VINGT GITANES. I wander alone in this great place no-one bothers me, hardly, apart from a few girls, calling out of upstairs windows after dark. 'Hey English!' and 'Sprecken sie Deutch?' But I'm tongue tied, except for Vingt Gitanes, Sil vous plait! and Merci becoup, Madamossell! After a while I start to read the shop front names. The street signs come alive - Rue de St. Germain, Montparnasse and Parc de Champs de Mars. Advertising bollards suck me in. Newspaper HEADLINES shout at me. Eventually, I speak my first French sentence. But the girl behind the Turkish bar answers me in broken English. Chicago, hey Mac? she asks. Manchester! I tell her. Oh, Bobby Charlton! she grins. And I can't tell if she's taking the piss out of my haircut, or what? From 1987 rewritten 20697 and previously posted on my StraightTalkingStreetTalkingSweetTalkingGuy..archive. Here's a link to a picture of Sir Bobby Charlton. Finally, the September issue of Nicola Batty's Newsletter Raw Meat.. is now Online.
Hi everybody, Here's a link to a Manchester writer we know. Steve Taylor author of The Fall and Making Time has written some cool poetry and posted it on his website. Clink-the-link-HERE.
Hi everybody, just back from Lower Shaw Farm but I'm not about for long, 'cos we're off to Norfolk in a few days. I've posted a bit about my first amazing trip on Nicola's Raw Meat site in my Urban Scrawl column over there, you might have to scrawl down to the end of the post if you want to read it. Anyway, I'll try and write a poem for tomorrow!
The Rockin' Chair Writers prompt today was : When you seek out entertainment to relax, what gives you the most pleasure? For me, that has to be my blue suede shoes..
BLUE SUEDE SHOES Blue suede, blue suede, blue suede shoes. He only wears blue suede shoes.
Red ones green ones pink won’t do. She only wears blue suede shoes.
Big ones, bad ones, baseball boots. They only wear blue suede shoes.
Fab fit, phat fit, flat flip-flops. Fi only wears blue suede shoes.
Winkle Pickers in the news. I only wear blue suede shoes.
Eat your heart out Elvis P. We only wear blue suede shoes. 150708
FOREIGN LANDS There’s only one way in, the tour guide tells us, as we prepare to jump. We didn’t think about how we would get out of these foreign lands then.
As the aeroplane disappears, we begin to realise where we are. Surrounded by an angry mob with guns in a small jungle clearing.
Yagadee baskins alba Choggludities! Their leader screams at us. What’s he saying? All our group ask the tour guide to interpret at once.
With a fresh smile on his face he replies, Welcome to Choggludities! Relieved momentarily, we relax till the shouting starts again.
Yest emen claxstungbery!Byst chem nader ich icer! The brigand continues threateningly, screaming and pointing his gun.
The tour guide starts to look worried now that the great oaf has stopped yelling. You will enjoy yourself! He starts to interpret, then adds; but not here!
Partly because of last weeks Rockin' Chair Writers Prompt the following little verse has been on my mind this week.
THESE STREETS (ARE PAVED WITH GOLD!) The church bells are ringing the choristers are singing London is calling you I know 'cos London's calling out to me too! 'And, I've been told that these streets are paved with gold! A gleaming stream of much told unseen gold!
Red, yellow, green or blue it dosen't matter who your vote goes to. 'Cos, I've been told that these streets are paved with gold! A gleaming stream of much told unseen gold!
Since Richard Whittington told the world about the London scene people plot + people scheme to replicate his dream. And, I've been told that these streets are paved with gold! A gleaming stream of much told unseen gold!
The church bells are ringing the choristers are singing London is calling you I know 'cos London's calling out to me too! 3107
NO MATTER WHERE YOU WALK Montmatre to Montparnasse Sorbonne to Pigalle. Fifth Avenue to Forty second street and Broadway. No matter where you walk these streets sing and those walls talk. If this was Paris or New York these streets would sing those walls would talk. But this is England and it hums and it hums. London and its rubber drums Manchester and her slums... 11596
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
SHINING SHOES
Shining shoes at Waterloo, his medals at his side.
