genrally life in general

Yesterday taken up by guitar practice and reading. I have a couple of new chords to learn and a few new songs after my last lesson. That is in fact my last lesson, for a while anyway, im now going to try and perfect what I have learned.

I also watched a tv programme about john betjamen which was good. I liked his poetry, my favourite of his is slough. it goes like this

Slough

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs, and blow to smithereens
Those air-conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week for half-a-crown
For twenty years,

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears,

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sports and makes of cars
In various bogus Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.

John Betjeman

It might not be my favourite for much longer as dad has given me a book of his poems to read. Slough is actually the only one I know, but it is spot on. i love the bit about peroxide hair and synthetic air. tinned minds- brilliant. maidenhead

I thought I would attempt some poems of my own after the programme finished, they are pretty poor and not quite finished.

Leg

I left my flat on my trusty old bike,
dressed in a hoody made by nike.

Confronted by a gentle climb,
I left my saddle to make good time,
pushing down forcefully on both pedals,
if this were the Olympics I’d be in the medals.

An almighty crack came from my leg,
it was scrambled like an egg.

Rolling back I was unassisted,
the pain in my leg persisted.
Get to the hospital, A+E,
how badly broken will this be?

We passed lina running, keeping fit,
she is extremely beautiful, I must admit.

Time for an X-Ray, done and dusted,
the X-Ray shows my leg is busted.
Thats it, my leg is broken,
the dreaded X-Ray has spoken.


Perfect Girl

I long for a girl with big thick thighs,
couldn’t care a less for the colour of her eyes.
I long for a girl with a round juicy bum,
to her looks i would succumb.

A girl who is fit and distinctly athletic,
not a girl who is vein and purely cosmetic.

I do not care if they have a flat chest,
big thighs and buttocks are what I like best.
To add to this dark skin and dark hair,
this combination is distinctly rare.

A girl like this is perfect perfection,
anything less will bring me dejection.


If any girls reading that match the description of this poem don’t hesitate to place a comment, especially if you play tennis.