Thank God, or St Giles anyway,

For Stoney Clouds.

You could be anywhere in the: Peaks, the counties, the Dales or the moors.

Jays give sudden alarm in coppice charms,

As people arrive, who should be indoors,

Locked down from our friends and family,

But luckily not the green of Stoney.

Stoney, an apt name for stoner youth,

Pot-plastered at the bench,

On the summ...

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A babe in a pram,

Wheeled down Lord street,

At the speed of a tram.

Mouth engrossed with jelly and swine,

Melting fine

Michelback’s prime.

My mum grew up on these pies,

I too.

As an infant into the 80’s,

pate mini pork treats,

from Grimes butchers.

I suppose it is what you grew up with,

Your tastes, your clutches.

Jelly, pastry, succulent meat,

which ...

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A plane crashing that never seems to hit the ground to explode

into pieces.  A frozen moment in time.

Distraught, but then cleansed.

Broken again, only to mend.

Our lives - a computer graphic having a glitch,

repetition of the same sold narrative,

and then static.

Fading out with no soft cushion for landing.

Volume being culled.

A big brother house of Covid guest stars.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rS3ovpxEnd8

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lthEa0nfFmQ

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During the lockdown, I didn't do much writing and wasn't inspired like some to write about Covid or the lockdown in general, as I figured there would be enough people doing this already.  The poem below is a new and first draft.  It is meant to be messed up like the whole crisis and covers things I have heard said from a whole host of people and media.  Comments please and anything I could add to ...

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There’s a place where I can go and tell my secrets to… (Brian Wilson)

In a room,

a child not yet a teen,

sits full of good vibrations.

The vinyl stolen from parents

crackles with life,

static and promises of a long summer for all.

Surfboards, so alien to this coast of estuary and mudflats,

yet the glow of California dreams and girls perforates his reality.

Do i...

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Here is my first collection of poems available on Amazon (kindle) for just 1.99 sterling.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Poems-International-Launderette-David-Addington-ebook/dp/B08G9L44ZQ/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=launderette&qid=1603047881&sr=8-3

Please enjoy and feel free to review

Thanks

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Wow!  Glad to be back on this excellent site after so many tech problems on IT this year as I was working from home.  Lost passwords, being thick with trying to keep up with the modern world of tech, etc, etc.

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Sonething I have wanted to write about for some time now.  Here is first attempt:

Train, tram, bus, car, walking or whatever,

You will see what this poem is about,

just as clearly as the weather.

Girls on their phones.

Girls who are perhaps so forlorn.

Girls who might be so alone,

Just like dogs without their bones.

Epidemic that has spread nationwide,

and...

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Grinding ears, metal hearts and hands clasped in prayer,

to chrome steel gods.

Raging fists punch sparks into the air,

As anvil heads hammer to the tuning fork and sheer blasts

of class – stained forever since being 10.

Stamped and delivered,

Living it up after midnight,

Whilst breaking laws of the so called pop charts.

Screaming for vengeance against industry norms,

The...

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Speed freak beast,

rattling bass string sting,

roaring like a hawk in a maelstrom –

juggernaut, express train slam.  Iron fist as a heart.

Try to keep up and play as fast as I can.

Aces up the sleeve, bombers primed to hit,

bass drum times two with an orgasmatron kick.

“I don’t believe a word” against this icon of rock,

this angelic rebel,

this amplified shock.

He was...

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40 years ago to the day, when I met you ,lady macabre. All Hallow's eve in foggy Fleetwood,

as damp leaves burrowed into the slippery pavements of beach road.

I was stomping my way with John to the cemmie to cause some grief to the dead.  This being 40 years since I really knew the meaning of Samhain.

I shouted and hollowed and spoke bullshit Stephen King, whilst John kicked the...

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Juxtapose my horizons

honouring my native blood,

while over by the campfire,

spear throwers and fish harpooners,

dance a poetic trance,

to some clay porcelain God.

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This is the six O’clock news.

