Protest with a spring in your step with a free gift from your favourite unpaid unrecognised poet, march to this my chickens:
One at a time
One at a time
One at a time
Etc [NB: Insert moans as appropriate]
March to this and you will get whatever you want provided you split any profit with your own top moaning moaner, who hopes the above image of the toughest mini moaning moaner in cinematic history, Mr James Cagney, puts extra snap in your spine.
Yours truly, with a hearty thanks for following yours truly,
Mr JPF Goodman
I loved it when my North Pole touched your South Pole When your North met my South But alas, our Souths and Norths can never touch That's the pain of two magnets in love If we could touch in such a way We would not be magnets, or two, or in love This separation is essential Keeps us afloat and moving in the right direction So, though I am repelled so cruelly I will use my iron qualities To embrace our magnetic love.
Although only a humble and rarely celebrated poet and writer, I have a plan which may change British history for the better in a single click, if enough millions click it. It’s simple, so please read carefully:
We the following propose that the new Prime Minister of Great Britain resigns as soon as he or she announces his or her self.
[Please add to the pressure by liking, loving or sharing the above, and whatever may follow]
I was a Poet
I was an excellent poet
Read one of my poems once and
You won’t need to read it again
I was a fine poet
Read one of my poems as often as you like
You still won’t know what it’s all about
I was a harmonious poet
Ignore the words’ meaning
Just listen to the music in them
I was a didactic poet
No doubt you’ll agree with all my sentiments
I was an engaging poet
If you like my poetry
You must like me
I was an incomplete poet
Lacking in originality,
Vivid imagery or new ideas
I was a love poet
Return my tender love
Or screw it up and throw me away
I was an online poet
Better uploaded, tagged, liked, shared. tweeted
Than read
I was a discursive poet
My words are just a part of your conversation
I was a protesting poet
Who hoped my words might change the world
Or at least topple the government
I was a meaningless poet
Give my words what meaning you will
I was a poet
But I was also a man
Who didn’t want to die or be forgotten
JPF Goodman
April 29th 2019
My mother
Was a beautiful dancer,
By the time she was seven
She was so lovely
A famous artist painter her portrait.
She was aristocratic
(She wanted me to call her ‘Mummy’)
And sang ‘Golden Slumbers’ to me
Until she was put into prison
For not being able to walk.
She faded away as fast as she could
So we’d have time to dry our tears
And now all that’s left of her
Is that portrait, a silver ring with a blue stone
Which she never saw,
And her son’s distorted memories.
Look, Mummy, look!
I’m going to dance just for you
That thing inside your chest
Throbbing and pounding
Is not a parasite
It is your heart.
While you’re living
The world owes you
And so your heart should be light
Even when you have to put up a fight
When it seems part of the world you find yourself in,
Would treat any lightness in your heart as a sin
And yourself only fit for the bin.
So you don’t need to feel your heart as a weight
It’s your priceless gift to the world, to love and share, your fate.
Could it possibly be
That we are just like dark energy
That our existence depends
On moving apart with incredible speed
Obeying gravitational law so we may expand
Though that is the very force
That fills us with longing to be closer together
So we are doomed to greater ignorance
By reason of our becoming ever more clever?
Well, I don’t like metaphors, or similes
Just want one tiny answer
To life’s big mysteries
So we may agree, yes, this is what actually matters
This love will keep us going till the universe shatters.
[In other news, here’s this start of a poem]
Peace on Earth
All this time I thought it was me
When it was them
Now I’m inclined to think it was me again
So smug and slow and so wrong
When nothing changes or it takes too long
The anger rages inside
So it’s hard to believe Peace on Earth can ever be here
Though you are holding onto it so tightly
So, are we all agreed that to mutter towards the Prime Minister, a phrase such as “Stupid Woman” or, before too long, such as “Stupid people” is now to be considered beyond the pale and illegal?