Rumour's from a town square

 Slumber…..

Ancient primitive sensations

Of memory foreplay.

Dwindling then dwelling

Freely falling

Running coarsely.

From the vertebrate

To the brain,

Where the integration

Of all sensory inputs

Appears to be working

Overtime…..

 

Waking state…..

My conception of balance

Has been steam rolled

Into particles of insecurity.

By treading the grounds

Of un-explored rounds

Where every step,

Has plausible weight

Thus making my rhythm

Decidedly awkward.

 

The adrenaline in my system

Accelerates, accelerates at

An alarming rate

And propels me into the heights

Of immense giddiness and

Realms of the whispers

Whispers from the streets.

And,

As a thousand newsreaders

Deliver their news

The skin on my cup

Of tea, stares back at me.

 

The four chambers of my heart

Are at present cataclysmic.

Destructively involved

With the influx, of

Incalculable, ingressive

Sensualism.

 

Drowning in overwhelment

Surprised by lewd indulgence

Get me some Valium

Or insulin

To calm these fragile, lucid

Sugar nerves….

 

Because

I’m crawling,

Crawling without movement

In frontiers, that is

Only revealed to the blind.

Prodding and fingering

All unturned stones, that

Once spun over, display

The hideous blasé

Of unborn truth.

 

For my pulse rate

Is down, down to

One per minute,

Easing me into my newly

Found awareness,

An awareness of the rumours

An eye opener to the gossips

A conscious awareness

Of my fellow man and

Neighbour, with all

The stigma that comes

With the locals.

All material aspects, such as

Trainers, CD’s, Hi-fi’s, PS2’s

Have been relegated to,

The substitutes bench.

 

It’s comparable

To a mind altering trip,

But without the chemicals.

Because once the rumours ignite

Reality becomes a blur,

The real world is forgotten

As the gossip takes hold

Spreading, spreading like

A wild bush fire, spreading like

A venereal disease….

 

Yet the rumours seem to

Spread non-verbally

Because every one denies

Spreading them….

“It weren’t me”

“It weren’t me”

“I only heard it from someone else”

“Na, na, na…it ain’t me,

I swear it…but did you hear?”

Their words and defence

Is a hunk of s**t

Squeezing through a tube

Of mass delusion.

From the Buddha

To the Catholic

Christians and saints

The Muslim’s and Sikhs

And the atheist’s complaints.

The malignant angels have

Descended, we’re in

The violence of the dance.

 

On the edges of my skin

On the palate of my tongue

In the vision of my eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Yes the rumour mill

The glorious, glorious

Power of words.

Malicious words, words

Without weight, yet

Destructive in their nature.

Passing comments

That can ruin a reputation

Passing comments

That engulfs and fuels

The small communities,

Fleeting conversations

That sparks and lights,

Council estates, terraced streets

The dream complex, the

Villa overseas,

None are exempt

Absolutely none can escape

The eye of the rumour mill

We all swallow the gossip pill

And the power of hate

The collapse of trust

In life and in death

In happiness and sadness

In sickness and health

Regardless of wealth

Forget what car you have

It catches us all.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

 

So where the sky meets the earth

Where the rain strokes the sea

If you peer through life’s telescope

You’ll see the busy bees

If you listen without reason

You’ll hear their destructive hum

And now for their stories

For the tale has begun…

 

Take for example

Doreen and Bill

A tacky poor couple

Who bow down to doom

Whose days seem so long

Yet disappear too soon

They haven’t done the things

They once dreamed to do.

Haven’t seen the places

They’d liked to have seen,

They’ve been stuck on the estate

Without a reprieve

Scraping by in a shithole

In a battle to make ends meet.

Morning has broken

Poverty unspoken.

 

Doreen, Doreen

Married to Bill

Who if she could turn back the clock

Would have subscribed

To the pill.

Because her two little children

Are now grown up

Her once upon a time darlings

Have developed into scum,

Her sweet precious off spring

Lack ambition and charm

One deals crack

The other smokes dope

One hates blacks

The other joy rides in cars

Police, social workers

Welfare and probation officers

Baseball bats and knifes

Are their essential items…

 

Oh Doreen, poor, poor Doreen

Where the f**k did it all go wrong?

Oh Bill, Bill, pathetic old Bill

How and when,

Did this scenario begin?

How on earth did it get to this?

Search warrants and handcuffs

Your sons are real sweet.

Yet Bill, Bill

You’ve your own worries

Your days at the factory

Are in rapid demise

The new Polish workers will see to this

Cheaper and efficient

They never complain

Don’t have the ill manners

Of their English counterparts.

