poetry – Page 36 – Robert Garnham

My neighbour’s gone and bought some wind chimes, for goodness sake.

My neighbour’s for some wind chimes
Hanging in his tree
Perhaps he thinks they show the world
He’s a soul that’s wistful and free
But I don’t think he understands
The effect they have on me
They tinkle in the slightest breeze
It’s such a travesty.

Five in the morning
On a muggy muggy night
Five in the morning
The sky is getting bright
Five in the morning
The duvet’s all a tangle
Five in the morning
All I can hear is jingle jangle.

Oh so tinkly tinkly
Like an ideal garden scene
A moss covered rock and pond
In a flowing woodland stream
Oh so tinkly tinkly
They’re really quite obscene
Right next to my bedroom window
They make me want to scream

Perhaps he thinks they’re relaxing,
It helps the anger pass
In fact they’re just the opposite
It really is a farce
A rockery and vegetable patch
And the smell of fresh cut grass
And the bloody tinkle of the wind chimes
I’d like to shove them up his arse.

And he might think they’re relaxing
At the end of a summers day.
But round here we just get rain and wind
Yet they never blown away.
The sound of them is so annoying
And it fills me with dismay,
Tuneless like an orchestra
Who’ve forgotten how to play.

I’d like to reach in with long handled loppers
And cut the bloody things down
And then I’d hear the birds and nature
Which they normally just drown
Beneath a cacophony of tinkle tinkle
Tuneless crappy sound
Soundtrack to my insomnia,
That’s it, I’m going round!

The sky’s falling in

So I’m walking along and
Chicken Lickem comes up
And he’s all like,
Alright geez?
And I’m like,
Steady, mate, steady,
And he says
Bloody sky’s falling in,
Just stepped out the house
And a bit of it lands on me bonce,
And I’m like,
Bloody hell, you having a larf?,
And he says no mate, straight up,
So we’re off to the coffee shop and
Henny Penny’s in there having one of them
Macchiatos, and he’s like, alright Henny?
Bloody sky’s falling in, isn’t it?
And Henny turns around and says,
Pull the other one,
And he says no mate, straight up,
So then we’re off to this place that
Serves you a burger and chips, you know,
But they bung it on a lump of wood,
And Cocky Lockys in there,
And Henny Penny and Chicken Licken,
They’re like, bloody sky’s falling in,
And cocky Lockys like,
You’re having me on, right?,
And We’re like, no, mate, straight up,
And we got to the supermarket and,
Bump into Goosey Lucy and Gander Lander
And Drakey Lakey and Ducky Lucky and
Ponkey Donkey and Foxy Loxy
And Coaty Goatie and Beepy Sheepy
And Lara Llama and Mazelle Gazelle and
Pocelot Ocelot and Mangaroo Kangaroo and Steve
And they’re all like,
Shitting hell, mate,
And we’re like, no mate, straight up,
And they’re like, let’s all go to a nightclub
And we’re in the nightclub and it’s loud and he
Gets off with this woman, she’s like,
Oh Chicken Licken,
But the musics thumping and he’s like,
I don’t want a permanent relationship,
The sky’s falling in,
And shes like, what?
And he’s like, what?
And she’s like, what?
And he’s like, what?
And she’s like, forget it,
And Chicken Lickens like,
What?
And we’re all laughing and he’s all,
Hey, double sorted, double lush,
And we’re like,
Nah, mate, nah, she’s gone, and he’s like,
She was putty in my hands,
And were like, pull the other one, and he’s like,
Bloody tossbags, the lot of you.

Flexible Jim

Flexible jim
Oh flexible jim
It’s really so incredible
He’s flexible within
He can stand in the hallway
And look in the kitchen
That’s perfectly normal
If you’re flexible Jim

He’s a double jointed fella
He’s a yoga kinda guy
He can peek round corners
And nobody knows why
Flexible jim
Oh flexible Jim
So much complexity
With his flexibility

What is Jim?
Flexible!

I want to chat
To flexible jim
Find out for myself
What secrets lie within
Hey there jim
Let’s meet up and see what’s what
And Jim replied
I can’t do Tuesdays.

Static

A show about going nowhere, a show about life, a show about growing up LGBTQ in a suburb of Surrey in the 1980s.

Performance poet Robert Garnham takes the audience on a journey from a time where everything seemed to stand still.

