(If music be the food of love
Then I must be Henry the VIII
Cause I’ve broken the hearts and necks of lovers,
While generously gorging my face.)
I like to allow myself to marinate,
Over nights of deprivation.
Starving myself of music to make the wait,
Worth waitin'.
Sucking barley sugar and jazz to make my temper patient
Dreaming of a musical banquet or just a break....
Beat.
Breath.
The guilt tastes like heaven with just a pinch of salt,
I help it rise to the festive occasion,
With just the twist of a nob.
Turn up the oven,
Add in the spice.
Without the music playing it'll never taste as nice.
Then its at this time of night,
I eat better than Hannibal Lector.
Feasting on lips, hands and headboards made of leather.
And if you can’t stand the heat,
You’ll never eat as well,
Cause if music be the food of love,
well it’s hot as fuck in hell!
Monday, 22 May 2017
OVER THAT WALL
Over that wall there are women,
Lasses, girls,
All in prison.
From the outside looking in,
You just see the criminal,
But through those blue doors,
There are women,
And they are singing.
Over that wall there are chosen families,
And dearest friends,
Love and laughter,
Squeezed onto grubby single beds.
There is poetry,
That cannot be held in by bars,
That cannot be silenced by biased news reports.
There are voices so loud,
That no wall will silence.
That no wall will hold the freedom that's inside them.
Over that wall are women, judged,
Locked inside, away from public view,
A Sisterhood.
Over that wall we ignore the bigger problem,
And the women will sing,
Over that wall,
Until you stop to hear them!
Lasses, girls,
All in prison.
From the outside looking in,
You just see the criminal,
But through those blue doors,
There are women,
And they are singing.
Over that wall there are chosen families,
And dearest friends,
Love and laughter,
Squeezed onto grubby single beds.
There is poetry,
That cannot be held in by bars,
That cannot be silenced by biased news reports.
There are voices so loud,
That no wall will silence.
That no wall will hold the freedom that's inside them.
Over that wall are women, judged,
Locked inside, away from public view,
A Sisterhood.
Over that wall we ignore the bigger problem,
And the women will sing,
Over that wall,
Until you stop to hear them!
Dedicated to the women in HMP Low Newton Prison
Untitled
The words have all but gone.
What's left is done and deeds,
Of actions in motion,
That leaves emotions in much need.
And these actions don't speak louder,
But sigh in silent griefs,
Of what cannot be said in words,
That these two dared not speak.
What's left is done and deeds,
Of actions in motion,
That leaves emotions in much need.
And these actions don't speak louder,
But sigh in silent griefs,
Of what cannot be said in words,
That these two dared not speak.
YOU ARE JUST YOU
They all think their lives will be different,
That life and its people will show more forgiveness,
They will NEVER fall into the same traps as you,
Because they wear Vans and you just wear shoes!
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They will never be Mams nursing sick children,
They will never be bald and mocked by the youthful,
No way, not them,
They are different to you,
You are like 44(?) and they are 22(?)
You have to understand,
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They know about life,
They're the first ones to live it,
They pretty much exist just to show you how to do it,
They can laugh at your dancing cause they do it better,
They can giggle, and point, and quip and snigger,
They can talk philosophically about all that they know,
And they know, what we know, that they know,
You know?
They invented fashion, and travel, and fun, and sex!!
And can't believe you were born before google and text.
They bemoan their lives away,
Whilst you only just made it,
One foot in the grave,
One still in the cradle....
Yes, I am old,
And they are new,
But they are just young,
So you can just be you!
They will NEVER fall into the same traps as you,
Because they wear Vans and you just wear shoes!
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They will never be Mams nursing sick children,
They will never be bald and mocked by the youthful,
No way, not them,
They are different to you,
You are like 44(?) and they are 22(?)
You have to understand,
You are old,
And they are new,
They are young,
And you are just you!
They know about life,
They're the first ones to live it,
They pretty much exist just to show you how to do it,
They can laugh at your dancing cause they do it better,
They can giggle, and point, and quip and snigger,
They can talk philosophically about all that they know,
And they know, what we know, that they know,
You know?
