School Poetry: Retrospective - Jerricho Jones


Jerricho Jones

Jerricho Jones dances like a washing machine.
Watching him is like your clothes getting cleaned.
Whether upon his toes or down on his knees,
His trousers stay straight without even a crease.
What turns him on? What makes him spin?
Is a thumping vibration from deep down within.
And then with a tumble at the end of the dance
This cycle will end with him in a trance
And the leaving crowd all wishing in droves
That their colour was as bright as Jerricho Jones

2 Years 5 Months (Learning the Aphabet)


 A, B, C, D,
Es a big headed bee
Ache Eye Jesus is okay
Eleven men and then the pope
Queueing for sweet tea
You are doubled over
Asking for Y and Z

School Poetry: Retrospective - Our Science Teacher


Our Science Teacher

Mr Lawrence lurches,
Judders, skitters about.
Grasping arms – upheld,
Strangely fleshed out.
A daily thriller dance
As he doles out our work.
Making test tube brews
With a swivel and a jerk.
But when he speaks science
He sparks into life,
Talk of electricity,
Dissection and ‘the knife’.
And he’ll mutter about
Reanimation
Which isn't on our
Examination,
But,
Despite the bolts on his neck
And a square patchwork head
Our Science teacher
Is truly dead good.

School Poetry: Retrospective - Goblin Under the Stairs & Little Monsters


Goblin under the Stairs


When I go to get the register,
There’s a goblin under the stairs.
He’s there every time I go past
And my teacher doesn’t care.
He has a big domed forehead,
Sharp, yellow, pointed teeth.
And when I have to go up,
He tries to grab me from beneath.
He has speckled almond eyes
And crescent moons for lids.
He’s always there peeping out
Looking for us kids.
But I’m really brave;
Make myself race past.
He won’t bite my ankles
Coz I can run too fast.

 And the response:

Little Monsters

The little monsters’ arrival
Wakes me from my sleep.
Their croaking and caterwauling
Makes me peep and peep.
Cooked and cacky skin with
Squashed features tightly held.
Fidget and fleet of foot,
Thumbing faces when they’re bold.
Even though they’re ugly,
And they hop and hop,
I’d really like to play with them,
I have to make them stop.
So I wait patiently,
Which is difficult for my kind,
Then I’ll grab their ankles
And bite them so they’re mine.

School Poetry: Retrospective - My Beautiful Brother



My Beautiful Brother


The teacher in assembly made a rallying call:
“It doesn’t matter how old, big or small,
A goalkeeper is needed for the school football team
And this year the cup is our ultimate dream.”

My hand shot up, confident of the answer,
“My brother will play and wants to be a goalkeeper.”
Many a teacher’s eyebrow was raised at my offer.
“Tell him the trial, is on the school field later.”

Lucky it was dark; an early winter’s night,
Still coach was surprised when he first caught sight
Of my beautiful brother in his brazil-gold kit.
And then cat-like agility made him the right fit.

He rescued the season and took us quite far
Keeping clean sheets’ he became the team star
And bottle juggling skills, made him a safe bet
With disbelieving looks, this legend kept our net.

We got all the way through, into the cup final,
With my brother’s goal keeping proving quite vital.
All the children, at our school, got quite excited
For now we were facing: The Mighty United.

Our team lined up with my brother on the end.
It looked like a game where we’d have to defend.
Straight from the start, United were on the attack
Causing save after save from us at the back.

Till United were befuddled by my brother’s long throw.
His accurate aim put our striker through on goal.
The ball flew true into the back of the net.
We were one nil up with only five minutes left.


Then the worst: Ronaldo came through on goal.
If he scored now I feared what was to follow.
And out came my brother; a wailing one tooth
With a pink puffy face not yet in his youth

In pampers at the weekend but ready for the test,
He slid in for the tackle and came out the best.
My immense baby brother simply took the ball
My two year old wonder toddling six feet tall

As the whistle went and we’d won the game,
The crowd started to chant my brother’s name.
Putting in his dummy, he had nothing to say
So took my mother’s hand and she led him away.

School Poetry: Retrospective - Careers

Careers


I was a singing sensation.
An international star.
Sang boy band ballads;
Fans flocked from afar.
I was pop chart famous;
A platinum selling record deal.
When I left school,
That’s what life was like for me.

Then I became a wrestler
When muscles made me hard.
Named ‘The Mad Mauler’
I fought through out the world.
But sadly I was banned
For a move called ‘Cut Free’.
When I got bigger,
That’s what life was like for me.

I decided to be dangerous
Become a pirate all-at-sea.
Stealing and a-looting,
Known everywhere as Mad MacDee.
But soon I was wanted,
A big dollar capture fee.
So I abandoned ship
As life got too hard for me.

Now I’m a teacher
With wild lives left behind.
Hoping the authorities
Will think I’m too hard to find.
I enjoyed being a singer
And a wrestler was fun to be.
But now pretty words
Is what life’s about for me.

3 Poems

Rocky Raised the Flag

Rocky Raised the flag
And became a different boy.
From scrubby soccer tough
To new found solider joy.

He marched down the street
with others of a like mind
To face their fanatical foes
To see what they could find.

A good rock held in his hand,
Wanting to hurl it at a tank,
With vinegar handkerchief
For tear gas fired back.

They all rounded the corner
To face guns and armour.
Shots rang across the street
And Rocky fell down dead.


My Friend

Rocky
My friend.
Raw onion eater,
Good left foot,
AC Milan Shirt
Always Worn.
Stole a bottle of milk
For Meetah's mum.
Hated school.
There was a hole
In the toe
Of one of his
Addidas trainers.


Rocky, Rocky

Rocky, Rocky
Lying on the floor
Is it you?
Really? Any more?
The holey shoe's
Come of your foot,
That Milan shirt
Is dirty as fuck.

But one more use
You will make
As a photograph
For them to take.
Hope it will touch them
In the right place
And perhaps change
The way they face.


 
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