Thirty Plus Years In An Open Necked Shirt.

 

On seeing John Cooper Clarke @ Wakefield Theatre Royal (29/9/13)

 

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke

a walking bag of bones

staggers out onto the stage

like Keith Richards from the Stones

rapid, machine gun delivery

sprays audience with Salford tones

jitters, jives, ducks and dives

whilst wrestling with the microphone.

 

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke

in much need of a comb

showed us around Beezley Street

left Psycle sluts at home

a whirlwind force of nature

dressed to the nines in monochrome

DNA of poetry with

rabid, punk rock, chromosome.

 

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke

raging zeitgeist troubadour

kicked Wakefield theatre in the guts

and left the audience wanting more

cocky sexagenarian poet

rock and roll right to the core

spitting rhymes and rattling rhythms

oozing class from every pore.

 

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke

recent professoriate

took a wrong turn out from Bradford

arrived, breathless, a little late

can I ask a massive favour?

when Carol Ann has done her spate

let’s get this streetwise wordsmith

as the first punk poet laureate?

 

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke

with snaking, swivelling hips

leads us into Chicken Town

expletives dripping from his lips

between poem banter

riddled with jokes and quips

then off home to check his pension

with an advert proclaiming chips.