Wednesday, 27 August 2014

Fairy Tale Football. For the MK Dons, their staff and fans

For the MK Dons in celebration of their 4 - 0 win against Manchester Utd.



Fairy Tale Football


This is why we love football;

For ninety minutes fans can dream and

sometimes, just sometimes the stars align.

A club by some much maligned

turns hero for the night, does everything right

plays with pluck, rides their luck

and in a pressure cooker environment

watch football royalty unravel before their eyes.

As surprise!


For one night Cinderella went to the ball.

The United defence became ugly sisters

as the duckling Dons turned swans;

became the little pea that will give

these princesses many sleepless nights.


This is why we love football;

When the worst results

make the best stories,

Past glories: forgotten.

Star names trade blame and shame

as Karl’s Giant Killers

deliver a thriller

we hadn’t dared to imagine


The shock, not in the beating of them

but how big a beating they took.

So, in the best tradition of Norwegian Commentator hyperbole,

we take this one opportunity to say:


“We are the best in the world! It is completely unbelievable! We have beaten Manchester Utd, birthplace of giants. Steve Coogan, Terry Christian, Sir Alex Ferguson, The Happy Mondays, Max Beesley, Rachel Riley, Olly Murs . Can you hear me? Your boys took a hell of a beating! Your boys took a hell of a beating!”


So this fairy tale chapter closes

on a game of triumph and regrets;

A night the Dons will always remember,

one that United will hope to forget.


Tuesday, 6 May 2014

A little poem for a great smile.

So, I'm taking a trip and unusually for English service industries, someone stood out for delivering good service. So here is a little poem. I tried writing more but it didn't feel right. 

Keep writin' and recitin'

Mark x

Poem for the Meet and Greet girl.

It takes a special kind of something
to smile and mean it,
at five thirty in the morning
in a fake American diner in
a real English airport
she has it. 

Wednesday, 30 April 2014


Day 30 of 30. Another April full of new poems completed, but there is a sombre edge to this achievement, as it has been announced today that Bob Hoskins died yesterday. Today's poem is a small tribute to his work 

Best wishes


Bob ‘Oskins.
The working man’s actor.
he played the rock hard,
many a crook
unforgettably, even
sidekick to Captain Hook, Smee
in, which out of respect should now be renamed

He was the Long, Good Friday,
tart with a heart’s body guard in Mona Lisa
for which he very nearly became Oscar ‘Oskins
He was Edgar J Hoover and Benito Mussolini.
It seemed to play the big bad men,
you called the big little man,
the grouchy, gravel-voiced, gruff
diamond in the rough and he shone.

And now he’s gone,
missed and mourned
always handcuffed to one role,
as he was Roger Rabbit
Jessica telling him, in that voice 
she was just drawn that way.
Goodbye ‘Oskins.
Forever (Eddie) Valiant.

Tuesday, 29 April 2014


A late post for this poem as it has been a busy day  but I have come to this version of the poem in three sittings and I am really pleased with it. That may all change when I look at it in the morning.

One more day to go!
Take centre stage songbird.
From its soft and warming sleep,
sing the sun into the sky.
In glorious reds and golds, sweep
the night away. Puff the chest
and warm the throat,
set music free in  
mellifluous notes
to fly as you do,
like Charlie Parker bebop;
airy, circling  riffs combined with
complex melodic lines that don’t stop
until the song is sung and the day
settled into its favourite chair.
You’d swear notes still hang like sparklers
traced in the memory of childhood air.

Monday, 28 April 2014

Scrunchy Lunch: A poem for children

A children's poem today has come to mind, so I've written it! Imagine a rhythmic "crunch, crunch" underscoring the words.

Best wishes


Scrunchy Lunch
Squashed banana and cornflake sandwich
Homemade for my lunch

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.

Banana for energy and vitamins
Cornflakes for the crunch.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.

It’s a very scrunchy sandwich
As loud as thunder when you munch.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
If you try one, you'll love it
Trust me, I have a hunch!

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Squashed banana and cornflake sandwich
For my lovely lunch.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
Gulp. Ahhhh!

Sunday, 27 April 2014

Lead in the Clouds (27 of 30)

Lead in the clouds
Somewhere, from a classroom,
in the north-east of England
last millennium, (God, I feel old!)
fifteen pounds per square inch
surfaces through the sea of
long-forgotten-remembered-forgotten facts.
Today that atmosphere tall column of air
feels three-fold the force,
leaden skies owning their name.
Bones struggle with a denser gravity,
muscles murmur complaints
a bruised brain puts on hold.
These thankfully infrequent days,
naked lunches triggered by news headlines,
raw reality leaching beneath protective seal.
How to call some men human,
not collapse under the weight of sharing
pace, oxygen and species.

Saturday, 26 April 2014


Mother Nature,
you old Mistress of the palette,
of tones and shade, tinges and hues.
Colours that are enemies you
convince to cosy up and blend,
to lay down their arms and
exploit the best of themselves for
new neighbour’s benefit and both shine.
How much we can learn.
In the crowd scenes, your genius is autographed.
A rabble of colours, ready for riot and
desperate for attention, petals exploding
as if live grenades on every sightline.
A hundred distinct voices shout “Green”
in their own accents from the background.
Oscar-winning primary colours give their best
yet afterwards you can’t name them,
every blade and branch, stem, leaf and display counted.
I get lost in the looking sometimes.
See painters for the thieves and
plagiarists they are. Limit my vocabulary
to three words:
wonder, glory and awe.