once more, with feeding

May 20, 2010

I would like to sing a song of food
Of food down at the Cat
Accompanied by chums and beer
And stuff and things an’ that

I want to sing a song of grub
Of grub down at the Cat
And sending Buz to get the beer
And stuff and things an’ that

There’s curry, pizza, Chy-a-neez
There’s food down at the Cat
Served together with English beer
And stuff and things an’ that


ideal christmas gift idea

December 10, 2009

Buz mentioned to me that he wants a Nintendo Wii for Christmas. Buz is a gamer, so this rather confused me.

“Buz,” I said. “You are a gamer. You should want a Playbox or a Station 360. Why oh why do you want a Wii?”

Buz said, “I have a gaming platform. It is my PC.”

“Mmm.” I agreed. Buz plays games on Windows. Like sol.exe and MineSweeper.

“So I just want a thing to play Wii Tennis on.”

“Ah yes,” I said. “Help Mario as he struggles through Half a league/half a league/Half a league onward/All in the valley of Death/Rode the six hundred.”

We laughed. We are scholars.

lines from the new poet laureate

May 12, 2009

I’ve been given a new job
usually it belongs to one of those un-women with a nob
just like everything else they
ejaculate their bitter wars across their oppressive world
a depressive world, no longer an impressive world

Given a new job by Lizzie Regina
Used to know a girl nicknamed Lizzie Vagina
She was in luff with
The muff did
All the girls at Uni
Except, guessed it, me

Given a new job
Will write when I like
signed: Carol Ann Duffy (determined poet dyke)

lines on the retrirement of andrew motion by andrew motion

May 1, 2009

I went to a restaurant
My Italian friend Romeo
In tow

Being related to the Queen
(More or less –
I’ve written her 8 poems
they were published in The Times,
you’ll have seen)

I don’t carry cash
Nor a credit card
Nor a calculator with a muliply function
Nor those lifesavers, the Voucher of Luncheon

So we sat and we filled
Our bellies, friend and I

Starters: Garlic bread
Mains: Some sort of fish (no chips)
Afters: Lemon meringue pie

And friend annouced that he would pay
My poor poetry-wage being all cheap, sweet sherry
He stood and patted down his jacket
His manly bag
His trouser pocket

“Oh woe,” cried he
“I have no moolah
“No quids, no pence, and even crueller
“My wallet has gone
“No cards have I
“Not a Visa, nor a Diners, nor a ‘Carte Barclay’ ”

“We’re in trouble, old chum there’s no escape
“It’s the washing up for us
“You rinse, I’ll scrape.”

Then coming here from over yonder
Our table’s waiter soon did wander
To our table, tip expectant
Invoice printed, free mint fondant

“Ah bonne afternoon, monsieurs, eet iz a lovely day”
Said the unconvincing Frog, accent more
Lambeth Way
than Champs Elysees
“Ow would vous aimez to pay?”

I asked,
“Do you have an offer on?
“Where two can eat for the price of one?”
And continued on
As our waiter eyed me
“Or even where two can eat for free?”

Accent dropped, and friendship, too:
I went for the ultimate, “Do you know who I am?”
“Oui, monsieur, indeed I do.”

“But we’re out of cash, no card, no cheque”
With a Gallic shrug
And with some regret
We found that Romeoed
What Laureate.

from the phone of the poet laureate

December 17, 2008

Andrew Motion, the Poet Laureate is always keen to exploit new technologies and new media. This mornng, whilst on the train to London, he wrote a four-part epic on his mobile phone using the T9 entry system.

The Train, part 1

Send me to hell on
a National Express train
Down to London
And then back home
On one again

The Train, part 2

Sat next to a man with a cold
And no tissues
Or manners
So he sneezes over me
Spreading germs liberally
Wiping his nose
On his hand
And his Blackberry

Come, Shenfield and silver my day
Come, Liverpool Street, you City of Gold
Steal me away from this man
And his liquid nose-cold

The Train, part 3

Welcome to Gidea Park
Says the sign
But like the cheap suits in Coach G
It lies

The Train, part 4

With your sporting pretence
Just a muddy building site
Olympic-ringed by an electric fence

And now the terminal station
Nearly in view
Round next corner
200 yards
45 minutes left to go
Go slow
No go

from the desk of andrew motion (the poet laureate)

September 16, 2008

Lines on the passing of Grange Hill

1. So the final bell
To signal the end of the lesson
The bell is for my benefit
Not yours

2. Mrs McClusky
Headmistress, voice husky
The P.E. fella with the beard
Old Bronson, played by Sheard
Schoolgirl pregnant
Zammo died
Roland’s diet
Deep-fat fried

3. Set in London
Then Liverpool
Then nowhere particular
Just a generic TV school
Phil Redmond, no longer TV cool
Get back to Brookie
Play some hookie
Give us the bliss of your famous
Lesbo kiss

4. Yet in the end, no-one
Gave a fuck
To be honest
That’s just Tucker’s Luck.

© Andrew Motion 2008 (still missing the Queen Mother)