That's Entertainment

No ticker tape, no party hats, no helium balloons,
No title celebrations yet again for Wenger’s goons.
They’d had a run, surprised a few and even topped the table
But hold onto a 5 point gap, we saw they just weren’t able.
For all the praise the press heaped on, the goals they just stopped scoring
As ‘football’s saviours’ silky skills could only see them drawing.
First hailing them after Milan, then Birmingham they’re effing
“Conspiracy” the fans cry out, “it’s all down to bad reffing”
Eduardo to be fair to him, ‘that’ tackle left him slaughtered
But Taylor, did he need to be, hung, drawn and then quartered?
You’d think so, they called for his head, in fact he should retire
Football just had never seen an injury so dire.
He’d tried to cut his leg in half, or so they’d have us thinking
A ready made excuse before from 1st place they start sinking.
And Gallas in his captain’s role, well he just spat the dummy
Sulking like a two year old who’s told off by his mummy.
He didn’t want to play, he had the hump, that’s all that mattered,
Sod defending penalties and team mates limbs just shattered.
Still no surprise, this from the man who sulked at Nani’s tricking
And when he couldn’t catch him up, resorted to just kicking.
But Wenger surely missed all that with eyesight often failing?
Yet if his little boys get hurt, he wants some bugger jailing.
He puts his faith in his ‘young guns’ to show cash ain’t essential
Look, Theo was born at the club - and now he’s shown potential.
Maybe it’s his preference, for little boys and cuddles
Comparing depth with rivals though’s like oceans next to puddles.
They’ll tell you that it’s not their fault, it’s not their lack of cover
They blame the refs and the FA, they even blame each other.
At least they entertain their fans, it really must be pleasing
To hear them say “we wanna win”, then find out they’re just teasing.
Still second place won’t be so bad, at least the football’s pretty
No trophies to collect again, just the usual self pity.

Enough

As the run-in approaches, let’s see where we are
Coz, for a club ‘going forward’ we ain’t moved very far.
Where once there was arrogance, self assured belief
Every win we get now brings only relief.
No strutting on touchlines now that Grant’s in the job,
If he did the ‘chin up’ he’d at least shut his gob.
Instead he looks clueless, stands scratching his head
Dribbling and drooling, like he’s just been spoon-fed.
No conviction, no passion, not a hint of a clue
As top manager’s go, Grant just will not do.
The team, once cohesive, almost joint at the hip
Have lost their momentum and seen their form dip
As if every game, the fight from them is draining -
And instead that fight’s saved for each other in training.
Still, at least we can see what Ten Cate’s here for
Even if it’s just putting JT on the floor.
But Grant’s appointment, I still can’t work out -
I can’t see him reffing the odd sparring bout.
So what is he doing to gee the lads up -
As we’re soundly beat in each domestic cup?
Constant change of formation/personnel
In his vain attempts to make it all gel
Clueless tactics, no heart and no soul
Like playing Pizarro when we need a goal.
Or Malouda when he’s just huffing and puffing
If its going tits up, Grant just stands and does nothing.
No half time team talks, no rallying cry
This whole ‘management’ thing just passes him by.
So where are we heading? And just what’s in store?
Before the Clueless One is shoved out the door?
Champions League maybe? Is that where we aspire?
Or maybe the title, we’ll take to the wire?
I guess that on paper, the draw might look kind
But then so did Barnsley, its worth bearing in mind.
Then if we get through, it’s the dippers or Arse
In terms of prediction, I think I’ll just pass.
So that leaves the league, how much chance have we got?
My guess is none unless Fergie loses the plot.
So this ‘taking us forward’, the Russian’s great scheme
Does it actually involve the team?
Or are we just a marketing tool
So the Russian can use us to conquer and rule?
Spouting ‘world domination’, well yeah, but of what?
Coz let’s face it, the football’s hardly crash hot,
So enough is enough, this farce needs to end
Get rid of the Grinch coz there’s Bridge’s to mend.

Men

The male of the species, a strange thing indeed,
Be they gentlemen, blokes or just geezers,
Carnal, erotic and sexy when hot
But when cold – like Zanussi fridge-freezers.
Through the tantrums and sulks, they blow hot and cold
Moods changing as fast as their fashion,
One minute ‘hands off’ and ‘leave well alone’,
The next, its all amorous passion.
Yet predictable too, in that world of their own –
They just need to know they really matter,
Need the lads to applaud every sporting success
And a woman – their ego to flatter.
But why stop at just one? Why not have a few more?
Because some blokes are truly just players,
They just think with their dicks, got their brains in their pants,
Nowt inside when you peel back the layers.
Never say what they mean, never mean what they say,
They just sweet talk to keep the girls hanging,
Convincing themselves ‘every hole is a goal’
They couldn’t care less who they’re banging.
Yet it’s all just an act – nothing more than a front
Insecurities guiding their action
And in terms of a cure, nothing works quite as well
As a week with their cocks put in traction.
But they’re not all the same, some are even good fun
For those moments of unbridled pleasure,
So if yours puts you first and he’s good in the sack -
Then keep hold, he’s a National Treasure!

