A normal day

Walking along a gasp of wind blew dust, blinded by the obscene, I swore and cussed, walking up a hilly road, without much luck, I recall a manhole ahead broken by the dustbin truck, proud upright smelly men with their pungent trash the thought occurs, ‘they should be paid more cash’, I struggled on up the unpleasant hill, with sight of a mole, stumbling upon this unknown hole, could be a crazy individual looking for coal, hitting my head I fell forlong into an eight foot chamber, not seeing the danger, waking some hours later, wet from the soiling of a sewerage stream, noticing blood drip from my eye, I gave a little sigh; ‘what mess had I gotten into this time’ if it wasn’t ridiculous it would be sublime, feeling a little sad, thinking; ‘being a dustbin worker doesn’t seem that bad’ I struggled to my feet, what a memory to keep, reaching for my phone only to realise the battery had gone, I shouted for some help, I screamed for a passer by, but who would walk up that silly hill when they sensibly drive, besides it was getting late at perhaps nine o’clock at night, well, there was nothing for it but the pipe ahead right, climbing through getting even more wet, I wondered if the long narrow road to paradise would be as rough as this as my trousered knees ripped?, feeling humbled with the bliss, I longed to get home to the people I missed, ahead lay the sight of a pool of browny yellow piss yet the sight of a ladder on the other side could not be missed, so I swam for dear life with thoughts of my wife, at last I could climb to get out of this strife, to dream of a nice shower and get on with my life, when at last reached I struggled on up, there was an opening; oh what luck!, I stood up tall in the road and punched the air, even though I was covered in muck, I now write this from my hospital bed, ‘so blessed that I’m not dead,  ‘what happened”? I said to the Doc, he replied wryly without a bedside touch “surely you remember you daft old duck, you were standing in the middle of the road, said the driver of the Dustbin Truck!”. 

What a pain in my ass

Bowel Cancer - What a pain in my ass...

By Andrew Drake on diagnosis of bowel cancer

Came home one day, went to the toilet, shouldn’t feel this way,

Went to the hospital to have some tests, ‘cos there was blood I thought it was best,

Was told I had cancer, that wasn’t fun,

Who knew I’d get cancer up my bum?

 

Had chemo and radio, it’s all gone so well,

But these next 3 months are going to be hell!

Colon and asshole, it all gets cut out,

Into a bag I will shit, out of a spout!

For the rest of my life it’s gonna be fun, but think of the trees I will save,

From not using paper to wipe my bum!!!

 Ducks & Drakes Cancer Trust please google.

Raising awareness for young cancer sufferers, like all cancer early diagnosis is essential 

Rest peacefully- Andrew Drake

28th January 1985 to 30th September 2015

Reactional haste

Slow reactions, let the dust settle, respond in a week, first let your heart seek, traumatic moments are like mountains to climb, reactionary actions are decisions of time. darkness enters an open door. 

Coping with a problem while anxious of the cause, immediate response to weaken the plause, bid your weather, let it past, the taste of anger is not going to last, hate will eat your soul to death especially if you are wreckless at rest, wait a day wander on, consider which type of road you are on.

The next day is brighter than the last, a moment of war extraordinaire, in a heated battle, stop!, exchange a friendly hug, chuckle or chug, make excuses, apologies galore, that moment in time victoriously yours, be kind of heart that’ll make a good start, subtlety is hard yet an important part.

Friendship is built on kindness, deceit is poison. 

Handsome Young

As I grow old enough to recoil I can barely walk across this land of dreams with golden soil, country with meat aplenty, a cut of beef for the cost of twenty, simplicity past before my wake, Walking through I see them guffaw, then shake.

Not a pretty picture to look at man grown old, forgetting the moment he was tall and bold, good looking, skin of bronze, white toothed smile that lingered a while, each passing day takes away youth and sway, gone is the man, welcome the aged. 

On my cross! bear witness to thy good, take me home from a life in the hood, spectacular tale irrelevant now, maybe it’s a curse, I cannot understand how,  Rap’ is for the young, ill leave it at that, worn and old, it is a song, so I’m told. 

The trumpet calls,I do not care for the sound, a violin screeches in a hall that is round, the dog barks at the tv again, I stare at dust and wonder where I’ve been, how I got here?, what I have seen?, butterfly of beauty take me away, don’t leave me here for another day

I dance on Ice, waltz to Tchaikovsky, later I might visit Holby City, then I’m off into space exploring the galaxy visiting worlds that are ever so pretty, space stations scattered, welcome me in, then sleep has a hold and I’m away again, so scatter my bones, let them blow in the wind, mourn the memory of a lost friend, then get on with whatever life throws your way it will almost soon be your day. 

Recall of fear.

You stand tall on a chair, blue shirt, nappy on, only three, shining coconut hair, wirey curls, eyes that stare at a ghostly figure, yet no one is there, looking out from deep golden eyes, with your short young life, a horrific recall of fear enters here

you are away for a minute, some times of the day, a surreal distant moment, that only you can create, screaming for a while, until settled with pepper pig and a drink, taking a step back to have a think, what horrors might you have seen from that bottle of pink, rolled up paper smoke, a horrific recall of fear is here

Silent for what seemed like ages , I glanced as you froze, a statue at irregular moments, that soft gentle face, shaken, hit the wall, bruises after a pinch of anger, left dirty, alone, hungry, a burn on the skin from a drop of ash, one of these days you will forget all, with no horrific recall of fear that enters here. 

WoodBerry Down generation

Why?, oh please answer, why? 

You threatened, abuse in my direction 

Was I so different to you? 

Yes being a little coy, I was a Teddy Boy

There was never rascist tone, I was almost alone,

I never spouted hate, 

one look at the way I dressed made you irate

Winston Reeves, I loved the Rock ‘n’ Roll suits

The Music to boot, I loved Bob Marley too

Though you’d never have guessed

You just reacted to the fashion that I dressed

You weren’t guilty of the way you felt

There could be tough times in 1974 

Difficult for the Windrush core

Never knowing what kind of day you would have

The way you were treated could be hurtful for sure

I wonder what ever happened to you

Were you successful ? 

Like You deserved to be?, 

talented, clever, too skilled for a factory

Probably became a lawyer 

Fighting the cause in history

Or a drug dealer like everyone expected you to be 

Except Me.

Wavering

One never can tell, when they fall into the pit of hell, a mere matter of stress with a combination of duress, a loss of feeling alive, I pray it’s not contrive, not a position of restful strive, a bee without a hive.

Wonderful colour of Tulips, Golden bells galore, Bluebells of plenty, Amethyst are small. Pretty rabbits are out of bed, crocoideae Iris, whisper to Hyacinth, she may not tell, incredible to smell.

 Now where was I in story part or told, lost in thoughts, a transitional movement of the strangest kind, cannot travel beyond what I can see leading forward into the darkest caverns, being lead by the blind, don’t worry my dear, I’m very close behind. 

Roses of red, inconceivable to believe that they have grown up on gruel, Oliver the boy, matchstick girl, would make a great pair, Shoreditch church rings the bell,  the children desired love and food, wonderful stories in the Dickensian world, I slept soundly in a comfy little shell, pray before sleep

For fear of hell!.