They invented fashion, and travel, and fun, and sex!!
And can't believe you were born before google and text.
They bemoan their lives away,
Whilst you only just made it,
One foot in the grave,
One still in the cradle....
Yes, I am old,
And they are new,
But they are just young,
So you can just be you!
Monday, 15 May 2017
Second Fiddle
I'm not your side salad,
Im the main course!
Im the wine and the gravy and the mint sauce.
Im the calories,
And the laughter,
Im the After 8 mint and
Im the banter.
Im the creme brûlée and Im the jus,
Im your Mamas homemade chicken stew,
Im not a taster,
Im the whole bull,
Im the noise that you make when you're stuffed full!
Im not your hand luggage,
Im the holiday,
Im the holiday,
Sand, sea, sun 'n' sex,
I'm the getaway!
I'm the getaway!
Im the take off and the landing,
Im the fine bikini body you've been oggling.
Im the ice cubes,
Im your new shades,
And Im all the spending money that you fucking saved!
Im the soft top,
Im the drive,
Im the wind in your hair, Im the blue skies.
Im your tan lines,
Im the cocktail,
Im the salt that you lick as we set sail.
Im the salt that you lick as we set sail.
I dont play second fiddle,
Im the bass line,
Im your good time,
Im a sick rhyme.
Im the beat of your heart,
Like LeAnn Rimes.
Im the daytime and the night-time,
An although you don't know it but you're all mine.
Im the bell chimes,
Im the Big Ben,
Im a skinny little fucker but I say when.
Im the drum beat,
Im the foot tap,
Im sweet, sticky honey,
Im the tree sap.
Im not the gambler,
Im the cards,
Im the Diamond, the Spades and the Hearts,
Im the Clubs,
At the races,
Im the bright lights the dice rolls in Vegas.
Im not the penny,
Im the pound,
Im the zeros you count,
Im the horse whip and hound.
Im the gun shot,
Im the booky
Im the odds in your favour, lady lucky.
Im the odds in your favour, lady lucky.
Im the double up and the double down,
Im the wad in your pocket when you hit town.
Im not a player,
Im the coach,
Im the assist that passes the goals!
Im the striker and the defender,
Not here when you're just on a bender.
Im a hat trick,
Im the game,
Im the crowd that is chanting your name.
Im the Captain,
Im the Boss,
Im a bitch as Ref - Im the coin toss.
Im a bitch as Ref - Im the coin toss.
Im not a sub mate and never will be,
And when I shoot I shoot hard cause youre easy.
Im the hand of God and the red card,
Im the trophy you lift when it's got hard.
I dont play second fiddle,
Im the bass line,
Im your good time,
Im a sick rhyme.
Im the beat of your heart,
Like LeAnn Rimes.
Im the daytime and the night-time,
An although you don't know it but you're all mine.
Im the bell chimes,
Im the Big Ben, Im a skinny little fucker but I say when.
Im the drum beat,
Im the foot tap,
Im sweet, sticky honey,
Im the tree sap.
Thursday, 21 May 2015
PINK LANE: Poetry & Performance
PINK LANE: Poetry & Performance - Thursday July 2nd - At Stage 3 Northern Stage. Peaceful Punks - Mightier than swords - Laughing in the face of austerity - Words! ALRIGHT!!! Come and join us for a good old rolicking and stay tuned for more details - Enjoy the new promo! xx
Told You So!
You'll end up in prison.
That's where she's heading,
Good for nothing,
Always in trouble,
Baa Baa Black sheep,
Punished,
But done nothin'
All the nothings are exasperated,
The wrongs,
Exaggerated,
Blown up,
Into a shit storm,
Branded.
From birth,
Bad to the bone.
Labeled. Stamped.
So much so,
They cant let it go -
They won't let it go.
Corruption, we'd call it -
Nature vs Nuture,
Trapped in the system,
Of negative behaviour,
Going out of their way,
To trip you up.