Two Sides of a Child

Incessant babble, words with no end
Thoughts verbalised in confusion
Preoccupation and manic disquiet
The spark builds into a profusion.
Restlessness grows, the spirit unfurls
A character in animation
Relentlessly now, the tirade secretes
A vision of inner elation.
Reckless, unstable, a volatile flame
Bursts into life, all consuming
Tense and unruly, out of control
Destruction and chaos now looming.
Words spilling out, a flurry of bile
Obscenities wildly escaping
Anarchic unrest and torturous sounds
My heart and my soul they are raping.
No bonds and no chains, no verbal restraints
A barrier to the molesting,
Just waiting until the impetus wanes
The furore inside at last resting.
Distant detachment, solemnly creeps
Reticence leaving you pensive
Sullen indifference and quiet unease
Isolation maintains the defensive -
Til inertia creeps, the waves subside
The sea inside ebbing and flowing,
And a momentary armistice
A glimpse of serenity showing.
Gentle now, the fight burnt out
A moment of peace there to capture
A precious reminder of sweetness inside
An instant of unbridled rapture.
Tenderness shared and pacts reconciled
The volcano for now it lies dormant,
Yet eternal awareness forever on guard
An onslaught of words the informant.

WHY?

Why are we drawn to challenges?
Why don’t we cut ourselves some slack?
Why do we always fall in love -
With those who just can’t love us back?
It leaves us empty, unfulfilled
The heartache, wondering, questions why?
Like addicts crave a promised hit
Forever searching for that high.
Anticipation draws us in
Delirious , out of control
As manic head and heart collide
Pursuing their elusive goal.
In moments fraught with clarity
Consciousness seeps and thoughts provoke,
Awareness and uncertainty
Remind of every promise broke
Yet fortitude is swept away
With utterance of wants and needs
As once again all will dissolves -
Expectantly your hunger feeds
A thirst that just cannot be quenched
An appetite not to be filled
As disappointment once again
Wipes every trace of hope instilled.
Back and forth emotions swing
The habit formed, the pattern set
And then you start to count the cost -
Your heart and soul, a priceless debt.

What Women Want?

Baubles and bangles, diamonds and pearls -
Are these the things that attract the girls?
Wined and dined with candlelit meals?
Out on the town in a flash set of wheels?
I guess that’s ok if you want to impress
The Essex girl in her little black dress,
But we’re not all the same, not ‘one size fits all’
What about those who don’t wanna play ball?
Some of us girls want a little bit more
Than your average flash Harry, abrasive bore.
We don’t all crave to be loved and adored
Some of us girls are more self assured.
We don’t dream of swapping wedding rings,
And we don’t need some bloke clipping our wings.
We want independence, we want our own life,
We want to be more than just someone’s wife.
Or a trophy to show off whenever it suits
For some arrogant twat, too big for his boots.
We’re not desperate, we have our own minds
And we’re in no rush for a tie that binds.
You can keep your smooth talk, your tongue that flatters
Just be straight with us, that’s all that matters.
Be who you are, no airs and no graces
And try lifting your heads and talk to our faces.
Though your eyes may be drawn to our tits and our arses
We’re really not flattered by your drunken passes.
By your crass wolf whistles, your brash cat calls,
No thanks very much, we want blokes who’ve got balls.
A man who can make us all laugh ourselves silly,
Who thinks with his head and not with his willy.
A man who’s honest, a man who is straight,
Who can talk to us just like he’d talk to a mate.
But who knows what we want, who knows how to please,
Who knows how to flirt and who knows how to tease.
Who knows how we tick and what buttons to press,
Who knows foreplay’s more than undoing our dress.
Coz men and women, like a hand and a glove
Aren’t really that different when push comes to shove.
So it’s not a tall order, not too much to ask -
Trouble is no man seems up to the task!!

All in the mind

Tears and laughter, no space in between them
A world of confusion behind troubled eyes
Darkness surrounds you, then suddenly sunlight
Enveloping lows before rapturous highs.
The shutters go down, you retreat into silence
Your eyes avoid contact, your face gives no clue
Furtively creeping, hiding your footsteps
Hoping nobody notices you.
You know they can see you, they track every movement
Filling your voids, every inch of your space
Enveloping, smothering, it's now all consuming
This harrowing plague of demons you face.
They mock and deride you, all talking in whispers
Tortured isolation for you has no end
No escape from this nightmare, your head now your prison
Each thought deep inside you, they twist and they bend.
Intensity building into a crescendo
Their laughter so manic, their sneers like a knife
Wounding intently, savagely cutting
Ripping to shreds every inch of your life.
And yet in your veil of encompassing shadows
From the torment that haunts you, you know there's an end
If you take the path towards understanding
Nirvana will greet you and the wounds they will mend.