That's all Folks

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you clock in you clock out

for maybe fifty years

day in day out

- what’s all that about ?


I guess it’s better than

staring away your days

in a freezing bus shelter

knocking back the hard stuff

growing a purple face


but, cut to the chase –

what are we all waiting for

holding our breath like this ?


looking for death:


… it’s like

all else is just a welcome


to get us through the day,

we’re all vamping

til the real deal shows

til we give in

throw up our hands & say


“OK, that was good,

but I’ve had enough now

 - That’s all Folks”.

◄ Tribe

Murder, she croaked ►


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Sun 30th Jan 2011 20:15

Many thanks - much appreciated.
are you related to Kealan (see below) because he's always on about his girlfriend, blowjobs and er.. (no delicate way to say this) anal sex ?? :D

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melanie coady

Sun 30th Jan 2011 18:07

absolutly love it

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Sun 23rd Jan 2011 18:49

I've only ever passed through - but I'm sure there's a lot worse places - Hull & Burnley spring to mind... oh and Liverpool - I fucking hate Liverpool :D

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Chris Dawson

Sun 23rd Jan 2011 18:45

we're ALL dead already .... indeed. Been to Stratford, have you?

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Sat 22nd Jan 2011 12:04

Good one Kealan - but what you omit to say is that we're ALL dead already ;)

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kealan coady

Fri 21st Jan 2011 18:32

this is so brutally honest its almost sexual. I really get what you mean, sometimes i look at the suits at seven in the morning with their cheating wives and 2.3 children and think...theyre already dead they just dont know it.

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Fri 21st Jan 2011 17:25

Hi Jules - that's really very good - and rather sad too.steve - maybe us poets are more preoccupied with it than the world at large - most folks don't ever contemplate their own mortality - til it's too damned late haha
Ann - photo?? that's a painting that is !
first - she's off home; second, it's twilight (is that the sound of whirrring cogs ?) :D

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Jules Clare

Fri 21st Jan 2011 14:50

Here is a poem called the A Miners Tale, by a friend of mine who dies 2 years ago after working down Murton Colliery for 40 years. His name is James Strong and no one knew he was a poet until a week before his passing


I dug for coal in this filthy hole
For thirty years or more
I eat my bait off an old tin plate
Squatting on the floor
I’ve seen the elements tamed
And marras maimed
As my lungs filled up with dust
Bent down on my knees, so dark you can’t see
Just to earn a crust
There’s no more coal in this filthy hole
So I won’t have to dig no more
I should be glad but somehow I’m sad
Like a soldier returned from war
I’m aged 51, my working life done
My lungs are full of dust
After 30 years nobody cares
How I earn a crust

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Ann Foxglove

Fri 21st Jan 2011 05:59

Good! Not sure how the photo fits in though. Like the purple face bit! But yes, we all have to wake up and - smell the ostrich! mmmmmmm xx

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Thu 20th Jan 2011 23:22

many thanks, dear chap... I like this very much
"sat holding a can of courage" - wish I'd written that !

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Patricia and Stefan Wilde

Thu 20th Jan 2011 23:14

more to the point than mine Mr B-less jokey you might say-but this has had a knock on effect from you mentioning the freezing bus shelter(takes me back to an old poem of mine)..'sat holding a can of courage looking into the distance-seeing nothing...etc etc-but not to distract from this very good poem awaiting lots of comments one assumes...Stef.

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