Long Bookies Poems
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Here are six tales of six relatives of mine
Now all have passed in the passage of time
Mostly seen through the eyes of a child
Poetic licence used for I’m no Oscar Wilde
~~~
Aunt Ada and Aunt Edie were a scary pair for me
Ada wore a real live fox fur dangling from her neck
And as a child I really thought this is where it slept
Of course it was not breathing as the poor thing it was dead
But nothing could convince me ~ for to me it was asleep instead
Edie was Ada’s companion or that is how it seemed
Much smaller in stature she walked behind Ada
Who strutted ahead when her mind it was set
Each day Ada dressed in her Astrakhan coat
And walked to her ‘bookies’ where she placed her daily bet
~~~
Another scary person whom I only met the once
A cruel step mother came to stay
When I saw her face I ran away
Her face was pointed
Her nose was too
Her countenance a paler shade of blue
And with her came her daughter too
A spookier pair I never knew
From whence that day the day they came
Their names we never spoke again
~~~
My dearest Grandpops ~ loved him lots
A character through and through
He wore a black beret perched upon his head
With a loosely tied dickie bow draped round his neck
A master magician with his performing dog named Win
Performing caricatures by his favourite Dickensian
Wishing he was here ~ passed in his 84th year
Wanting many answers to questions unasked
For the young have no time for to stop and to hear
When young, one can be so selfish I fear
And that is the reason I wish he was here
~~~
An uncle in the navy spent months away at sea
Like Father Christmas he returned ~ I sat upon his knee
His knapsack overflowed with gifts for family and for me
Exotic lace and silk and dolls and fancy fans and herbal tea
Ivory figures large and small he'd bring from a foreign land
He would sit for hours spinning yarns of the Orient exotic and grand
~~~
his visits stopped so suddenly no more gifts were sent
to this very day I have no inkling where my uncle went
Written 15th November 2020
Contest Six relatives
Sponsor Caren Krutsinger
FIRST PLACE
Contest ALL YOURS POETRY
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
I remember living in one room dingy and dire
with old lino on its rotting wooden floor.
I remember crystallised spit dangling from guard at the fire;
as mother cleaned, he'd only honk the more.
I recall how we went hungry, waiting for the paltry sum
he allowed us for board and keep, the cheap fink,
and how he served apprenticeship to becoming a true bum
by treating as priorities his fags and drink.
I remember all the rows he caused demanding back the cash
which was supposed to feed and clothe his we’ans
I remember every Christmas morn' the gifts received were trash
because he'd pissed the present-money down the drain.
I recall one awful night my mother hunting high and low
with a hungry bedraggled child on either hand,
she finally catching that boozy stinker sate in the Dungloe.
How he fumed, outraged that food she dared demand.
I remember his begrudgement of those sparse few days away–
one hour upon the beach or at the fair:
how just when we were relaxing would be dragged from play.
Homeward-bound: him the ‘bookies', us despair.
I remember trudging up to Creggan to the ‘Housing Place'
every week with mother and sister, come rain or hail,
and how that worthless, selfish, monster did not even have the grace
to commend her dedication, instead railed.
I can picture his expression when she got herself a job,
determined not to lose her new clean home.
I remember his wild tantrums when she'd saved up for a hob–
the delivery man was perplexed at oral foam.
I remember those miserable times as if they were today,
how he made odd help with homework living hell–
so that now a friend's assistance, however gracefully
put, grates my tortured psyche so much I cannot tell.
When we started working, my sister dear and I,
it seemed for him a licence to give less.
Many weeks he'd keep house-money and, as the months went by,
we discovered he'd drunk the rent; that was a mess.
So now sot has retired, and it seems his mind has gone–
for he's telling all how great he was those years:
he built house on the prairie. He was such a con:
the only thing he constructed was a legacy of fear.
Now you know full well what they're about, they're about using you
aint know better than wizards of wall street, rockin the beat with a juke.
Vegas bookies abetting frauds taking odds right against you,
left to die in the streets, exasserbated by your mental masturbated mood.
Playing russian roulette with only our head at the gun,
stirring up hatred for fun
the quest we're on is, when are you going to join us white folk
brother to brother arm in arm
most of us been waiting for you, we also the ones sounding the alarm
we hear the sirens in the street, we cry when your babies cry. We got Georgia....(guidestones) on our minds.
Now we aint made inside from some flesh that aint pink.
Same as you, we were derived, from Adam and Eve.
Each of us alone the only thing we got is each other, that's ALL there IS. Sister and Brother.
We have a common enemy, that which takes principality against us.
With Sins many fetishes of cowardice de unrelentus.
31 flavors so many ways to taste, the victory of defeat, disunity caused by cowards with immunity at rocky road place. hobbledstoned in the streets, Hoodwinked with their nuts in our face.