Jon was born in Salford in Eighteen ninety-five.
His Daddy came from Ireland a digger of the ditch -
The Ship Canal to Manchester -
that kept that city rich.
His Mammy was a mill lass in Ancoats Lancashire
She worked long days for little pay -
nothing much to cheer.
Jon's Grandpa was a Bargee -
on The Bridgewater
carting coals from Worsley to dirty Manchester.
By Nineteen ten, Jon’s schooling done –
an apprenticeship that was no fun …
from early morn to after dark
at an engineer's in Trafford Park.
At eighteen he went to France
to fight the German might.
Jon lost all his pals there but he came back alright!
He's got one leg to stand on
but man can't live on pride
shining shoes for farthings his medals at his side.
AS 1991
Glossary:
Waterloo is a railway station in London.
A Bargee lived and worked on the canal barges.
The Bridgewater is the oldest proper canal in England.
Ancoats is an area of Manchester where many cotton mills stand.
Trafford Park had many factories.
Farthings are old money, four farthings = one penny.
The Medals are from the first world war 1914-1918.
Brian has put a poetry prompt on his blog, he says: write about something, someone, someplace that represents Good in your life. My responce is below. Wanna have a go? clink-the-link-Here.
THE GOOD SPORTS I know where all the good sports live in Salford. Bobby's got an MG BGT. Simon drives a Porsche Carrera that's simple to remember. Jackie's got an XJS and Bobby's brother has an E-type under wraps. I haven't seen a Frog eyed Sprite but there's a TR6 going to waste in Weaste. And in Seedley Pete the stud drives his Stag on nights out with the boys. Like I said I know where all the good sports live in Salford. SC1992 Previously published in Cowardy Custard's Last Stand in Salford (c) Danny Wise 1992 and posted in StraightTalkingStreetTalkingSweetTalkingGuy.. my pub-poetry archive.
ZARAFA
was the first Giraffe
in France.
Some
say
she
was
as
tall
as
a
small
tree.
And that she walked from
Marseilles to Paris.
Zarafa
grew
to
almost
two
floors
high.
And still lives -
preserved by taxidermy.
Prompt from Read Write Poem:Wordplay - My list was: blog, Face Book, My Space, Internet, link, word, Google, search, Yahoo, Twitter, web, site and surfing. VIRTUAL DATE She said, that she clinked-his-link from Google while surfing the net with search word strudle. He said, On Yahoo I'm at number two over at Twitter more bitter than blue. She said, Yeah my name is Internet Kate and I'm looking for a virtual date. He said, Hey anytime your blog or mine? Or any site on the web will be fine... She said, Please come for a drink at My Space! A glass of wine from the virtual vine? He said, Okay baby that would be ace and we can do it on Face Book next time. 290608
Have you tried Space Invaders! my-work-in-progress-novel yet? Clink-the-link HERE
SUMMERTIME The window is above my head but I can see the sky and I can study the cloud patterns and the movement of the wind and rain.
I watched the clouds go by today, they moved slowly from right to left across the ever changing screen across my living canvas too across my four foot two by two of window pane above my head.
The sunlight is so strong these days it must be summertime again. 240608
Fashionista! Fashionista! was previously aired on my Proper Joe's blog last October. I thought it was about time I brought it over to Sweet Talking Guy..
FASHIONISTA! Fashion-sister, skin and blister No, she's not Budgie's bird no more, since she's been dressing oh so slick Hell, she's sure not nobodies chick! And when she goes to cross the street the cab and bus drivers honk - beep! Her stripy tops and dots on socks look the part with her golden locks fashion-sister, skin and blister can't resist her - Fashionista! Danny Wise 231007
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Cat kidnapped and held to ransom! Unbelievable but true... You can read all about it and other breaking news in Nicola Batty's Newsletter Raw Meat.. clink-the-link-HERE
THE SUGAR SHAKE BEAT You can do The Sugar Shake Beat. When you kiss my lips, sweet sweet. You can shake your hips – like this… When you’re dancing down the street To the Sugar Beet Suite, that’s bliss, Sublime, sweetness – little sweet Miss. Yeah, that’s neat! Up outta yer seat! Now you can do, The Sugar Shake Beat!
