Poetry Corner: Down The Good Intent

By David Parry

Listen mush,

I am a gremlin from the Kremlin

And might lay one on you

If you cop any needle with myself,

Since reading about Lords of Chaos

By candlelight during a three-day week

(Good old Teddy Edward)

Taught me to admire Moorcock’s hero

More than miners, or the embargo,

Inside our overly-snug family bungalow,

On moonlit February nights.

So, being all La-de-da after big school

I decided to wear my blue velvet jacket

When drinking down The Good Intent

Among druggies, transvestites, posties,

Alcoholics, football thugs, and thieves,

Who christened my handle “Friar Tuck”

And told me tales about Rat Woman, Liz

And her lairy Donald Duck

And covenants with the Alsatian girl

And ruby-red roses for The Grateful Dead,

On moonlit February nights.

Thereat, jigging a Sir Rodger de Coverley,

Around crisps and Merlot and scratchings,

We sang against our fantasies being gutted

Like burnt stars thrown into buckets of filth,

Because Satan was not our mum

And we never went on the lash with Satan,

But firmly believed in life before death

As well as Angels along unhip Trinity Street,

Despite aeriated pensioners with freezing fleas

And frustrated dreams of a slow burning fuse,

On moonlit February nights.

PICTURED: A photo snapshot of the author, who is a local resident living in Fareham and has been for many years.