Carnival of Pandemonium

1987  I recently tried to remember my earliest memory. Even though it was obviously me carrying out those deeds, it feels now as if I was a totally different person, in a different body, even in a different world. Even the site of this memory has been bulldozed and filled in.  I must have been very young when this happened as my mum had inexplicably let me push my brother in his pram- he must have been 18 months so I’d be three. If anyone knows Bury in Greater Manchester - and let’s face it why would you? Anyway this happened in Pyramid Park, Bury, well, on the concourse at the top. There was an underpass that led to Bury Market. I was pushing him at the top of this slope and in my innocence I reckoned that if I just let go of the pram and let him go down the hill free wheeling - everything would be fine… I took away my gloved little hands… everything would be fine… the pram quickly gathered pace… everything would be fine… It wasn’t fine.  His pram quickly ran off course, my panic stri

 1993 It was summer. I remember it being a really nice day. Sunny but not blazing hot. Weather you could sit out in. I was 9 years old. Might sound daft, but in those days Manchester United used to win trophies regularly.  I was in love. In love with my ZX Spectrum computer. This was before PlayStations, Mega Drives or even Master Systems. I didn’t have a PC either. Just this beauty. It had a beautiful grey plastic casing, with a dash of rainbow in the logo. You didn’t download the games from the internet, nor did you even load them from a CD or floppy disk. No, you loaded them by pressing play on a cassette tape, then by crossing your fingers and toes, waiting for 45 minutes and prey that  it would load.  More often than not, it refused to play ball. Even when it did load whichever game you’d just bought from Woolworths for £2.99, the games were very primitive. The graphics were terrible and only had about 8 colours on offer. You couldn’t save the games either. None of this mattered.

 I’ve got poo on my shoe What am I going to do?  For this surely I can sue Might ring so solid crew  They’d know what to do About having poo on my shoe.  Id catch that dog owner if I could  I’d ask Norris to Chuck em in some mud.  ‘Pick up your turds if you would’ Me? Yes you know you should!  I need to make my point understood Instead I’m scraping my shoe with wood.  On cleaning, some went on my finger, Now that’s a smell that’ll linger.  On his head I’d give a stinger For not collecting his dog’s humdinger I wish I was a professional singer  Rich n able to sling’her (or him)  At least I now know what to do If I ever again get poo on my shoe. 

  Poems needn’t rhyme you know,   As long as the seeds you sow,   Dig deep into someone’s soul, Create scraps for the begging bowl.  Poems needn’t rhyme you understand,  But for gods sake don’t make them bland. Whip up your reader with words Don’t create a load of turds.  Poems needn’t rhyme you get it?  Maybe sometimes maybe a bit.  Rake the fields of my mind,  But just don’t make it a bind.

Beware the Tories!   It’s the local election.  Just an infection They are no reflection  We need protection  There’s no solution  To this pollution  Here’s my resolution Bring the revolution  Spoil your paper  It’s the only caper  Need to taper  Tories with sandpaper There’s no doubt  Need to shout Need to pout  Hit boris with a trout  The self serving  Rich vote returning  Contract stealing  What’s this meaning? I can put my hand on my heart We’re going to hell in a handcart  Don’t vote Tory  If you want to change the story