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.

The Gamble

He tries to recall how he had come to be here. What on earth had he been thinking of? Had he completely lost it? He is not at all sure. The details seem sketchy now and somewhat blurred in his alcohol induced haze.

Jumbled images of a heated exchange take shape in his mind. A fiery, bitter explosion of words appear through the fog; followed by the angry slamming of a door, urging him forward to seek sanctuary.

The sheen of solid oak, soon concealed beneath an array of empty glasses - their soothing contents consumed in gluttonous haste. A kindred spirit nodding in agreement, puts an understanding, yet somehow persuasive arm around his shoulders and the fog clears a little more.

As if in a dream, he takes in the scene: seedy back room of a pub; four figures arched over a beer-stained, cigarette scorched table - its ash-speckled surface littered with notes. Copper and silver coins reflect in empty bottles. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air - a cloud of poisonous gas shrouding everything beneath. How could he possibly be part of this scenario? He isn't sure what to do next. In one hand he is holding yet another liquor filled vessel, in the other, he holds his destiny.

He studies the cards in his hand, confident of their worth. Yet anxious. As he places another bill onto the ceaseless expanse in the centre of the table, the realisation of his own depletion of funds painfully obvious. How has he let it get this far? Why has he let it get this far? He has no answers to these questions. The only certainty right now is he is definitely not in the same league as these underworld hustlers.

More notes are surrendered. Firmly, he fixes his gaze on the overflowing ashtray - like volcanic remains - its contents spill over. Resolutely, he continues to stare. He knows he has to keep calm. But does he look calm? He has no way of knowing. He can feel his head pounding. He imagines the blood, coursing through his veins. Can they see those veins throbbing in his temples? Beads of sweat begin to form between the grooves of his furrowed brow - as if in unison with the droplets beginning to emerge between the taut blades of his shoulders.

He knows he is holding three very good cards, yet he also realises he doesn't have the resources to continue. How much longer can they hold out?

As he digs his keys into his moist, clammy palm, they serve as a sharp reminder of all he has left - his house and car. Taking the keys from his pocket, he scrutinizes the faces around him for clues. Dare he do it? Such a question is futile, as he already knows there can only be one answer. The keys reclaim their place in the worn folds of his pocket.

"Sorry lads, you've cleaned me out", he confesses.

Steadying himself, he rises to his feet, steering himself to the door. Leaving the robbers to count their ill-gotten gains, he retreats - a little poorer financially, yet infinitely richer in wisdom.

No Early Exit

Champions League, the Mestalla again

A win last time - but that was then,

Now Mourinho's gone, Avram's in charge

And the Chelsea boo boys are giving it large.

His whole appointment as clear as mud

Angry and bitter, they're out for his blood,

They want it fixed and they want it now -

Welcome to Chelsea Grant, take a bow.

Show us some passion, show us some grit

Show us you're not an incompetent tit,

Get out there fighting, give it some wellie

Show us there's fire inside that belly.

The past has gone and there's no looking back

The options are clear here, success or the sack.

It's not that we're awkward, impossible to please,

It's more we don't want our club brought to its knees.

So show us some spirit, show us some guts

Show us Abramovich isn't nuts.

Get the boys sorted, fire them up -

And for god's sake, keep us in this cup!!

What we Need

As sad as it is, the 'Special One's' gone

The mourning is over, it's time to move on.

As hard as it is, as much as it hurts -

Get them heads up and play for your shirts.

Roman and Kenyon let everyone down

Giving us Grant - an unqualified clown,

But he's just temporary - along for the ride

So sort yourselves out and play with some pride.

The world is watching and ready to mock -

From "all conquering heroes" to "laughing stock".

So its time for the captain to gee the lads up

If we want a bit more than the Carling Cup.

We need Drogba fit doing what he does best;

We need Sheva to prove that he's up to the test;

Joey, Wright-Phillips, giving hell on the wing;

A capacity crowd with a reason to sing;

We need Lampard back, feeding balls through;

Or banging in goals - we could do with a few;

We need Terry and Ricky to shore up defence;

And Essien on form, as ever - immense;

We need Obi Mikel to wear softer boots;

We need Stamford Bridge to get rid of the suits.

In short, we need passion, commitment as well,

And we need the officials to all go to hell.

So chin up lads, just do what you do best -

Because we are the Chelsea so fuck all the rest!!