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Steven Brown Poem
Daley Thompson's Decathlon
A game that made your fingers throb
And Pacman was an intriguing game
A mission of sticking things in his gob
Who could ever forget Space Invaders
A quest to blitz the monster's before you were reached
And Donkey Kong was a journey towards the animals breach
The last 20 years have been a video game extravaganza
From the Atari to the PS3
And Nintendo and XBOX have followed suit
But made board games obsolete
They have fastly become the 21st century babysitter
Able to hypnotise your child with ease
And catapult them into a fantasy world
Where gladiators are killing giant cheese
This extravaganza is no laughing matter
We need to fight against this electronic regime
Instead of paying £39.99 for things like FIFA 13
It's time to take back our children
Allow them to be innocent again
And rather than locking them a way in a room
Take them to the park again
Copyright © Steven Brown | Year Posted 2012
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Steven Brown Poem
I am a drunken pen, or at least thats what they call me in the betting shop at 4.55pm on a Saturday afternoon. Kept deep inside the cavity of a old polyester jacket to converse with a packet of wrigley's extra strong mints in the dark. I often find myself just listening intently to my master as he begins the day in articulated fashion, and slowly slivers his way towards a gibbering wreck of despair & destruction. He is struggling desperately to make ends meet, as i frequently share space with 1p & 2p. Yesterday i heard him chatting to himself in the kitchen whilst trying to open a tin of spaghetti hoops. Bills haven't been paid in weeks, and the odour that fills the atmosphere can only be matched by that in the backstreets of Calcutta...not that i've been there to experience the aroma.
My use is simple, i write bets! nothing more, nothing less. Starting the day in a elegant manner and posture my nib floats around the paper like a ice skater at the Montreal Olympics, and quite often i will polish the ego by scoring myself 6.0,6.0,6.0 for artistic impression. But as the hours roll by, and my master takes in the full range of liquid refreshment i find that my posture and style have deserted my being within three turns of a clock face. My master is slowly sinking into the abyss of life, and he sits in the towering inferno of middle aged obsurity with no exits. Everytime i appear from the deep well of his pocket i continually keep praying that this journey shall be my last. Maybe i will break, maybe i will have a blockage. Or even better than that, my master may be fortunate to win a cascading amount of money that prompts him to fling me to the gates of pen eternity allowing the master to purchase the Rolls Royce of pens....The Parker!
Until that moment arrives i will continue to be everything my master wishes me to be. Because at the apex of this life's voyage, i am only as good as my master's intensions.
Copyright © Steven Brown | Year Posted 2012
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Steven Brown Poem
I wake each morning to be greeted by your face
The opitomy of splendour, and the entire human race.
Your hair sparkles with delight, like a radiant Aphrodite
And each day in your presence, i praise the Lord God Almighty.
Your fragrance engulfs the room, reminiscent of an english meadow
And i watch you dress for work, and think what a lucky fellow.
From the moment i glanced across the bar, and saw you pivoting upon that stool
My duty was that of a knight, protecting the Tower of London Crown Jewels.
My eternity is to be spent dwelling in tranquility with you
The guardian of your soul, and everything you do.
You are my soul mate, lover, companion and friend
And together we shall journey through the meadow of majestical no end!
Copyright © Steven Brown | Year Posted 2012
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Steven Brown Poem
Hetching towards the season of goodwill
Horse chestnut's roasting on an open grill
Where nights draw in before the children reach home
And the vision of crystalized frost on a backyard lawn
Hats and scarfs are the order of the day
And the sub zero temperatures causes dismay
But the tranquil retreat of a log burning stove
Warms the cockels of a man that craves his aboard
Slumped in the armchair with hot beverage in hand
I gaze through the window feeling ever so grand
But my thoughts move swiftly towards the homeless on the streets
Who during this time will be desperate for sheets
So as the landscape transforms on its journey to winter
I can see a little robin red breast perched by my window
The wildlife works frantically as the leaves hit the ground
And the north swirlling wind makes a sound thats profound
Be thankful for this time for its pleasing on the eye
Where green turns to brown and the grey coated sky
And the Salvation Army break out in angelic chorus
As i ponder over christmas gifts and buying that theasurus!
Copyright © Steven Brown | Year Posted 2012
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