 

Oh Bill, Bill

Can you recall the first time?

Your eyes set on Doreen

And your heart missed a beat

Down at the disco

Happy hour was complete,

 

And Doreen, Doreen

Do you reflect?

When Bill the Adonis

Swept you off your Freeman,

Hardy and Willis feet?

Do you remember the dance?

When he held you in his arms

Before his beer gut

Ruined it all?

 

But not now

For your love is long dead

Heavy loans and credit cards

Is now all you share.

Or the sporadic trips to jail

To visit your kids

For when they cut

Their umbilical chords

Your romance was dead…

 

*            *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

 

Have you heard about Fi-fi?

 

Fi-fi was posh

Hailed from good stock

Top of the range, elite

In her class,

Yeah, immaculate Fi-fi

Dripped with class….

Even when she s**t

She didn’t need to wipe

Her arse…

No, Fi-fi was special

Fi-fi was class.

 

Fi-fi’s bedroom was as

Big as a barn

Had a brand new beamer

On Daddies behalf

All that she wanted

She inevitably got

While nations starved

Fi-fi would not….

 

But amongst the luxuries

Fi-fi could claim,

Fi-fi had a habit

That would bring family shame

See Fi-fi loved coke

Liked it real bad

Once snorted a line

Off a dealers c**k….

 

And Fi-fi’s bubble was

About to burst

Her insular world

Was shallow and bland

Her inner emotions

Were frail and bare

And soon poor Fi-fi

Was a wreck of despair,

 

Mummy and Daddy

Just couldn’t understand

Given precious little Fi-fi

All she’d ever desired

And her dedicated friends

No longer wanted to know

For Fi-fi’s vulnerability was

A reflection of their own,

A glossy life of

Wine bars, shops and mags

Of empty words and fickle fads

A repetitive circle of

Fashion and vogue, of

Prada handbags and Gucci shoes

 

So Fi-fi swapped the

Canary Isles break, for a

Burn out clinic called

Spoilt brats grange,

Cos Fi-fi was posh

Hailed from good stock

Once done a line

Off a dealers c**k.

 

*            *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

 

Bill’s tale

 

The chard blacked edges

Of a day in decline

Dissolves the safety of memories

That was once a luxury

But now,

Hold no substance.

 

He wakes slowly

He arises cruelly

Sits up alone,

And sighs.

The ticking alarm clock

Is now redundant, in the

Dark cauldron called retirement.

 

He looks across to

The pillow beside him,

It bears no folds or creases

Of a recently slept upon item

No, it is immaculate, intact

And in place from the night

Before, but…beside the bed

Is a photo, a photo of the woman

Whose head would rest on

The vacant pillow, a photo

Of his now dead wife, who he

Treated like s**t, throughout

Her life, with contempt and

Disdain Bill had no restrain

In letting the miss’s know

She was a pain…

Even though…

Even though

She cooked his meals, washed

His clothes, ironed his shirts

Cleaned his shoes, done

The shopping, watered the plants

Done everything Bill would not,

Sorted the bills, painted the shed

Organized trips to see their sporadic

Friends, any family birthdays she

Would remind, and buy Bill a card

So he could write it in kind…

Then one day he woke,

And the wife had gone,

Died in a ward next to

An incontinent fool

And after the funereal, once

Dispatched in the ground

Bill returned home, to a

Silent barren sound,

He went to the cupboard

To cook himself a meal

And realised the fact

He didn’t know his arse

From the grill, he tried to

Iron a shirt burnt a

Hole in the arm, didn’t

Know how much money

Was in the account, went

For a walk got chips and

Kebab, he’ll be all right

Just grab take away meals.

 

And in the evenings, when

The great golden balloon had

Sunk on the horizon

He’d curse and spit about the

Dead b***h, how it was

All her fault for his predicament

How she was too blame

For his lack of good meals…

How she never understood

His needs and thrills

How he could never work out

How to pay the bills,

Even when the hefty cheque

Of her insurance arrived

And he had more money

Than she had alive

He still had a moan

Still had a rant,

About the dead b***h

Who could never understand…

 

But at least

He has a hobby

To wile away the empty

Days, where the seconds

Spill into minutes,

Minutes drip into hours

Hours slip into unconsciousness

As days shrink away,

Yeah, he has a hobby

Fantastic for the mind

He sits on his fat arse

Watching TV all the time.

And the clock on the side

Just ticks and ticks away

Each passing chime disturbs

The dust collected from time.