The Space Captain has Got a Big Ray Gun

I am the firm-jawed space captain
And this is my sci-fi show.
I’m the randy tough shirt-ripping hero
You know the way it goes.
I’m the brown-haired stubbled morally-upright
Captain of this ship
I’m the father figure hunky macho man
Who never loses his grip.

Each week the show ends
With the threat of evil lessened.
I’m the laser shooting alien bating guy
Who teaches everyone a lesson.
My assistant this whole time has been
An affable old curmudgeon
Who dispenses words of wisdom and sanity
With every alien that i bludgeon.

The producers met last year
And while they were pleased, gosh, I’m so heroic
In my body hugging one piece spacesuit
Making me be both ridiculous and stoic
Decided to give me a new assistant,
A scientist, with test tubes and litmus .
But from the first moment of our first rehearsal
He turned out to be as camp as Christmas.

Viewer figures started to go up.

First day on set he seemed upset and
Insisted on rewriting his script
Pretending to get just a little aroused
At the sight of my shirt getting ripped.
And when we were held captive by then
Evil King Empreror of the Gargantuan Lizard Men he asked, could he
Remark that the Gargantuan Lizard Men were Gargantuan
In every place but the one that they really should be.

To the maniacal plotting demon wizard,
While supposedly undercover
He remarked to him, oh, you’re so butch!
You must get it from your mother.
While running away on Forbius Seven
Pursued by the furious Forbius Sevenese,
He adlibbed the line, ooo, a pair of handcuffs,
Now what shall we do with these?

Viewer figures went through the roof.

To the giant snake like Mega Octopus
Who wouldn’t let us pass,
Presumably unaffected by it’s mind altering powers he said,
Ooo, you’ve got a face like a slapped arse.
And my catchphrase I loved, as I jump into action,
‘Power it up and hit the switch!’
Was replaced by his own insistence by the phrase,
‘Brace yourself, bitch!’

And all those corny jokes about my ray gun.
Don’t point that thing at me.
Gosh, that’s a big one.
Does it shoot as well as it looks?
My my, you’ve polished that one up nicely.
Look at the shaft on that.
Big ones are so much harder to conceal.
Is it difficult to get a good aim with one that size?
I’ve never seen one that shape before.
Keep it covered up, I’ve just had a sausage.

I wanted such fame and tough guy acclaim
But my dreams have all been torpedoed.
It’s hard to have dignity when captured by robots
He says, ooo, were going to get probed!
The scripts for next year
I really do fear
Have just been released by the studio.
And while my name is still in the frame
I’ve been reduced to just a brief cameo.
I was the firm jawed space captain
And now this is his show.

I only love him when he sulks

I only love him when he sulks.
He looks so masculine and tough.
I can’t get enough
Of when he’s off in a huff.
He does something to me deep within.

He’s a normal bloke
And we do normal blokey things
But when he gets in a mood
It makes my heart sing.
He starts a thing he can’t stop
When he gets in a strop.
When a frown overtakes his complexion
I get an immediate . . ..
. . . . . . . Sense of wellbeing.

Be my hunk, be my daddy,
Do it for me, throw a paddy,
Come on big boy let’s have some fun
Please, I’m begging you, go off on one.

Your brooding gets me in the mood
And I’m only in the mood
When you’re in a mood
And when I’m in the mood
It gets you in a mood
Because I’m in the mood
Because you’re in a mood.

I deprive you of burgers
Not for the sake of your health,
But because
You’re never so manly
As when you’re hangry.

In bed last night
It stayed with a low, sultry moan
Only the moan was about
Chunky kit Kat’s not being
As chunky as they used to be.
And then you got that frown
The frown that never gets me down
And I said,
Don’t give me sultry,
Give me sulky,
And you said,
What the bloody hell are you on about?
And I said,
That’s it, just like that.

There’s nothing more annoying than a WhatsApp group

There’s nothing more annoying than a WhatsApp group
A work based compulsory WhatsApp group
It turns your brain to mush
And if turns your mind to soup
There’s nothing more annoying than a WhatsApp group.

There’s a hundred people in it
And they all want attention
It’s ever so mundane
And there’s nothing they won’t mention.
Leave the phone for a moment, though,
For a shower or for a poop
There’s a hundred notifications on
Your work based WhatsApp group.

