Tears roll down
Sorry, sad soul
Tracksuit's wet
A dress will do
The style's good
Others will adjust
The black panther sensed its prey.
The hunt began as a graceful gazelle
Foolishly strayed in the moonless night.
With powerful strides soon, the powerful panther
Gained on its intended tasty prize.
It smelled the blood almost too soon,
The wound inflicted on its lacerated neck.
Soon, it would die…..
I woke.
Sweat covered my whole body and
I trembled with the chilly night air.
There was nothing to do but
Take a quick shower and change,
Wash my blood-stained teeth,
Throw my dirty night tracksuit
Into the washing machine and
Go back to sleep. A futile hope.
The bed sheet was wet with sweat.
I had to use the other side of the bed,
The part where my wife used to sleep.
A sudden cosy warmth girdled me entirely,
I smelled the musk of the odiferous larch,
I heard the swish swash of waves of a lake
And for the first time in many nights
I slept without being absorbed of ugly dreams.
Fiction
Britain’s
Biggest
Cover up
As Britain’s biggest broadcasters,
you should hang your heads in shame.
For his despicable crimes,
your cover-ups are to blame.
We won’t give him the honour
of repeating his vile name —
you filled up your cups
as he played his sickening game.
For years and years
you ignored the tears
of innocent young people,
all the time knowing
they stood in the presence of pure evil.
As Britain’s biggest broadcasters,
you had a duty of care —
but that duty seemed reserved
for a man in a tracksuit
with greasy long blonde hair.
I’m not sure how you slept at night
knowing what he had done,
letting this monster
steal the innocence of the young.
You allowed them to become smitten
with the most prolific offender in Britain,
while hiding the truth
of his most depraved intentions.
So hang your heads in shame —
for Britain’s biggest cover-up,
your actions are to blame.
Blood coats your hands,
your silence — the crime.
The victims are buried,
but you’ll serve the time.
For every child broken,
for every soul maimed —
history remembers.
And it spits out your name.
Bert loved his garden
Full of shrubs and flowers
His garden was his life
He worked in it for hours
Until one day in winter
There was torrential rain
Wind, thunder and lightning
Caused poor Bert to complain
He looked out to his garden
A big part of his life
It always gave him pleasure
Now it was causing strife
He felt he had lost everything
That had meant anything to him
So he put a tracksuit on
And went out to join a gym
It’s Saturday Night
And I’ve got my tea
A Chinese meal
With some Pinot Gee
The TV’s on
It’s nearly time
With some chicken chow mein
And a glass of wine
It’s Saturday Night
Gonna watch the show
The girl with the vibe
And with the flow
You know that I’m talkin’
‘bout Honey Gee
Gonna vote for her
She’s the one for me
She’s tearin’ it up
She’s shuttin’ it down
Ain’t never gonna see her
In a gown
With a tracksuit
And a baseball cap
The girl can’t sing
But she sure can rap
Just like a poet
She makes it rhyme
And it all goes together
Like lemon and lime
With an H to the O
To the N – E – Y
This girl is good
She’s gonna reach the sky
Glasses dark
With all the bling
And I don’t care
That she can’t sing
Better acts
The’ve all gone
Could Honey win
Without singing a song
Download the app
You can vote for free
Just click the button
For Honey Gee
When I say Honey
You say Gee
She might just win
Let’s wait and see
The aging process is unstoppable
As we watch our youth slide by
Our heads try to tell us we’re younger
But, our bodies feel the lie
So it’s off to the gym to experience
Some sweat, grunt, and grown
Hopefully with a bit of effort
I can get to look like ‘Stallone’
New trainers and vest are needed
To replace my dated attire
The tracksuit that once fit me
Fails to cover my bulging ‘spare tyre’
Neglect and over indulgence
Have certainly taken their toll
Repairing these bits won’t be easy
So in future...... ’I’ll exercise, more self-control’
You can get him ready this morning:
A nice pair of trousers and a t-shirt
More detail please?
What does “nice” mean; what t-shirt
How about these ones?
A lovely pair of trousers and a plain white t-shirt
Not those trousers, he had them on yesterday
That t-shirt is white! Its going to get ruined when he is playing
Take two
What about these: a pair of jeans and a stylish top
Those jeans will be too hot; the top has got long sleeves
Last attempt
Tracksuit bottoms and colourful t-shirt
The bottoms are too short for him – the top doesn’t really go
Deep breathe in
Look at the ceiling
Deep breathe out
“I think you should get his clothes, my love”
I am a displaced Scouser,
Who comes from Bootle way,
And no matter where I go,
A Scouser will I stay.
I eat my chips on Butties,
Or perhaps upon a barm,
I get by on old Scouse wit,
And on my Liverpool charm.
But I’ve never owned a tracksuit,
It’s simply not my style,
And I’m not a football maniac,
Or have a police file.
So remember that you can’t believe,
All that people say,
About us lowly Scousers,
Who come from Bootle way.
Up with the birds at the crack of dawn
On with the tracksuit now slightly worn
Where is my ipod, I had it last night
On with the headphones, the volumes just right
I’ve got everything, I think I’m now ready
I start off quite slow, nice and steady
Remember the plan, I set the pace
It’s only a jog, you’re not in a race
I’m starting to sweat, my heart starts to pound
My legs turn to jelly as they hit the ground
My mind starts to work, thoughts in my head
Why do you do this? You could be in bed!
I cross the road, without out a good look
A car blasts its horn, he takes me to book
I turn the last corner, my home is in sight
My time gets no better, try as i might!
Lookng at those 'OK' beauties
Kids balanced perfectly
Upon her hips and knee
Looking beautiful
At 9am in the morning
Picking up her cappachino and croissants for free
Cut to reality
Tired stretch marks
No cocoa cream in sight
Grab the latest issue of 'THE SUN'
While the kids argue over Ben 10
And Sponge Bob with delight
Its 9am now
I have been dragged through a hedge
Yet the school run is yet to do
Beautiful tracksuit attires my body
No point in trying
When you are just too tired to do
While the 'OK' beauties
Sup their morning coffee
And take their welcome breaks
Somewhere in another reality world
I will be downing my can of Tango
Eating my toasted tea cakes
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