When you were in the lead,
Jumping hurdles,
Didn't give up,
Despite the,
Baa Baa Black sheep,
Of the family,
Ties,
Genetics that straggle you,
Wreck your insides.
Stood, in your eye lines,
Judging,
Piping up when it suits them,
Not to cheer you on,
Of course,
But to pull you down from your roots,
To string you up,
With the laces of your hard working boots.
To seek revenge,
No! Not revenge,
Just,
Proving a point,
A self fulfilling prophecy,
That you've heard,
Repeated since the day you were born.
Baba Baa Black Sheep,
Have you any soul?
Yes Sir, Yes Sir,
And you know....
It's better off alone!
Good for nothing,
Always in trouble,
Baa Baa Black sheep,
Punished,
But done nothin'
All the nothings are exasperated,
The wrongs,
Exaggerated,
Blown up,
Into a shit storm,
Branded.
From birth,
Bad to the bone.
Labeled. Stamped.
So much so,
They cant let it go -
They won't let it go.
Corruption, we'd call it -
Nature vs Nuture,
Trapped in the system,
Of negative behaviour,
Going out of their way,
To trip you up.
When you were in the lead,
Jumping hurdles,
Didn't give up,
Despite the,
Baa Baa Black sheep,
Of the family,
Ties,
Genetics that straggle you,
Wreck your insides.
Stood, in your eye lines,
Judging,
Piping up when it suits them,
Not to cheer you on,
Of course,
But to pull you down from your roots,
To string you up,
With the laces of your hard working boots.
To seek revenge,
No! Not revenge,
Just,
Proving a point,
A self fulfilling prophecy,
That you've heard,
Repeated since the day you were born.
Baba Baa Black Sheep,
Have you any soul?
Yes Sir, Yes Sir,
And you know....
It's better off alone!
Monday, 4 May 2015
On The Chin
Hard, as a rock,
Soft, like marshmallow.
Punches her way through wet paper bags,
Clouds of smoke,
Like being hit in the grid with a feather pillow.
It's not about dishing out the violence,
It's about how you take the blows.
On the chin.
One for the team.
Scraped knees and elbows,
Staggering on the gravel with a broken nose.
I'm not hard,
I just don't know when to stay down.
Like a chav from the olden days.
Easily offended after 4 pints in town.
And my Dad told me so,
'The bigger they are, the harder they fall',
You better put me on my arse pet,
Cause I will come back for more!
See, I don't tire quickly and on that you can sure,
I'll let you pick the battles,
But I'll win the fucking War.
Soft, like marshmallow.
Punches her way through wet paper bags,
Clouds of smoke,
Like being hit in the grid with a feather pillow.
It's not about dishing out the violence,
It's about how you take the blows.
On the chin.
One for the team.
Scraped knees and elbows,
Staggering on the gravel with a broken nose.
I'm not hard,
I just don't know when to stay down.
Like a chav from the olden days.
Easily offended after 4 pints in town.
And my Dad told me so,
'The bigger they are, the harder they fall',
You better put me on my arse pet,
Cause I will come back for more!
See, I don't tire quickly and on that you can sure,
I'll let you pick the battles,
But I'll win the fucking War.
DV
Smacked about,
Kicked,
Spat at,
Punched and slapped.
Almost unconscious,
Given the full,
Whack!
Cracked,
Taunted, her life hijacked,
By a man who claims to love her!
Grabbed by the face,
Guided through to kitchen,
Where the clean knives glisten,
On the draining board,
Her prison.
Praying he can't see them.
Cause in the red mist, he'll grab anything.
Now is not a good time to fight back!
He straggles her, with the same hands that hold her,
Within an inch of her life,
This woman, this woman,
His wife!
And then for good measure,
To prove a point,
To control himself enough not to kill her,
As she gasps for breath,
He trashes the house,
From curtain poles to lamp shades,
Ornaments and picture frames.
Anything he knows that she likes.
That HE PAID FOR.....
