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Best Poems Written by Alex Frankel

Below are the all-time best Alex Frankel poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Alex Frankel Poem

Why I Gamble

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.

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

Meteorological Migraine

There’s rain in my brain,
A pitter patter on the old grey matter,
Cats and dogs in the cerebral cogs,
A shower dampening my mental power.
There’s precipitation in my imagination,
A cloud collision in my vision,
A deluge in my centrifuge,
A tidal surge has overwhelmed my optimistic urge,
A tsunami is rampaging through my spiritual harmony,
A lighting strobe just struck my frontal lobe.
There’s a vortex in my cortex,
An eddy in my heady,
A blizzard in my gizzard,
Hail in my vapour trail,
Sleet on my feet,
Snow on my big toe
Making me feel low.

I’ll pop a pill and rest my head
Upon a bed of feather
And when I wake I’m hoping
For bright eyes and better weather.

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

A Narrow Escape in the Coffee Shop

In the coffee shop
A mistimed twist
By the barista
Caused a hissing
Coffee jet to
Ballista towards
My sister and I
Worried it would
Hit her wrist and
Give her a blister,
But fortunately
It missed her.

The manager scolded
The ham-fisted barista,
But since no-one was scalded,
He didn’t dismiss her.

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

The Doctor's Sense of Humour

Stevie was a city boy, 
He wore an old school tie, 
His life was full of sex and booze 
And other things you buy. 

He occupied a penthouse 
That overlooked the Thames 
And plastered it with modern art 
To overawe his friends. 

But one night in a taxi home 
When chatting to the cabby 
The latter asked our hero 
Whether he was really happy. 

Now Stevie wasn't prone to 
Letting others take the piss, 
So he smashed the cabby's lights 
And drove his car into a ditch. 

But the violence didn't kill 
The mem'ry of the thing he'd said; 
"Are you really happy?" was 
Still buzzing round his head. 

So he popped along to Harley Street 
With his philosophic woe, 
Slipped a doctor fifty quid 
And screamed 'I need to know!' 

The doctor nodded kindly and 
Reached under the desk, 
From where he raised a felling axe 
And chopped off Stevie's legs. 

While tarring up the stumps the 
Doctor said 'You might feel crappy, 
But you'll have a clearer mind when 
Someone asks you if you're happy.'

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

False Diagnosis

On the edge of my seat,
On the tip of my chair,
Sweating in the Doctor’s Lair,
Waiting for that sympathetic stare
And the news
That my slack heart
Needs a jump start,
Liver fails to deliver,
Blood is clogged
With choleric cholestrol,
Kidneys are more cesspit,
Than filtration device,
Belly fluff is full of lice,
Tonsils are shot
With boasting bacteria
Down my gullet
To a soirée
In the small intestine.
Inwardly I scream
And await the death sentence
On my organs.
She’ll tell me that
The years of gorgonzola
Gormandising and
Elevated caffeine intake
Have condemned me
To an early coffin-break.
Oh my aching mind!
I can feel the blinds
Descending and my
DNA un-mending.
The worms are wriggling
Down my spine
When the doctor says
“You’ve got a bit of a cold,
You’ll be fine.”

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

Computer Training

I took my father 
Out into the garden 
And banged my head 
Against the brick wall 
Three times 
While he was saying 
That the azaleas 
Were doing fine. 

When I banged my head again, 
He told me the grass 
Needed cutting 
And the fence 
Was too low. 

When I banged my head once more 
My father became concerned 
And asked me why 
I banged my head so. 
And I told him that this 
Was a metaphor 
For teaching him 
How to use a computer, 
And he said 
That I was just as crap 
At gardening as he was 
At computers 
And that even brick walls 
Have feelings.

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

Kids are Cruel

Billy had a friend 
Called Donald with 
A face like a donkey 
And teeth like a duck. 
They used to run amuck 
In school playgrounds 
And forests where they'd 
Hide in trees and launch 
Frozen peas at old people 
Squatting under home-spun 

But aged twelve, Billy shelved affection 
For his friend with the distorted face. 
He changed his name to Will and started 
Having sex and carrying a briefcase. 

When Will avoided him at school, 
Donald took to ducking classes 
And covering his facial anomalies 
With sticking plasters. 

But Will was not impressed 
And left his former side-kick 
Alone in his world of lop-sided features 
That seemed to have been 
Inherited from several different 
Alien creatures. 

Donald sat vainly in their childhood tree 
Where his face grew long and green 
With pre-pubescent jilted lover's weeping. 
He cried for one week, then fell asleep, 
Dreaming mournful cess, 
Mouth gaping doomed distress. 
It was winter.  The peas froze 
And slid icily from the leaves 
Above, filling mouth and nose 
Absorbing breath, choking grief. 
He fell without a cinematic thud. 
Jagged frame sank lifeless in the mud. 

Forty six years later Will 
Tried to find Donald 
For a school reunion.

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

Grand Openings: When McDonald's Invaded Russia

This Grand Opening
I attended: Scene
McDonald’s, Moscow,
Queue extended over
Under Pushkin Square
(Some saw the poet’s
Spirit rise and sniff
The air).  No
Royalty to cut
The ribbon, courtesy
Of Comrade Lenin,
Just some shivering,
Hatless Business Guys
With Cheeseburger Eyes,
Cutting Communism down
To size with French Fries,
Beating back
The Russian Winter
With Hot Apple Pies.

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

Cunning Ways to Lose Weight - Part 1

My doctor says I’m overweight,
I’m in the orange band,
To make it to the yellow zone
I’ll need a helping hand.

So he’s cancelled Sunday breakfast
And sworn me off scotch eggs,
He’s drained my car of petrol
Chuckling ‘Learn to use your legs!’

But I don’t really buy it.
There’s alternatives to diet.

I used to have a ponytail,
So first I had that chopped.
I filed off my fingernails -
They didn’t do a lot.

I syphoned every orifice,
That’s ears and nostrils too,
Then shaved all up and down the stairs
And blocked my pores with glue.

I bought myself a leotard
All webbed and made of feather
And leaf-thin flip-flops filled with air
(I’m hoping for good weather).

So the morning of the retest came,
I wandered down the road
And got savaged by a pit bull,
Who chewed off all my toes.

And thanks to that good fortune,
When I stepped on the machine,
The doctor said ‘I’ve got good news!
You’re one gram in the green.’

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014

Details | Alex Frankel Poem

McDonald's Only Serve Sausage and Egg McMuffins Up Until Half Past Ten

We’re watching Saturday
Morning cookery
On TV; wide-eyed
Amateurs impressing
Mock-military judges
With parcels and fools
And baskets and coulis
And ganaches and jus.
My wife likes a recipe
And asks me to record
It for posterity and for dinner.
But I couldn’t care less
About eggs julienne
Because it’s coming up
To half past ten
And my head is screaming
“Run for the muffin!
Run for the muffin!”

Copyright © Alex Frankel | Year Posted 2014