The mundanity of the things they post
Really gets up my nose
But every fiftieth message is important
Just to keep you on your toes.
I’d delete the app tomorrow
It’s such an annoying thing
I’m getting sick and tired of hearing
That notification ping.

Here’s Judy with her plant pots
And some grandkids I’ve never met
And have you been watching the latest drama?
No! Don’t tell me the ending yet.
And here’s the paint for the living room
And some magnolia for the hall
And just as j decide to ignore the group
Comes word of an urgent conference call.

I’m tired of their emojis, ping!
Just because we all work together.
You don’t have to keep pointing out, ping!
What day it is, or the weather.
So I bitched about it to a friend of mine, Ping!
And told her I’d rather be dead
Than read all this halfwitted crap all the time, Ping,
Mistakenly posted this to the group instead.

Zoo Poo

The skunk
Stunk.
The elephant
Was a smellyphant
The hummingbird
Was humming..
The flamingo
Had BO
And it had
Let one go
The goldfish
In their tank
Were all rank.
The octopus
Was noxious
A flock of bats
Of which there
Was an abundance
Were all pungent.
The arachnid
Was acrid.
The squid
Was putrid.
The giraffe
Had never had a bath
The puffin
Lived on a cliff
And it didn’t half whiff
The river otter
When it was a little hotter
In the middle if Devon
Stank to high heaven.
The swan
Didn’t half pongs
The puma
Had an aroma.
The kangaroo
Smelled like poo
The tortoise
Lived a long life
But it was rife
The mouse
As well as squeaking
Was reeking.
The Mink
Let off a stink.
On his fifth day in his new job,
The zookeeper ran out of air freshner.

My grandad is a drag queen

My grandad is a drag queen
He goes to lots of shows
He sings Aretha Franklin
Badly, through his nose.

My grandad is a drag queen
Wearing glittery frocks
He’s only short but he looks quite tall
By standing on a box.

My grandad is a drag queen
My gran at first was aghast
Ten years ago she said it was a phase
And it probably wouldn’t last.

My grandad is a drag queen
I’ve seen his act, it’s riotous
He has them dancing in the aisles
Depending on his arthritis

My grandad is a drag queen
With his perfect comportment
High heels and a sequin dress
While digging in his allotment.

My grandad is a drag queen
He hits the club dance floor
He twists and vogues and breakdances
He’s just gone ninety four.

My grandad is a drag queen
He says it’s a nice little earner
He enters contests, shows and things
As Tina Afterburner.

My grandad is a drag queen
I know it’s not traditional
Sashaying to the shops each day
To buy his Werther’s Originals.

My grandad is a drag queen
He gets on stage and kills,
Lip syncing to I Will Survive,
Which he won’t if he’s not taken his pills!

My grandad is a drag queen
He really couldn’t look any cuter
In a sparkly sequinned dress yesterday
At the shops in his electric scooter

My grandad is a drag queen
He makes me feel such pride
He’s fierce and cool and glamorous
But he’s still my grandad inside.

The Farting Wizard

He exudes magic.
He exudes spells.
He exudes smells.
He’s the farting wizard.

Hocus pocus
Abracadabra
Someone grab the
Air freshener
He’s the farting wizard.

He can make anyone disappear
He can make anyone vanish
But there’s no magic involved,
Just a high protein diet
He’s the farting wizard.

He’s more stomach churning than merlin.
He’s more hanky over the mouth
Than Gandalf.
He’s more Harry Potty
Than Harry Potter
He’s ever so fond
Of his magic wand
But I wouldn’t want to see his pants
He’s the farting wizard.

He fights evil.
His farts are evil.
He’s strong and silent.
He’s silent but violent.
He lives a hermits existence
In a cave
I wonder why
He’s the farting wizard.

There’s a certain magic
In the air
There’s something else
As well
He’s the farting wizard.

He’s hardly ever petulant
But he is quite flatulent l
His spells might be virulent
But they’re also pungent.
He’s the farting wizard.

Izzy wizzy let’s get busy
Fluffy guffy let’s get whiffy
He might grant you your wishy
But try not to have a sniffy
He’s the farting wizard.

Last Thursday I needed an incantation
To guard against fire breathing dragons
He lit some scented candles
I said, is that a part of the ritual?
He said no, they were for another reason
He consulted his book and said,
By the grace of magic sublime, be gone!
Foul dragon, be gone!
(Pffffffffffgllllllbbbbbb!)

And do you know, they’ve
Not been back?