got close like skin on gravel And the taste of your mouth That will never wash out
SPEEDWAY ! Kings of the shale the time of our lives! Round and around to the left on a bike SPEEDWAY!
Scunthorpe ScorpionsPoole PiratesExeter FalconsWorkington CometsCanterbury CrusadersHull VikingsOxford CheetahsPlymouth GladiatorsBerwick BanditsIpswich WitchesGlasgow TigersRedcar Bears … and for Pete Lawrence…. Coventry Bees!
He hides in trees Taunting Like the ghost of an ancient hungry baby With his foul cry “NooNoo Noo NooNoo” You close your eyes Then he’ll rise With the sun. Grey and bloated Porcine Too early “NooNoo Noo NooNoo” They say a pig can’t fly They lie Be sure To fear his greedy Gap toothed beaky maw. Rise and stagger Looking out No sign Then back to bed But still he throws his voice about “NooNoo Noo NooNoo” His galloping claws are closing in Columba palumbus “NooNoo Noo NooNoo” Columba palumbus “NooNoo Noo NooNoo”
Maryhoney Burleigh. She was so sure money would buy her happiness. It didn’t. She’s long gone now… suicide. I’m pretty sure I know who gave her the drugs.
I never liked your greedy ugly husband
The way he’d fondle pretty girls in public
Get your toothbrush and a passport
A spare pair of knickers
Leave the junk.
Be the Queen of Nowhere in Particular
Young forever
With windswept eyes and dusty hair
Oily hands …
On a Bonneville
Or a red Le Mans
From Sheffield to Shebbear
You could rule it all from a vinyl throne
With a fibreglass crown
Be a needle in a haystack
A cat’s eye on the motorway.
Lose the junk
The world loves a biker girl.
Maryhoney Burleigh ‘Cry Wolf’ Childrens Film Foundation 1968
Fort Hill, Margate 1967
These stills are from a charming 1968 Children’s Film Foundation movie, set in Margate, called “Cry Wolf”. I was unaware that Mary, as a child, played a major role in it until yesterday. Mary never told me about it during the week I knew her, but the strange thing is that, as a 10 year old in Devon, I had watched this film …but of course I didn’t recognise her when we met by chance on holiday in France in 1985…there was no way ,or reason, that I would have. Even stranger, as a much older man, I have come to know Margate well , and I’ve walked the hill that she is cycling down countless times. I feel as if I’ve been haunted by Maryhoney in multiple dimensions across more than five decades.
I must also add that I have just been contacted by Mary’s sister Mercedes. She tells me that Mary’s death was officially recorded as ‘misadventure’ and not ‘suicide’. On the morning in 2001 when I wrote those words, twenty-five years ago, I had just been told by my mother that Mary had killed herself. I was in a friend’s home studio, in a hurry, recording my first album. I was sad, angry and bitter and I wrote a not very good song reflecting that. I suppose I have felt that way for many years. Thank you Mercedes. I did not wish to hurt you and I, in turn, hurt less as a result of our conversation. I have such happy memories of those few days in 1985. “I want to stay young forever” was one thing I remember her saying...just an aside…in the moment…hardly intended as a deep thing. Well, lovely, Maryhoney came to really mean it and I wish she hadn’t.