Please note,

 that today,

 sport has

taken a day off

from the only optimistic

sections of

current worldy affairs.

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Coffee white treetops

at elevated heights.

Road awash with ski shoes

and Polaroid eyes,

to view a summit

adorned by a solar mood.

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(il) legal highs,

get out of my way -

I’m the DIY shaman.

Heartbeat mastered to a drum

from Buffola replication.

Didn’t quite want to kill an elk or reindeer.

I breathe in the simulacrum of the plant world:

blue Lily for contemplation,

dream herb for lucidity,

iboga for the sontay! (health).

Mescalin for the walking spirit,

amongst ancient woodlands.

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Large bag of chips,

large arses and hips,

and large eyebrow slugs.

So many appliances,

but no large plugs?

Large fake tans,

large austerity plans,

and large Brexit stress.

No deal, referendum,

a TITANIC political mess.

Large vapour smoke,

large flavours to toke ,

and large girls are all the trend.

Mobility scooter highways,

and disabled park...

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Survival kit should contain:

Bottled water.

Camp gas and stove.

Torches (preferably LED) batteries. 

Samurai sword.

Firelighters and wood. 

Dry foods and protein. 

Get fit manual.  (Can always burn)

Herbal teas and a camp kettle.

First aid kits and medicines. 

Important documents.  (Can always burn)

Sleeping bag. (Can always burn) 

Possibly a manual on how to re...

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The artiste picks up his award,

MTV ceremony charms,

mumbles his rap persona response,

but only famous to anyone under 14.

He’s not Lemmy, Bowie  or Presely.

It’s just not rock ‘n’ roll.

Radio One and Gem

spin the same few songs,

to get them heard by everyone,

in delivery vans, commercial kitchens and the warehouses

of this once great musical land.

But it’s no...

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Morning has broken,

dawn patrol and raids galore.

Jenny Wren dish dashes,

commando – like,

with her tommy gun cackle,

as tits explode amongst the briars.

The blackbird gives its warning call

as wood pigeons glide in,

 streaked like American Mustangs,

D-Day striped.

The sparrows mob the hedgerow bocage;

small arms in the fray

for the bird table.

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Angelsey for sale,

yes please!

Only wish it could cater for all work and trade

 - salary to survive.

Imagine buying some land

and letting go of the world.

Wondering now, why anyone would want to sell up

and leave such an isle of serenity,

except for the jet skis.

Perhaps time is hard and business is bust,

as nuclear power gives way to

Japanese contracts to decommis...

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Hello folks,

I now have my first collection of poetry almost ready to self-publish based on my 1990's poems and rants etc.  The dilemma is this:  Do I publish it as 45 poems (to symbolise my age and 20 yearssince I began writing poetry, which has developed since then)?  Or (becasue create space paperback print of demand retail at around £7.99) do I go for it and put everything I've got int...

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Sunday afternoon tranquillity,

as cars sleep in their holes.

There are no dogs barking or chasing golf balls,

no domestics going on within the 'Brookside' houses,

strewn all along - not one soap sod leaking.

Further along the view,

stand the concrete giants,

immortalised kilns conducting power.

Grey Titans that oppose the green,

urban – rural - it's mad - it's obscene.

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Darkly, the mist lowers over to the Swallows and Amazon islands,

Speckling the lake from being whole mass.

Launches stutter their way to jetties at Ashness Bridge,

Humming the moment for cameras and screaming kids.

The mist transpires the green, the glow,

Pierced now by laser sunlight below.

I stand with friends from a height,

As Tino the defiant pit bull, looks aloft at it al...

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Breaking glass

in the corridors of my mind,

Trampled underfoot,

the shards cut deep.

I loved her

Once.

©David Addington 1998

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Drugs.  Addiction –

back by popular demand.

A way to end the boredom,

spoil another day.

Broke.  Aflliction,

living second hand.

Last two quid for the ‘leccy' box

in a load of rusty change.

No!  Distinction,

frustrated as one can.

