THANKS TO JIMI THE GOOD TIMES ROLL

The night is young but I’ve deduced that tonight,

Amateur night in the theatre of nightmares,

I am feeling particularly old, as is the music I now

Sit here finding myself listen to and for the first

Time in this lifetime a new year spent alone

As work is finally out and the beer and whiskey

Is slowly, at this age everything starts slowly,

Begin to work its magic.

                      

Tonight belongs to the word and the drink

And the smoke and now work is out all the

Things I love to do are here before me; laid

Out for me to devour, abuse and just get

Plain crazy on.  Jimi sings about letting the

Good times roll and tonight, lets hope, those

Times come around as this, I hope, becomes

A pattern, a behaviour, a routine.

If it does expect more words and more

Good times a-come rolling down this new life

This new path, another damn routine that

Will hopefully see me finally escape this

Dreaded place to a bar with cheap drink and

Cheaper women who love my words and

These damn songs that I’ve spent a life

Culminating into this, the final perfect cut.

ANOTHER YEAR WASTED

Happy new year I say to myself as there is

No one else around.  I pop a cap off

Another beer as I begin to build another

Smoke and the year is here, in a state

It had better get used to.  Wasted is how I

Entered last year and wasted is how I left

So that’s another year done, another year

Proving the doctor’s to be damn wrong again

But this year I may well slow down, wait a

While before kicking it all off.  Now, ten-to-

Eight, Wednesday night, the second day, time

To pop that cap and start building all over again.

REFRESH THIS LIFE

My room has been refreshed

After last weeks’ efforts in the

Records department, a new old

Bed on which I can really rest

And a mad Monday morning

Turnaround.  It seems this

Refreshment has fallen at a time

When I think heavily about my

Drinking. 

My drinking doesn’t refresh me

Anymore but the efforts in my

Room bring about great change

As the muse returns as well as

Some level of confidence that

Eventually everything will be

Okay.  These words will get

Written and work will carry on

And maybe, eventually, happiness will return.

CHILD OF JULY

The seventh poem tonight brings to mind the

Month of my birth.  July I came along, late

As is so often the way, the largest in the ward

From the moment I came out. 

“How old is he?” they would ask my Mum

Looking down at me smoking in my cot

Eyeing his wallet for any loose change with

My legs hanging over.

“I only had him this morning,” she told

Everyone who asked no doubt aware that from

Now on my life was going to be difficult.

SOLITAIRE DISTRACTION

Another morning spent wasted,

Listening to idiots talk on the radio

Who it seems will go on and on and on

Never-ending just like the game of

Solitaire I play against my laptop.

I should be sat working

On these words but without the

Experience to write about

What is there?

This particular distraction has

Occurred a whole bunch of times.

Today I played twenty games,

Keeping my win percentage at

53, and finally grew tired just

In time for a wee smoke before

Lunch and then that new place

Round the corner the place that

Don't feel like its work.

PROBLEMS WITH SLEEP

Beep it goes

The damn smoke alarm cries

As at last I put out my

Last joint tonight.

Bed beckons,

Thank fuck for that

Hopefully no beeps

Will keep me awake

For tonight the dark

Clouds gather and I

Hope that tomorrow

Will bring great news

From overseas.

Bradford Middleton