On a day not unlike today, in a distant galaxy, a rocket ship blasted off from a doomed planet; hurtled through the Milky Way, past Mars and lots of other well-known chocolates, before crash landing on earth. Once in a lifetime someone destined to change the face of poetry comes along. Someone who could combine Oscar Wilde's wit and repartee with the story telling ability of Tolkien. Unfortunately he was on the rocket ship that crash-landed on earth - and didn't survive the impact.so I'll have to tell you about Gordon Zola instead. Battered, bruised but not broken, Gordon emerged from the wreckage of a life that had run aground on the rocks of love's clichés, to begin a meteoric rise from oblivion to obscurity as a performance poet. Armed with only a smile, good cheese guide and an unlimited supply of puns, he took the poetry world by storm, well a slight shower- and went on to inflict his debut cd 'No Strings', a beguiling mix of, poetry, music and humour, on the long suffering British public. A track off the cd, 'Sweet Rapper', was played on Key 103 radio. Despite many requests, local, (as in anaesthetic), legend, Gordon continues to confuse audiences from Bordeaux to Bristol, and lots of other places beginning with 'B' with his rye (as in bread) sense of humour. A past winner of many a slam and host of X-Pression, a monthly slam, held at the prestigious Green Room, Gordon's been published in numerous magazines. He's currently struggling to play the keyboard, is in the process of recording his second cd, and is at home performing, hosting, and entertaining at venues all over England, lesser-known parts of Uzbekistan, and Stockport, and has hosted Cuckoo Calling for the last 2 years. Any gig considered. Contact on above email or mob: 07805979958
Power to the People (Pensioners' Rap) We're gunna Get down with the home boys, not the home help or care. Throw away our crutches, do wheelies in our chair. Then dance the night away, like Fred Astaire. Coz we don't play bridge. We bridge the age gap. We're bringing power to the people with the pensioners' rap. We're not gaga, stirring soup on the agar. We're partying till dawn on Viagra and lager, Checking out Ibiza clubs on holidays with Saga. Coz we're not sat at home, stroking the cat. We're bringing power to the people with the pensioners' rap. Get down, get down those stairs on a Stannah lift. Spend the kid's inheritance, forget about thrift. We'll drop some acid and smoke some grass. I'll test my hip op - you can shake your new ass. Then we'll cruise the city streets on my free bus pass. Coz we're not to old to cut through the crap. We're bringing power to the people with the pensioner' rap. We don't worry about our bowels, our water retention. they're not worth a mention. We just go with the flow, we know, we can get pissed as a fart on our pension. Coz we're releasing the rats from the rat trap, bringing power to the people with the pensioner's rap. We'll groove to shaggy and Eartha kit. Strut out stuff on the dance floor - we don't give a shit. We've still got our marbles and our sanity. It's our pills, not our politics that are anti-inflammatory. Yeah, we could get dementia, arthritis or a stroke. But take a tip from me and Nigella Lawson meals on wheels definitely go better with coke. Coz we're never going to fall into the age gap . We're bringing power to the people with the pensioners' rap. Power to the people with the pensioners' rap. Check out website: www.gordonzola.me.uk for audio and visual performances. Jan 2016. The Name Game Is life a battle, if you come from Hastings? If you come from Chorley, is it a piece of cake? Do you have to be a tart to live in Bakewell? And if your name's sleep, are you ever awake? Do you deserve applause if you come from Clapham? Do you never shower if you come from Bath? Are you more than a ham if you come from sandwich? And if your name's giggles are you game for a laugh? Do Smiths forge for a living? Are Meeks humble and giving? Are dances having a ball? And If your names Foot, are you twelve inches tall? If you come from Avon, are you always calling? If you're an angel, are you always falling? Are Wrights ever wrong? If your name's Singh Do you know the song? If you come from Leeds do you never follow? If your name's Joy Have you known no sorrow? If it's Cain, are you never Able? Or, are we much more than a label? Do we have to keep playing the name game? Repeating the same again and again. Playing out life's dramas, with all its panoramas. Hopping on and off the carousel. Trying to salvage heaven, From someone else's hell. Coz when that last penny and breath are spent, and its time to take that final curtain call. What we're called, or where we come from, Will mean.. FUCK ALL. Gordon Zola (June 2002)
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