Can’t entertain all the time

and have constructive ideas.

Beliefs.  Predictions,

all letters in the sand.

Want to know the futu...

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Where are yu?

Ezaki sweet love,

Japanese venture,

Exotic treat for a young man

Back in his prime.

Hair dark as coal

And even down there.

Paps the right handful size.

How our bodies rhymed and chimed

In knots and tangles on and off the sheets.

28 and 20 – what a great age to be.

You were a woman who shared her wares

As I shared my tears and adolescent d...

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The alien has taken his last trip to Mars,

On the Berlin express,

Calling from station to station,

With his uncle Arthur and the laughing gnome.

He’s escaped the scary monsters and the super-creeps.

Ashes to ashes this stardust talent,

This thin white duke.

Artist, poet, writer, trend setter, actor, experimentalist.

Ch-ch-ch-changes will break our hearts.

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There was thunder over Europe,

At the wargames club,

as the cannons blazed and shed.

Mass lines of plastic/pewter fighting men

by those great leaders led,

marched on brave with discipline.

Hordes of galloping colours

sabres shining bright,

grateful to enamel paints and varnish,

a bugle charge and forward

brigades heavy and light.

Just make it up as we go.

We all...

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Grey as slate,

strewn about with flotsam and jetsam.

Perpetual twilight.

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Here is old poem idea I've had for ages about favourite album titles and the feelings that the music of each inspired in me at the time.  My old vinyl records - nostalgia.  You've got to guess the artists.  It's not laid out in a poem style fro a reason, and that's becasue a design friend of mine some years ago formatted (God knows how) into a circular text shaped as an LP.  It just needed a lable...

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Sadness in the eyes of such a sweet angel,

Yet darkness upholds its chilling shadows.

What has become of her?

For 5 years we stuck it out

Sagittarius reigned above.

Her lips show some promise,

Contented smiles ... perhaps, she will love again.

And the birds fly south with whispers of a melancholy.

That was the image you liked.  Gothic.

©David Add...

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2 minutes past midnight,

a shooting star falls,

Piercing the star spangled heaven,

Or you'd like to think it was.

And now your monarch spread eagle,

Is it for peace and mankind in its cost,

That it took to get it up there on that silver dusty surface?

Or did you really go?

And if not -

Then where did all that money go?

It's just gone 3 minutes past midnight,

A...

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Since hatching out of a cocoon,

This butterfly has had many tastes of pollen.

So many whims and fads on which to feed,

Just like the hungry caterpillar.

Whilst being an infant – he would froth at the mouth,

With every new idea and urge,

Driving friends mad and give them a reason to bully.

First it was cowboys, plastic soldier armies, world war 2,

Action men and St...

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Three o' clock on this grey afternoon.

Another dull November Sunday.

I wonder what I did last year,

on this same old dreary day ?

Stayed in bed late as I have no money,

and this room is the tidiest in the house.

I try to work out my forthcoming budget,

not that it does any good.

The window is in my attention,

complete with grey skies and speckles of rain.

Th...

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MerryChristmas all and have a happy new year.  Not sure if I will get any new poems up here before next year (love saying that when it's only a week).  I'm not the type to write Christmas poems etc so will leave it at that.  Been great salvaging what has been for me the most stagnant and uninspiring year so far - 2015 - you can stuff it like the turkey. 

Christmas in France with the in-laws and...

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From a glass of Cote du Rhone,

Stemmed from your place of birth,

Or a framboise tart –

Patisserie delights.

The taste of salads

And hummus garlic that stains your breath

That I so dread to kiss -

I know you have to put up with my nicotine lips,

But it’s me that does all the moaning.

So easily pleased by life’s gentle moments,

When for me it isn’t enough to savour,

...

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Hello and seasons greetings (happy solstice etc).  Does anyone know of a good software to create own kindle book?  I've done some research and as always ran across scams galore of dodgy fucking conmpanies that pretend to have great offers and the best software, only to read comments on how peole have been scammed.  Does anyone have any advice on how to go about publishing own ebook and what softwa...