"Fat, ugly, whore!"
He's about to go for her again,
But he sees,
Pauses.
Blue lights flash at the window...
An interval -Thank god for the neighbours!
Spat at,
Punched and slapped.
Almost unconscious,
Given the full,
Whack!
Cracked,
Taunted, her life hijacked,
By a man who claims to love her!
Grabbed by the face,
Guided through to kitchen,
Where the clean knives glisten,
On the draining board,
Her prison.
Praying he can't see them.
Cause in the red mist, he'll grab anything.
Now is not a good time to fight back!
He straggles her, with the same hands that hold her,
Within an inch of her life,
This woman, this woman,
His wife!
And then for good measure,
To prove a point,
To control himself enough not to kill her,
As she gasps for breath,
He trashes the house,
From curtain poles to lamp shades,
Ornaments and picture frames.
Anything he knows that she likes.
That HE PAID FOR.....
"Fat, ugly, whore!"
He's about to go for her again,
But he sees,
Pauses.
Blue lights flash at the window...
An interval -Thank god for the neighbours!
She won't press charges,
And it's the coppers this time,
But it'll be an ambulance next.
A headline in the newspaper,
Everyone wondering why she never just left?!
The police check on the bairn,
To make sure she's safe,
Keep him in the kitchen.
Take her to a safe space.
The bairn,
Sleeps soundly through his unprovoked rage,
She takes offence that they needed to check in first place!
Cause the bairns not at risk,
But it's only another couple of years,
Before she has to listen to this,
Stand witness,
To her own Mam being treat like shit!
They move him on.
Can't arrest him.
Drop him off at mates house,
But he'll back,
In the morning.
Admiring the bruises on his own fists.
A real man?
Pissed!
Claiming he can't remember what happened.
To his sexy little bitch,
Go on, go on,
Give us a kiss?
She sits in bits.
Puffy eyed, barely listening,
Exhausted,
Black and blue,
Defeated,
Swollen.
Faining forgiveness.
Half frightened, half lonely
Reduced to half the person her family knew,
Before meeting Tony.
She half wishes he'd killed her,
Cause she feels she has nothing to live for.
Except the bairn,
But it's only a matter of time before the Socials at the door......
She'll be dead one of these days.
And what for?
And it's the coppers this time,
But it'll be an ambulance next.
A headline in the newspaper,
Everyone wondering why she never just left?!
The police check on the bairn,
To make sure she's safe,
Keep him in the kitchen.
Take her to a safe space.
The bairn,
Sleeps soundly through his unprovoked rage,
She takes offence that they needed to check in first place!
Cause the bairns not at risk,
But it's only another couple of years,
Before she has to listen to this,
Stand witness,
To her own Mam being treat like shit!
They move him on.
Can't arrest him.
Drop him off at mates house,
But he'll back,
In the morning.
Admiring the bruises on his own fists.
A real man?
Pissed!
Claiming he can't remember what happened.
To his sexy little bitch,
Go on, go on,
Give us a kiss?
She sits in bits.
Puffy eyed, barely listening,
Exhausted,
Black and blue,
Defeated,
Swollen.
Faining forgiveness.
Half frightened, half lonely
Reduced to half the person her family knew,
Before meeting Tony.
She half wishes he'd killed her,
Cause she feels she has nothing to live for.
Except the bairn,
But it's only a matter of time before the Socials at the door......
She'll be dead one of these days.
And what for?
Wednesday, 31 December 2014
Sunday, 7 December 2014
Energy
Its not because I'm a Mam that I don't always look glam,
Its a simple decision to not give a damn.
I might occasionally pluck and trim,
Eyelashes glued,
Lipsick used.
But -
I could not be arsed to do this every day,
I don't even own a hair brush.
I mean, what more can I say!
I remember most days to put on deodorant,
To not stink all my friends away with my O natural odors.
I obviously change my underwear,
Bath and shower daily,
But time wasted using straighteners and curlers,
Applying make up for hours.
No -
Thats just fucking silly!
