Paranoid

patrickprinsloo

Our writing group has always been a mix of covert jealousy and overt distrust. Why the library continues to let us have access to one of their meeting rooms each week, God alone knows. The snarling, the shouting, the vitriol that no doubt pass through the walls into the lending and reading areas must cause no end of distress to the book borrowers of our peace-loving town. It’s not been unknown for the library staff to step in and prevent a concerned public-spirited citizen from phoning the police or the ambulance service. “It’s just a bunch of amateur writers,” they will say, “Nothing to be concerned about. Not as bad as it sounds. Blood rarely drawn. Nothing that we can’t address with our own in-house first aid kit.” Later on the cleaners will gather together the ripped up sheets of paper, broken pencils, sharpened paper clips and clumps of human…

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Another Tennis poem from Phil Poyser

Anyone for Tennyson (de la Mare, Keats, Hardy, Browning….) ?

Wimbledon fortnight’s halfway through.

You shift uneasily in your chair.

You sip and savour your homemade brew,

Mull over the puzzle why we’re not there.

 

No cautious tap at the window pane ;

No knock at the door at the midnight hour ;

No muffled whisper pierces the rain

As squall is followed by shower.

 

But you suddenly think of a call at the door,

Too soft, and you lift your head :-

“Did they come and no one answered,

Did they keep their word ?” you said.

 

Or what unveiled a night-time drama,

A stone or nail caused tyre to ping

And in the blizzard made you brake ?

– Yet no ’phones ring !

 

The covers are on. The grass grows lush.

The ball girls in bed are relaxing,

Counting pigeons regaling the hush,

Which Barker and Wade find so taxing.

 

For this is the weather Des Lynam shuns

And so do we.

Spectators drip in browns and duns.

They’ve paid their fee.

 

No cannon-ball serves, or volleys that thunder,

Or drops exquisite tear rally asunder,

Making the gallant crowd cry out in wonder,

Are seen. Why didn’t the weathermen blunder ?

 

Oh, to see All England

As June becomes July,

And whoever’s at All  England

Sees great tennis – when it’s dry ! –

From the outer courts and the lowest seeds

To Centre Court with its different breeds

And, when rain permits, the royal bow

In All England – now !                                

Lip Service

The latest post from Phil to coincide with the men’s final.

doggerelbanksy

It was my turn to run the Macc Writers’ workshop on Thursday and its proximity to Bastille Day gave me our first topic: the challenge to write a new post-Brexit, National Anthem, more of which later. After tea and the read around of some excellent, funny and heartfelt anthems, we broached the subject of “Tennis”. I found myself starting with the title and harking back to the young McEnroe. I suppose I could have started it with “O young McEnroe is come out of the west*…”, but here’s what I ended up with.

*London, of course

Lip Service

“You cannot be serious!”, was his spoilt brat battle cry.

“That ball was in. You must be blind or a very stoopid guy!”

Back then, line calls were made on a simple puff of chalk,

but now technology has given us the eye of hawk,

whilst McEnroe has mellowed and from…

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Events

Macc Writers’ Phil Poyser has two events coming up.

Tonight (7th June 2017) Phil is guest poet at The Petersgate Tap, 19 Petersgate Stockport for Poetry and Prose from 7:30 onwards.  This is a free event.  Come and read a poem or piece of prose of your own or by A N Other.

On 12th June 2017 Phil is the guest poet at Spoken Word at UBAgene, 61 London Road South, Poynton from 7:30 onwards.  Read your own poetry/prose , or something by A N Other or just come along and listen.