Don't rub it in, like "now you're on top, we got Obama!
make people suck on my chocolate dipped cone of invincibility pop docudrama.
I bet it makes the taste of vanilla so sweet,
but instead leaves a bad taste, in the palate of the nationality.
Too much high flying, smack talking, maligning personality
there aint no union in a "aint seen nothin like me"
I think you better stick with a spoon,
instead of the knife in our backs
a silver one for coddled athletes, and hip hop tools, im just saying dont say "always bet on black", thats racist fool
You got nothin else but race baiting to do,
besides your backupsinger's,
even when they more talented than you.
I see some people walking on eggshells
where the chickens have come home to roost,
making omelets with and sales of those with lower IQ
the yokes of goodwill and the r(o)(o)sters, themselves, Santaria tools .
If you can't keep your head when all about you are losing theirs then I don't blame you.
If you can't trust yourself because others doubt you, then allow yourself to trust the lack of trust as they do too.
If you hate waiting, then moan aloud about the wait,
or being lied about, then simply deal more lies out.
Or being hated, just give them hell and be a hater,
and not worry about looking good thus become fat and wider.
If you can't dream because you relish the nightmare,
and if thinking hurts then proudly wear that blank stare.
If you can meet with triumph and disaster,
and milk the triumph and never shut up about the disaster.
If you don't care if the truth is spoke,
then twist tales so it prevails with fools that laugh at fails.
Or watch the kids you gave life to grow up and go broke,
and call them dopes or tools fit for jails.
If you can piss away all your winnings,
on a bookies special without knowledge on what you're betting,
and lose, and go and drink away your sorrows 'til the early morning,
then cry and cry and cry 'til you dream that you want to die.
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew,
to not care about anything for however long you need to,
and fall apart when there is nothing when others would hold on,
and turn ill without will or a want to be strong.
If you can shout like a lout in a crowd with iniquity,
and walk with a King and believe to be elite arrogantly.
If you accept that both friends and foes will inevitably hurt you,
and strike first with an impromptu blow.
If all men count with you but none are louder,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute,
with 60 seconds of hardcore drug abuse,
then you'll get served what you deserve,
and which is more, you will be labelled a w**re or a perv.
"In Response To If" poetry competition by Silent One, 8/11/2018
1st place
George is in his eighties and he’s seen it all before
He was born in the depression and was wounded in the war
He hadn’t been a hero, but George had done his bit
His legs had both been broken when a piece of shrapnel hit
George with his new ungainly gait really didn’t care
He had served his King and Country and was proud that he’d been there
Once the war was over and he got a steady job
George worked hard and did overtime to earn an extra bob
He was careful with his money but you couldn’t call him mean
He had known the pangs of hunger as a child when times were lean
He never wasted money in the bookies or on ale
He wanted some security in case his health should fail
Came the National Insurance Scheme in 1948
George gave the scheme his full support thinking it was great
If we all join in together and we pay our weekly dues
We should all get good pensions that can only be good news
What with all our contributions and the taxes that we pay
Well never in the future should we see a rainy day
No humiliating means tests, no more workhouse for the poor
The old can hold their heads up like they never could before
Now George is getting frail and weak and needs a little care
The pension that George thought he’d get simply isn’t there
The savings that old George accrued long ago had dwindled
The Council now want George’s house, no wonder George feels swindled
Every evening in the news on all the TV stations
The Government hand out our cash to lots of foreign nations
What’s more it is a well known fact that cannot be disputed
Folk come here and claim benefits who’ve never contributed
Our leaders throw our cash around with philanthropic zeal
Massaging their ego’s, Not caring how we feel
To men like George an honest man the real reward is owed
We should be taking care of him, not stealing his abode
Form:
BEST TRIP. By Peter Toland:- written for my bro, James canning. When we go on a journey, there is lots to see. The best thing about it, it is that we're free. Free to explore which is natural to do, explore our emotions or go to the zoo. Go on an old train, a bus anywhere. The good thing about it we don't have a care. Go down to the seafront and sit for a while, contemplate life and all of it's trials. Go to the pub have one drink or two, wherever you go it's all up to you. If you see someone lying in a bag on he floor, remember it probably hurts to the core. Sometimes in this life we can't take anymore, that's why we must go we must go for sure, not on a journey were there's lots to see, but we go on a journey to make us feel free. If you go on this journey you might learn something more, it could possibly be your best trip for sure. The reason I named this best trip is because the name of the horse I backed in the bookies yesterday was called best trip. You dragged me out of bed yesterday evening to go get some fish n chips and sit in the park. Not just any old park. There were some bad people in that park too who have done bad things. Someday him and his dog will meet their match too and things will change for him and his dog. Sometimes in life we've just got to go with the flow and let the water take its natural course, but
Sometimes we've gotta get up and do something if through it's natural course the water is drowning us. You've probably guessed by now why I named the poem "Best trip!" Peter Toland.