Although -
I really do admire these glamorous nine to fivers,
When everydays a film premier,
Every pavement, a red carpet.
Sometimes, I imagine I could be like them.
Wear high heels to go food shopping,
Get up at 5 am.
Clean, cook and watch telly, head to toe in French Connection,
Stylish, pristine, polished,
A picture of perfection.
Not a hair out of place,
Not a freckle left unaltered.
But I just don't have the energy,
To be that bloody gorgeous.
I like to slob out,
Keep toasty warm,
Let my knicker beard go astray.
No......
I don't have energy for that all pampering,
At least not everyday!
Wednesday, 5 November 2014
I Cant Tell You
I cant tell you how it felt,
To have the house to myself,
For an hour and a half,
To pause.
No one talking,
Or listening,
No rings, bleeps or singing,
No telly blaring,
No noise.
To have the house to myself,
For an hour and a half,
To pause.
No one talking,
Or listening,
No rings, bleeps or singing,
No telly blaring,
No noise.
North East Rising at Northern Stage: Review - by Bridget McClean The Journal
North East Rising at Northern Stage: Review - The Journal
You could say the Geordie stereotype of recent times is hard to budge but Rowan McCabe does it with admirable aplomb in his debut show.
An intimate venue with a jumble of mis-matched seats, combined with Rowan’s laid-back attitude, makes you feel you could be at the pub with him and his friends.
He moves seamlessly from hilarious anecdote to poignant poem and back again, all in an easy, comfortable manner.
The aim of North East Rising is primarily to dispel what he feels is the unfair portrayal of the North East.
Among those singled out as main culprits are Geordie Shore and the Guardian’s article comparing Newcastle to the desolate Detroit.
His take on Geordie Shore is hilarious. At one point he likens the stars of the show to tangerine-coloured psychopaths and Newcastle as a playground for oompa loompas.
He tells the stories of what he describes as his quest to find the essence of the North East – a cultural identity, if you will.
These compelling tales, mixed with flashes of self-deprecating humour, make for an easy watch. He held the audience’s attention throughout.
His mission to find the true heart of the region’s culture is enlivened by his energetic performance of poetry and laugh-out-loud satire, with a few pauses for thought.
We are offered an uncanny Cheryl Cole impression, an impersonation of ‘Toon hero’ Joseph Swan (he invented an incandescent lightbulb) and a gangster rap about stotties.
He included some slightly unconventional North East characters, including Pat Tabram, more commonly known as ‘the cannabis gran’.
And there was a guest appearance from Tony the Fridge, the fridge-carrying runner, who read a poem he had written himself.
Support came from Alix Alixandra, a singer-songwriter with a knack for a catchy melody who sang of the modern day troubles of Tinder and Buzzfeed, and Jess Johnson whose hilarious, explosive poems are not for the faint-hearted.
by Bridget McClean
Wednesday, 24 September 2014
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
Cougar
What did you just call me?
You - little - shit!
Is that a pint of Cow n Gate your drinking?
Growing up milk.
Aye,
I think your nappy needs changing son,
Or maybe its your patter that stinks,
Was that meant as a compliment?
A chat up line?
You prick!
Now listen closely pet lamb,
I didn't ask for this chat,
You skid marked yourself over here,
Giving it all that.
But before I finish this drink,
Ill impart a little advice,
This is my watering hole,
My city,
My night!
So take that Freshers attitude,
And that awful stench of Lynx,
That horrible, HORRIBLE rape'y T-shirt,
And your herbal highs that you bought with your bag of chips,
And git the fuck the away from me,
Before I deck you one,
I'll destroy little man,
You'll be on the next train home.
Go on.....
Mush.....
Cause even your mates are laughing at you,
Call me a Cougar!
Youre lucky -
If my whiskey wasn't so nice I'd swill you!
You - little - shit!
Is that a pint of Cow n Gate your drinking?
Growing up milk.
Aye,
I think your nappy needs changing son,
Or maybe its your patter that stinks,
Was that meant as a compliment?
