A member of Runshaw Writers I live in Wheelton on the Blackburn side of Chorley. I started writing in 2006 and have material on the website monologues.co.uk and the Runshaw Writers blogspot. I write all sorts of material but have a special liking for comic verse.
The Prisoner Can anybody help me please? I live my life in fear. I have recurring nightmares of Being trapped inside IKEA. I go in for a single bulb, The sort only they sell, And claustrophobia soon sets in, My senses go through hell. I stand amidst a sea of beds; I'm spinning as I shout, "I hate this place! I hate this place! How do I get out?" Hordes of frantic shoppers With yellow shoulder bags; Men with rimless glasses Waving Swedish flags. I dream that I'm surrounded; Attacked by steel utensils; Stabbed by shiny kitchen knives And stubby little pencils. Flat packs tower around me, Shelf on shelf on shelf; A whole lifetime's sentence of Do it your bloody self. Just once I made it to the door And out - "Freedom!" I cried. But then a giant meatball came To bring me back inside. I reached the final checkout; On a trolley there I lay In a self assembed coffin, (A choice of white or grey.) © Dave Carr Papa Oscar Echo Mike Mike was a Romeo, I met him one November Looking for a Juliet as far as I remember; He was a kind of Alpha male, who drove a Ford Sierra, I prefer a man in Uniform but they’re a good deal rarer. He said he liked my dancing shoes and would I like a Foxtrot. We checked into a cheap Hotel and soon he found my hotspot. I read him like an X-ray but he held me fascinated; He could have won an Oscar but the film would be X rated. I started craving spicy food from India and Nepal; I put on weight, a Kilo; that’s not like me at all. Victor at the Golf club said ‘My boy you’ll have to marry her.’ Mike screamed and threw his arms about just like a Zulu warrior. He said ‘You see, I’m not quite ready yet to be a Papa.’ I called him a Charlie and he called me a slapper. But it takes two to Tango as I really ought to know; I Delta blow for women’s lib and told him where to go. He joined a Yankee sailing crew, leaving for Quebec; My scathing cry of ‘Bravo’ seemed to Echo round the deck. He runs a place in Lima now, it’s called the Aztec Bar, Drinking Whiskey, playing cards – I said that he’d go far © Dave Carr
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
The Great Indian Takeaway (23/08/2017)
That Shallot (15/06/2015)
Breaking Bad for Christmas (12/12/2014)
My Bullet (26/11/2014)
Click It (14/12/2013)
Compy Dompy (25/07/2012)
Man Flu (22/11/2011)
There's an App (15/11/2011)
Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/davecarr
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