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If Elvis could of only seen you all -

dancing like peacocks, you're most profound

birds of paradise, extravagant and tall.

Discotheque platforms and ballroom blitz,

topping the charts way back in the seventies,

with pouts and glitz.

Aces up your sleeves,

while some of you later became sex romantics,

sluts and glamour queens -rock gypsy drag,

as you drew heavily on that f...

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Decs up before the 1st, usually.

All splendidly arranged,

never sparing an inch of space from glitter,

and musical mechanical gadgets singing carols -

all part of her enchanted grotto.

One year there were that many lights,

They confused pilots in the sky heading over the house,

And Sellafield had to go into overtime.

Still at least Santa had no trouble finding it.

But sh...

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Subdued and submerged,

This ballistic air bag of throbbing,

Just ready to blow.

All stuffed to its rim,

like an infected water bomb,

held back from exploding and chasing the bends,

by its chains - its anchor.

Just another cock up from nature,

and life's way of telling you to slow down.

Mood sinks.

Feelings sink.

Hardly any emotional response.

No want to do anyth...

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I open my front door, straight into climate change and the dull M1 roar – all hours.

I go to the school as a teacher, only to drain creativity and imagination out of the kids,

With constant assessment and onlyone focus on grades.

GCSE’s are only league tables’ kids. 

I pass by people, finger fucking their apps and friends with smart phone dementia.

Press ‘like’ , press ‘share’ ...

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Green serene,

but in-between

runs the blue

of the Greta,

running fast for May,

tinted bronze with replenished stock.

Down by the weeping willows,

where wagtails ponder with a need for insects,

underneath the canopies draping with lavish plenty,

in a dub, deeper by a foot -

he transpires in the brook,

about roughly two foot long,

Salmo Trutta,

alias ...

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DIVIDING CORNERS

Five to nine and a horrible reality. Even the carpet thinks so (after yet another coffee mug spills with the ashtray), and probably the band that's jamming away in stereo, thinking smugly, that they're tomorrow's Beatles, selling out arenas to tomorrow's people.

Still it all seems quite reputable compared to the silver cutlery in the drawer next to the microwave, unpoli...

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A tongue and cheek lyric about the world today and conspiracy culture

Audio / Video version of this song:  (Please play LOUD and enjoy the rock)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y98M6rU-FSI

IF

Ever had a thought,

That things are not what they seem?

You go with flow

But your weeping at the seams.

Well there’s more to this life

Than you can ever hope to know,

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California by day,

Las Vegas by night,

with flat caps, deckchairs,

and other English sensibilities,

once dying, maybe still,

while trams rattle declaring

sealife promises,

to stargate pleasures,

to Cher and her 'life after love',

entwined with the pulse of a rollercoaster.

Sounds of Saturday football matches,

played hard on soft sand,

menace resting seagull...

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Hi folks,

Just wanted to say a big thanks for all the views so far.  I am currently trying to make a blog / web site type thing using blogger, but some of the features elude me, so complicated.

I would really like to set something up to showcase the poems  (old and new), short stories, scripts and music I have produced over the years, as now at 45, I've long past he idea of trying make ...

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Where we last met

that Sunday at the ruins,

amongst the grey and mottled stone;

tourists and drop outs glanced

with dark carrion sonata ways,

behind the jackdaw's Polaroid eyes

Where we last met

that Monday at the park,

painted by the willows and the duckponds,

geese and squirrels intimidated us,

with alter educated egos,

while citizens begged for crumbs.

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FROM EVOLUTION

From out of the sea,

not safe on land,

up into trees,

Swing branch to branch.

Through canopies with the passing of time,

Form our tribes and followed our lines.

Then down we came, finding our feet,

we uprighted ourselves, following the beat,

of evolution.

Grow in mind, tall and strong,

Walk into Empires

singing our songs.

Fearless pro...

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