A chat up line?
You prick!
Now listen closely pet lamb,
I didn't ask for this chat,
You skid marked yourself over here,
Giving it all that.
But before I finish this drink,
Ill impart a little advice,
This is my watering hole,
My city,
My night!
So take that Freshers attitude,
And that awful stench of Lynx,
That horrible, HORRIBLE rape'y T-shirt,
And your herbal highs that you bought with your bag of chips,
And git the fuck the away from me,
Before I deck you one,
I'll destroy little man,
You'll be on the next train home.
Go on.....
Mush.....
Cause even your mates are laughing at you,
Call me a Cougar!
Youre lucky -
If my whiskey wasn't so nice I'd swill you!
Friday, 5 September 2014
REVIEW - North East Rising
North East Rising
Washington Arts Centre
4th September 2014
An evening of poetry and music showcased some of the great talent that we currently have in the region. Alix Alixandra opened up with her songs about love and meeting up with her ex’s best friend on her ukulele. Gentle songs with poetic lyrics provided a reflective start to the evening.
Alix was the calm before the storm as Jessica Johnson took to the stage with her vitriolic punk poetry. Topics range from what it must be like to be married to a comic like Jim Davidson, through drinking with a sister who doesn’t shy from a fight, to being married to a photographer who uses your house to photograph various girls. It may have been her first performance for 2 years but the verse flowed like a torrent.
It was really pleasing to see a packed house experiencing the culture on show tonight and Rowan McCabe delivered an entertaining yet very personal journey around the North East. He segued the introductions into the poetic compositions to provide a seamless journey around the both the undesirable elements of the region and some of the highlights. Stotties and Tony the Fridge are celebrated whilst Cheryl Cole and dodgy company in a nightclub provide a counter argument to what is great about the region. Joseph Swan need not have a nightmare. Culture in the North East is in safe hands as long as talent like Rowan, Alix and Jessica can continue to perform in packed venues.
This review was written by Stephen Oliver for Jowheretogo PR (www.jowheretogo.com). Follow Jo on twitter @jowheretogo, Stephen @panic_c_button or like Jowheretogo on Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/Jowheretogo
This review was written by Stephen Oliver for Jowheretogo PR (www.jowheretogo.com). Follow Jo on twitter @jowheretogo, Stephen @panic_c_button or like Jowheretogo on Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/Jowheretogo
Wednesday, 3 September 2014
Sunday, 31 August 2014
The Wolves - Dedicated to the Customer Services of British Gas & Electric!
The Wolves is at the door again,
Knock, Knock, Knockin'
And us skint little piggies aint got nottin'.
You can huff and puff,
And blow and blow,
Im freezing my tits off the heatings so low!
How much?
And when?
You must be bloody jokin'!
Thats the whole of my months income,
I mean thats what you're talkin'
And HEY,
If you don't like my abusive attitude,
Then stop fuckin' callin' -
I'll give you it when Ive got it,
Its not like I'm stallin'.
Do you think I'm enjoyin'
Our daily conversations?
Christ Almighty!
The whole country's in debt,
The whole of our nation,
Cause YOU....
Ya' greedy Rat Bags,
Have us all over a barrel,
So don't be tellin' me sort it out,
Tell that dick head David Cameron!
Knock, Knock, Knockin'
And us skint little piggies aint got nottin'.
You can huff and puff,
And blow and blow,
Im freezing my tits off the heatings so low!
How much?
And when?
You must be bloody jokin'!
Thats the whole of my months income,
I mean thats what you're talkin'
And HEY,
If you don't like my abusive attitude,
Then stop fuckin' callin' -
I'll give you it when Ive got it,
Its not like I'm stallin'.
Do you think I'm enjoyin'
Our daily conversations?
Christ Almighty!
The whole country's in debt,
The whole of our nation,
Cause YOU....
Ya' greedy Rat Bags,
Have us all over a barrel,
So don't be tellin' me sort it out,
Tell that dick head David Cameron!
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