Form:
The reason why I gamble,
I ought to tell the truth.
Those squalid tales I spun before…
Well, don’t go seeking proof.
The one about the heart op
And my desperate plight for cash -
A pack of lies, I’m fit and well
(Except a little rash).
And then there was the other one
About my mental health
And descent into depression
And the quest for joy through wealth.
And when you saw me on the street
In front of the casino,
I wept and cried ‘I have no friends,
So where else can I go.
I haven’t tasted human warmth
For such a countless while,
At least when dealing out the cards
The croupier gives a smile.’
And when you looked concerned
I said ‘Don’t fret, it’s human weakness.
But I’ve joined a local church
And hope to find a cure through Jesus.’
Then soon as you were out of sight
I dodged into the bookies
And put a tenner on a nag
(You’ll think The Devil took me).
And when this news got back to you
You started that campaign
To ‘Save Our Al’ from brimstone wrath
And flaming pitchfork pain.
And when the cash came rolling in
You gave it to my Mum,
And told her it was for
The welfare of her troubled son.
Now she was pretty mystified
And thought you were deranged.
She used the cash to buy a car
And just gave me the change.
But with all your selfless efforts,
I feel a little mean.
It’s time to set the record straight.
I’m ready to come clean.
You see.
The reason that I gamble,
There’s no tragic tale of sin.
The reason that I gamble:
It’s because I always win.
Came from Baltimore by Pigtown
Where they like to lay the law down.
He rebelled against the ground rule.
Had to grow up in reform school.
Got acquainted with a curveball
Dealing pepper by the church hall;
Broke some windows, but he left the scouts impressed.
He was an OG All Star, and a first draft Hall of Famer.
He had manners like a gomer, but he played with no disclaimer.
Pitched in Beantown, till they tossed him.
They’d regret they ever lost him.
Joined the Yankees as a slugger.
Jumped on southpaws like a mugger,
Shooting rockets past the flagpole.
Fattest wallet on the payroll.
Made a called shot, and the papers did the rest.
He went from zero to sixty lodged in Murderers’ Row,
With women, booze, and money all just part of the show.
He led the A.L. in hitting.
Chased after ta-il, no quitting.
Played ring around the bases
In a dozen pennant races.
He scored doubles at the wet bar.
Belted homers before radar,
And suffered his publicity’s intrigues.
He was an urban legend; no one ever saw him on TV.
And in the house that he built, there’s a tribute to his number three.
It was series after series.
All the bookies have their theories,
Parsing records and statistics,
Charting sinker ball ballistics,
But in the end, most everyone agrees:
He never had to play the N*gro Leagues.
You knew he was in when you heard the loud din,
his trademark for letting folks know,
he had arrived and his voice loudly cried,
to make sure that we knew it was Joe.
The whole bar was alert, with ears starting to hurt,
as he shouted 'hail fellows well met'
with backslapping, handshaking, his volume earthshaking,
as he roared his jovial outlet.
He'd come to watch racing, flat and steeplechasing,
It was easy money he cried,
the bookies are losers, so come on all you boozers,
bet these horses that I will provide.
You won't need a job if you lay down a few bob,
you'll be made for the rest of your life,
so follow big Joe and part with your dough,
you'll be a hero to your trouble and strife.
He'd go watch the telly and we'd laugh from the belly,
at the sounds that were coming from there.
There were groans, there were moans, in really loud tones,
as he shouted then started to swear.
His selections all failed, as the winner they trailed,
putting on a very poor show.
But he swore that next time he'd pick ones in their prime,
and his pockets would be bulging with dough.
He went out with a grin, and said, 'when I came in,
I said there was money for free,
And I knew I was right, there was plenty in sight,
Cos the bookies just took it from me.'
Note this weekend's time and
date carefully on any diary and
calendar you can find
For it should not be taken with
a pinch of salt but rather go down
and be marked in terms of it's
historical significance
Because saturday's
Grand National winning jockey
was in fact a women
And Irish eye's must have
been smiling down upon us
all in equal measure
And hopefully now she stands
and takes her rightful place
in the suffrage movement
Beside Miss E.Davidson who
placed herself in front of a
horse on that fateful Derby day
Merely trying to make a point
not become a martyr for or
to the cause
Because not only did
Rachael Blackwood beat
the bookies and the odds
The Chair
Bechers Brook
The Water Jump
Canal turn
And every single thing Aintree
racecourse could throw at her
She also overcame the men as well
Now not only finally equal at last
but one better
I'm only just so sorry because
of this insipid covid pandemic
A multitude of ecstatic fans
we're not there to will her
across the finish line
And Cheer her till the rafters
shook during the prize giving
ceremony
And again i only hope
you win again in the not to
distant future god praying
next year
So you can receive a posthumous
double celebration