Can’t be arsed to go for a walk

Isn’t bothered to go to the shops

Just stagnates on the sofa

Where he festers and rots,

Doesn’t bother with the papers

Cos the world has lost it’s mind

Not like the good old days

When England was in her prime.

His mind is filled with memories

Of when he was so very, very

Young, a good looking man

Who was the talk of the birds

But now all he has is his belly

As the focal point for chat

Sits on his own in silence

Waiting for certain death….

 

And in the stillness of

Pale twilight, the children playing

Outside, reverberates around

The lonely empty lounge,

 

Bill reaches for the whiskey

To nullify and extinguish

The loneliness and banal,

A medicine for the wretched

Miserable and foul…

 

*            *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

 

Curtis has a problem

 

He put his own profits

Up his own nose

F**k me,

How many times

Have you heard that before?

How many times!

 

He used to look good

Christ he looked suave

Wholesome. Fresh, bubbly

And alert…

 

He was also feared

You know for real

Not a minor gangster

But a proper geezer who

Commanded respect

And fear…

 

But now…

Now he looks like a tramp

A bloke who’s been kipping

Down by the Thames,

One of them blokes

Who sells the Big Issue

God he looks rough…

 

See…

The profit he’s snorted

Has left him a bit skint

And the once feared gangster

Has lost his appeal

Now people slag him

Off, behind his back, call

Him a wanker, a real proper

Twat…and all because he’s

No longer feared,

He’ll walk into a pub

And everyone sneers

“Have you seen the state of Curtis?”

“Cor he looks a mess!”

“Yeah, that’s what ya get

If you snort your own gear!”

 

*            *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

Cor, she can’t get enough of it

A vibrant glowing girl,

Streaks of blond in her

Ash brown hair,

Big hearted and chested

Mammary’s like planets

She’s a vibrant glittering

Girl –

 

Oh yes

She’s a vibrant glittering

Girl -

She’s a mother of strength,

A dedicated pillar of gold

Two delightful children

Her husband works hard

Does extra shifts, and every

Extra penny goes to

Her and the kids –

Oh yes, she’s a vibrant

Wondrous girl –

 

But in the cosy fittings

Of a platinum edged

Frame, in the spectacular

Picture of marital

Achievement and gain,

Our girl has a sin

A deep secret of guilt

She plays away, can’t

Get enough of it –

The girl loves c**k any

Shape, size or mould

And when the old mans away

Boy does she play

And all the locals say

“She should’ve been a porn

Star she loves it so much,

Can’t get enough of it

Her favourite pastime, c**k!”

 

She’s got a few on the go

But she’s in love with

Me mate –

 

Loves his carefree attitude

And humour on a plate

Worships him so much

She’ll do anything he suggests

Swallowed his come, in a

Pub lavatory,

And on one particular night

When she was supposed to be

At her sister’s,

She was out on the piss

With me mate,

Not her sister –

She had far too much to drink

Her head started to spin

And the sordid creature

Debased herself again,

Me mate was tired

They’d shagged all night

He was knackered and shattered

They’d been at it all night,

But she wanted more

Like a desperate w***e

Who was starving for food

She wanted more dick

Cos she was dripping with juice

It flowed like a sea

So he went to the kitchen

To see what he could see,

He returned with two empties

Two empty beer bottles

Two empty bottles from

The recycling bin –

“Here try these,” he said

Laughing in jest, but to

His utter surprise she

Readily agreed –

She grabbed them real quick

Without a moments hesitation,

And spat on the tops

For added lubrication,

She spun on to her front

And lifted her back

Stuck one up her arse

And one up her crack –

 

My mate he was speechless

For once lost for words

He was watching a scene

Men would pay for in pounds

In and out they thrust

Squelching and spurting

The dirty mucky cow

Orgasmed in a glass orgy,

She was in a world of

Her own, miles away

In a higher exaltation

She screamed away and away –

 

Come the next morning

Through the haze of a

Heavy hangover, my

Mate found her face

Down, passed out and

Snoring –

He stared to laugh

Burst out in delight

Because the two empty

Bottles, were still

Wedged in her behind

One in her arse

One up her crack

They’d been there

For hours, she was

Happy like that –

 

So,

So after a while

He got fed up and vexed

Empty with the sordidness

That engulfed his head

And as for our girl

Well she got a bit heavy

Sent him text upon text

Declaring her love and

Despair, and how she

Wanted his c**k, alert at

The ready –

So he phased it out

Gradually eased it off

Would only meet up

If he was drunk with an horn –

But the one resounding

Factor that stuck in

His head,

Is how after wiping his

Spunk all over her face

She could go home to

Her kids and kiss them

Goodnight –

 

