Whispers from the street

The long grey rectangular tower blocks,

Which run in a ruled straight line

For as long as the retina will allow,

Stand impregnable under the skylight

A testament to mans crass instinct –

The corridors are cold,

The pathways are damp

The young wait for nothing,

The elderly suffer cramp

The garages are strewn with graffiti

The tar roof has developed a leak

Cars are impressively kitted up

A belief to what you can achieve –

I remember the echoes on the stairwells

The doomed rattling of the lifts,

There’s not many pretty girls round here

The pound is weaker then the fist.

A heap of broken bottles

Betting slips lost in the wind

The sun is a condemned criminal

It’ll be dead in eight million years –

You told me of your secrets,

You relayed all your fears,

You conjured up your escapism

You skated on delicate dreams –

The estate collects many failures,

It bullies you into artist collapse,

Poor health and a social handout

A mugging and a knife in the back –

I recall a once beautiful neighbour,

Vivacious, vibrant and prime,

But now’s she’s the wrong side of forty

She struggles to muster a smile.

Her teeth are liked bombed out houses,

Black, damaged and chipped,

If it wasn’t for the ciggies and lottery

She’d contemplate cutting her wrists –

 

Ring-a-ring a roses

A pocket full of rizzlas

A tissue, a tissue

We all drink ale...

 

Bereft of ambition, ideals and hope

The entire species of the area

Have nailed themselves to a huge

Invisible cross,

Where, they act out their unsurpassable

Problems, that outweighs any known

To man,

Their trails, tribulations, and failed dreams

All attribute to the nailing of their flesh

To a silent crushing cross, in an

Over dramatisation of their own

Crucifixion.

 

They hum melancholic songs

And lullabies to their past’s,

A lament for their lost youth

That they dress up as special.

 

Ring-a-ring a roses

A pocket full of rizzlas

A tissue, a tissue

We all drink ale…

 

The sick

The lonely

The faint hearted

The destitute –

Sprinkled around the super market –

Dull atoms that once glistened,

Silent cattle horded and gathered,

Clutching dearly to a shopping list,

Pushing a trolley packed with cholesterol.

Lined and stacked with

Products that are eighty percent water

Products that lead to ill health –

Products that tempt you with the sell,

Products that lead to obesity and piles.

Oh yes, they love a shop…

 

Roll, roll, roll a spliff

 

 

Go gently at the seams

Puff, puff, puff away

Succumb to hazy dreams…

 

 In the shudder of a distant train

Track rattling,

A man of middle age walks

His beloved pet dog.

It’s been a loyal companion

Through the thick and the thin,

No infidelities from this beast

No arguments in court,

No solicitor’s summons

And CSA demands, no

Cancelled weekends he’d

Planned with the kids,

Cos his ex’s new boyfriend

Has moved the goal posts again –

No, the dog is loyal

The dog is a friend,

It’s always pleased to see him

It appreciates his whims.

I looked long and hard

Into that poor souls eyes,

That had forty-seven years

Of collected sights, and

Admittedly I saw nothing

Not a morsel or pride,

His weekly pleasure is a

Dartboard on Friday night –

 

Humpty lumpy sat on a wall

Humpty lumpy claimed benefit fraud

All the bad government interfering men

Wouldn’t give lumpy any money again…

 

She was a bruiser

Oh yes,

She certainly was a

Right old bruiser.

Not a light, medium

Or heavy weight,

She was a lump, boiler

A belter weight,

Oh yes,

She certainly was a bruiser.

 

She was a bleeding sight

Her waist was a thirty-nine

She’d eat, burgers, chips and pies,

Chocolate, crisps and cake,

She drank lager from a can

And smoked forty f**s a day,

Claimed social benefit fraud,

Was proud she’d never

Been abroad,

Oh yes,

She was a right bleeding sight.

 

Hickcory-dikory-dock

You’ve got a big f*****g gob,

You talk such crap

You are a pratt

Hickory-dickory-dock…

 

They say that,

Fortune will favour

The brave…

What a load of old

Bollocks!

Cos when he went

Steaming into the pub

Giving it the big ‘en

All Rocky Balboa

In front of his

Drunken pals,

He took a right bleeding

Hiding, oh yes he did,

A right bleeding hiding,

A kicking off a twat,

A beating from a twat

Who was wearing

A fake label cap,

And I soon reasoned and

Sussed, that fortune

Comes with a cost.

 

What a big mouth

What a north and south

Blimey

What a north and south…