Sheffield Reference Library

Sheffield Reference Library

The clock on the wall says

Saturday, 13^th March.

In case you should forget,

Saturday, 13^th March.

Just so it can’t be Friday the 12^th

or Sunday the 14^th:

Saturday, 13^th March

and don’t forget it!

I wonder if we could declare a nation

where it is always Saturday, 13^th March

and you could drop out for a couple of days

and, on returning, find it Saturday, 13^th March.

And those days you want to forget about

and say just didn’t happen –

didn’t.

The New Game

The New Game

We’ve passed GO so many times

that the bank has stopped paying out

and we live on IOUs.

We can’t even take a rest

in Jail any more:

it’s been wiped off the board.

They’ve built a new wall

which goes round the sides

so you can’t call Pax

and step out.

I tried once, I did. Honest Injun!

I threw a brick through a shop window

and stole some coloured crayons

but they just smiled kindly at me and said that they understood

and that I would grow out of it.

I felt like asking them

what they understood.

I don’t like being understood,

not all the time.

By the next day

they had installed

another window in the shop

and the manager had forgotten who I was.

They didn’t even make me give the crayons back.

I’m determined to be anti-social

but  it gets so boring after a while

cos nobody takes any notice.

The Prime Minister plays silly buggers

in Primrose Street; it doesn’t matter –

the country seems to run itself

like a giant clockwork toy.

I wonder who turns the key.

Perhaps we could take over,

wind it up too far

and break the spring.

Anyway,

who suggested this fucking game in the first place

and why can’t we stop it?

Nevertheless

Nevertheless,




the disguised ragtime virgin princess made her incognito appearance according to schedule. Accompanying her was her team of detectives and bodyguards, her maid-of-honour and her two pyrenean mountain dogs - all of whom had also been disguised, of course.

When a local man, fooled by her camouflage into thinking that she was a certain prostitute from Greek Street, leapt on her with a cry of "Molly Grey, you old fucker!", he found himself beaten up against W.H. Smith's plate glass window advertising plastic replicas of the crown jewels, with his neck broken in three places. "Must've been mistaken, " he mumbled, as he crawled off into the shadows to pull his zip up and die like a gentleman.

Soon it became obvious to one and all that this pock-marked lady was not just another little rich girl slumming it for the sake of her education. "Who the bloody hell are you?" they greeted her with all the respect due to strange personnages. "Who the bloody hell are you?", all of one accord.

At this, the maid-of-honour and the two pyrenean mountain dogs circulated among the crowd and whispered in many ears that this was no common or garden harlot but was, in fact, their princess, their one and only virgin princess. The crowd was exceedingly surprised by this because they didn't know that they had a virgin princess and anyway, wasn't it a pity that she was so ugly. Nevertheless, they all bowed and sang "God Save our Gracious Virgin Princess" to her, after which they all went about their normal business and didn't bother her anymore - which is how all good citizens of any good police state should conduct themselves.

Nevertheless, ....

Salle d'Attente, Gare du Nord, Paris

Salle d'Attente, Gare du Nord, Paris


There is a fly,
just a little fly,
on my jeans.
I could take out a machine-gun
and kill it.
But I shall simply call it James.

July Poem

July Poem  (in Arles, France 1970)


I know a bloated rabbit
which lies on the surface
of a green canal.
Every time I walk by
it looks at me and we talk
of canals and of death,
of mosquitoes and yew trees.
Soon the rabbit will burst
and I shall talk to it no more.

Wallflower

Whilst expounding
our theories on human relationships
we made great advances
in building concrete barriers
between ourselves

Putting up some poems I found while going through old folders. Most of what I found was rubbish but these still seemed to please me. I hope they will please you too.

Please leave comments. I don't mind if they're good or bad and I'm immune to burning. I'm inflammable!

Poetry

Sorry for not updating more frequently - I'll try to write more often.
I'm going to put up some of my poems. I would like to get some constructive feedback. The poems are copyright but feel free to share them as long as you give full credit to me, Reuben Woolley.