Oh she’s a vibrant

Glowing girl,

With streaks of blond

In her ash brown hair

Big hearted and chested

She loves a man blessed with

A hard stiff c**k

Any size, shape or colour

She’s not fussy

She ain’t bothered

No she’s a wondrous

Glowing girl –

 

*            *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

 

Neal

 

Neal was young

Neal was smart

Neal played the bad man

To a fine art –

 

Neal was tough

Neal was hard

Neal kissed his teeth

At anyone who passed –

 

Neal didn’t listen

Neal didn’t learn

Neal knew everything

He was baddest man on earth –

 

Neal would frown at teachers

Neal would argue with peers

Neal would fight any kid

Twice his height and build –

 

Neal had an older brother

Neal’s brother liked to dance

Neal’s brother went clubbing

At a blues dance in town –

 

Neal’s brother got bother

Neal’s brother got grief

Neal’s brother took a hiding

From a doorman at the scene –

 

Neal’s brother staggered home

Neal’s brother’s face bled

Neal was angered and astounded

To see his brother in such a mess –

 

Neal got hold of a gun

Neal went off his head

Neal shot the doorman

Shot the doorman dead –

 

Neal was arrested

Neal went to court

Neal got a long sentence

In a criminal court –

 

Neal was then seen as cool

Neal was whispered at school

Neal was revered and respected

To us impressionable youths –

 

*            *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

 

The man who pulls his trousers down

 

There he is,

There he is, over there

That’s him, that’s him

Over there,

The man who pulls his trousers down

That’s him

Over there…

 

You sure?

You swear, you sure

That’s him, over there?

Course I am

Course it is,

It’s the man who pulls his

Strides down, him over there…

 

Dirty f*****g b*****d

Is that him over there?

What’s he do then?

What’s he all about?

I’ve heard about him

Flashing his balls around…

 

Yeah that’s him

For sure

Standing over there

The man who pulls his trousers down

Him over there…

 

Dirty f*****g b*****d

Whose he fink he is?

Dirty f*****g paedophile

Lets give him a kicking!

 

Oi you!

You dirty c**t

Come over here

Dirty f*****g b*****d

See how hard he is!

Come on lads

Lets do the dirty c**t

Lets give him a kicking

Get the ambulance out!

 

Hold on, hold on

You sure its him?

You positive it’s the one?

Course I f*****g am

I’ve seen him about…

Say it ain’t him though

Suppose it ain’t the one

Course it bloody is

Lets knock the b*****d out

 

So what’s he exactly done then?

What’s it all about?

Well…well…

Well he flashes to little kiddies

Let’s knock the b*****d out

He’s been in the local paper

Getting his horrible bollocks out

Shown ‘em to little kiddies

Let’s knock the b*****d out…

 

It’s the man who pulls his trousers down

Standing over there

You gonna help me out

Or what, let’s kick

The f****r in….

 

     *        *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…

 

No smoke without fire

 

Even though Lennie

Was acquitted from a

Court of law,

The rumours that were left

Over, like a rotting piece of

Food from his plate

Still persisted even in

His innocence….

 

His ex wife, had encouraged

Their wayward daughter

To fabricate a story, that

Old Lennie once abused her.

So the old bill came

The specialists arrived

And poor old Lennie

Was up before the magistrate,

 

But the evidence was weak

The story was tame

His ex and his daughter

Collapsed on the stand

So Lennie was free, a free

Man in name, but all his pals

And neighbours were never

The same…no smoke without

Fire was all they would say…

 

So every time he

Went down the shops

To get a paper or thin

Roll ups, the whispers would

Gather, tongues would ignite,

“No smoke without fire,”

Chorused in time…

 

So even in innocence

Lennie was condemned

More guilty in his

Neighbourhood, than in

Front of the magistrate,

“No smoke without fire,”

All the residents would say

“No smoke without fire,”

Will be etched on his grave

“I knew there was something

About him, you can tell by

His hands, I knew there was

Something, he ain’t a real man!”

“ No smoke without fire”

Is what they all say

“No smoke without fire”

Will be etched on his grave –

 

*            *

 

On the edges of our skin

On the palate of our tongue

In the vision of our eyes

The whispers have stung

Rumours circulate

Gossip accumulates

Rumours gesticulate

Gossip accelerates.

Our emotions are frail

And easily mislead,

We believe what we hear

To relieve our own fears…