Go do The Sugar Shake Beat Down at - The Sugar Beet Suite. Yeah, you can dance, that’s neat, Go do The Sugar Shake Beat.
If you wanna look cool, sweet chic. Make me look a fool, sweet sweet. You can shake your hips – like this… This time really move your feet At the Sugar Beet Suite, sweet bliss, Red wine, sweet lips - little sweet Miss. Hey, that’s cool! Who you gonna meet? That’s what I call, The Sugar Shake Beat!
Chorus
The Stones were rolling out the beat. Made Brown Sugar neat, sweet sweet. You can shake your hips – like this… When you’re groovin’ to the beat Down The Sugar Beet Suite, sweet bliss, One step, two feet. Little sweet Miss. You’re really dancing at the Suite! All stand up for, The Sugar Shake Beat! DW161007 previously published on Proper Joe's
ALABAMA MAMA Mama once the pride of Alabama She wants a place - she needs a place to stay Maybe bed and board for a day or three Hey, she keeps herself to herself no sweat she won’t fight; she won’t get high as a kite she won’t go down to Times Square late at night.
She’ll be at Pennsylvania station On the train from the penitentiary So, look out for Alabama Mama Meet her there if you’ve got a room to spare. She’ll be up with the lark, home before dark. She’ll hang out and jog around Central Park Won’t be under your feet or in your way…
The very first day she got out of jail She went straight down to Times Square late at night. Met phoney cronies got high as a kite Tried to walk, talk New York, Al-a-bam-a! Somebody hit her - somebody bit her She got in a fight, what a fuss, a farce. Yeah, but Alabama Mama’s alright! 130508
ON HIGH ^High in the Andes where the air is thin
One man said he saw god step off a cloud.
Where does earth end and outer space begin?
The high-way code: No sky-walking allowed!
But with just one word he could heal the sick.
Make a stone bleed? Turn water into wine!
Move mighty mountains and make the dead quick!
Walk on water and fish without a line.
One day a crowd gathered at Galilee
Five thousand hungry souls for him to feed
He sent five loaves and two fish from the sea
When each of them had eaten to his need
His helpers went to gather up the crumbs
Enough to feed five thousand of his chums. 080508
COOLCAT! The cat sat on the mat nobody told her to she just sat there 'cos that's what cats do. Nobody showed her how to dig a hole or how tocatch a mouse. She just knewwhat to do. We speak to herin English andSwahili and sheanswers with a miaow. How clever's that? She's a cool cat! 300408
Inspiration from Totally Optional Prompts 'A Person' and the cheesy chat up line; You're so beautiful you need to take ugly pills to make you look normal.. MAKING HAY.. You’re still there with me all my waking day and even though you say that you don’t care I know for sure that I’m still with you there And things don’t change from week to week do they?
Why do you try so hard to stay awake Hey thunder thighs, just buy the next size dress ‘cos photographs can lie and cause distress I’ve got some ugly pills that you can take
You’re beautiful in my mind anyhow And these days nights come all to soon for me But all my dreams are your memories now When I awake it’s you that I do see
I can’t remember when I placed the bet Sometimes it’s so much better to forget 150408
IMAGINATION If you can talk you can fly... That's what the high fliers tell me. They're floating man, when they communicate. Poets are like that. Give them a quill, some ink, a moment to think! And their imagination takes off. AS19396
Inspiration from the first chapter of Making Time by Steve Taylor. ON THE PISTE
She went to France up
on the Piste to ski.
Down the slopes she met
a bloke A, B, C.
The pair of them got
plastered, Brahms + Liszt.
Together in his
Chalet, they bunked-up.
In the morning he
asked her with clenched fist:
Did time stop for you
too last night my sweet?
She said, No! My heart
hardly missed a beat. TC-91107
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
STIXSTAX TRICKSTRAX He takes four sticks and makes a frame and hangs it from a tree. Then he stands back and looks at it and he sure likes what he can see... So, Wizzy Lizzy, or call him what you will. But he's got an ever changing window - on eternity - an image that only he can see... 260308
