More Than I Can Chew - Contemporary Poetry

Mum's The Word

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 11:25:00 +0000

My Mother buried,

the fags my Brother stole,

under the coal in the yard.

She worked so hard,

I didn't like to stop her

and it wasn't that she was,

afraid of a copper,

or what the neighbours might say,

or even that she'd be made to pay,

for all of the missing baccy,

she was no lackey,

to a master thief.

To the relief of my Brother,

She was just being,

our Mother.

Regrets...I’ve Had a Few

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Thu, 04 Nov 2010 11:15:00 +0000

If only I hadn't taken the day off work.

If only you hadn't suggested a drive out to the coast.

If only we hadn't started talking about that again.

If only I hadn't said what I did.

If only you hadn't reminded me of what you did all those years ago.

If only I hadn't threatened to leave you.

If only you hadn't said you didn't care.

If only I hadn't started shouting.

If only you hadn't screamed so much.

If only I hadn't called you that name.

If only you hadn't said what you really thought of me.

If only we could turn back time and be in each others arms again.

If only I'd not thrown you over that cliff.

Nothing to Lose

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 17:21:00 +0000

Got me a driver's licence,

but I aint got a car.

Got me a hell of a thirst,

can't find me no bar.

Got twenty p,

but I can't find a phone.

Got me a dog,

can't buy him a bone.

Got me a rod,

aint got any line.

Found me a glass,

but I aint got no wine.

Got me a raincoat,

aint got any shoes.

Got an urge for a gamble,

but I've nothing to lose.

Had me a job,

didn't get any pay.

Got me a map,

but I'm losing my way.

Got me a flower,

but I've no sense of smell.

Wrote me a story,

but I've no one to tell.

Saw me some danger,

but I aint got the fear.

Had me some sadness,

but I can't find a tear.

Got me my marriage vows,

now I aint got a wife.

Got me a heartbeat,

but I aint got a life.

Optimismum

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 17:07:00 +0000

'The World is your oyster',
my Mother would say.
I told her that,
I'm a vegetarian.

She told me that,
I could do anything,
with my life.
But she forgot to mention that,
I could also do
nothing with it.

Mum always said,
'You never know,
what's around the next corner'
I found out that it was
lots of people,
who had previously
gone around the bend.

Seeing the World

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 17:30:00 +0000

I went away,

on holiday today,

but I don't know where I am.

I've paid for all my accommodation,

not really caring about the

exchange rate equation,

paid for insurance and flight,

and something called the,

hidden cost.

On the way here,

my suitcase got lost.

I suppose I ought to be grateful.

They've all those things in the brochure,

a pool and hotel,

but I just cannot tell,

where this is.

I think they said Spain,

but then again,

maybe it was Italy.

Or France.

You can

dance here,

drink beer,

go swimmin',

pull women,

have fun in the sun.

I guess I'll just have to,

soak up the Med' scene.

It's just that, I'm always quite keen,

when I get home,

to at least know where I've been.

You Can Lead a Horse to Water...

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 15:23:00 +0000

Sabrina didn't mean

a thing that she said,

when she lured several husbands,

to her spider's web bed.

She had the sultriest voice,

and by choice,

chose to wear little clothing.

Instead of jewellery,

she wore tomfoolery,

and told incredible lies

through the twinkle,

of her mischievous,

ambiguous eyes.

I heard people say

that she led men astray,

though I'm sure they already,

quite well knew the way.

The Story of My Life...

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 15:37:00 +0000

I fumble,

with past, present and future.

I am feeling tense.

Words Will Never Hurt Me

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 14:30:00 +0000

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

but so do words you've spoken,

the look you gave me hurt so much,

that now my heart is broken.

I should have stayed at home today,

and not heard all you said,

you made me feel such a fool,

I wished that I was dead.

But now I'm sure that you regret,

the way you ruined my life,

because I've upset your life too,

I've stabbed you with a knife.

Love Is...

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 19:56:00 +0000

Listen.

I'll tell you what I love about you,

what I really love about you.

I love the way that you don't moan,

when I come home late,

don't mind when I tell you,

you're putting on weight.

I love how, when I call you,

a silly fat cow,

you know it's just how I,

show affection.

I love the way you don't mind me,

coming in at three in the morning,

loudly yawning,

hopping one shoe off, one shoe on,

incomprehensibly, drunkenly scorning.

Or how you didn't mind pawning,

your rings,

after I lost that bet.

And you don't mind that I always forget,

your birthday.

And our anniversary.

You see,

the way these things don't bother you,

that's what I love about you.

I love the way that you laughed,

when you discovered my,

secret porn collection.

How you just smiled and said,

"oh so that's an erection".

I love the way that you don't mind,

that thing I do with,

the contents of my nose,

or the 6 month fling I had with,

that Traffic Warden, Rose.

Your best mate.

Or that I always arrive late,

whenever we've arranged to meet,

then proceed to burp indiscreetly,

in the crowded street.

Me? I think it's sweet,

how you always like to,

clean the bath after I've used it.

how you don't mind finding my,

toe nail clippings in the sink.

And how you don't think,

I'm talking crap,

just because I believe that,

some women really do ask for,

a bit of a slap.

I adore the way you're not bothered that,

I like to eat veal and,

support the fox hunt,

frequently use the word…

…Come to think of it,

you don't seem to mind a bit

whatever words I use.

I love that.

And I love how you don't mind that I'm the sort

that reads the Daily Sport and The Sun

that I only watch films if,

there's a man with a gun,

that I enjoy Michael Boulton

and leave a buttery knife,

in the marmite.

Just lately you're looking a bit of a sight,

so I love how you don't care,

that I'll only do it if we switch off the light.

I love how you don't mind that I,

rarely listen to what you've said,

constantly fart in bed,

and that you didn't seem to mind,

what I said about you to your mate Sue.

And to my friends.

And your boss.

And your mum.

No glum face from you,

when, after you'd stood for an hour in a queue,

for my Christmas gift,

I ripped it open and said,

"it's a bit crap".

Or when you saw me groping that,

lap dancer,

or that my answer to most problems,

involves lager.

yes all of these things I love about you,

no truly, really I do,

but you know what I don't like?

What I really,

don't like,

about you?

It's the way that you just up and left me

without even saying why.

Never Mind The Quality

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Sun, 30 May 2010 16:29:00 +0000

Valerie the calorie,

she likes her grub,

her pint down the pub,

she buys family size packs

and sacks full of sweets that she scoffs.

Valerie the calorie,

watches her weight,

She watches herself consume carbohydrates.

Food dripping in fat,

that's where Valerie's at.

She's got some guts has Valerie,

But she's got no stamina,

She got too much spam in 'er

Lasting Impression

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Fri, 28 May 2010 09:50:00 +0000

My heart lay on the ground,

bearing a single footprint upon it.

The soul of a shoe that you wear,

occasionally,

is a perfect match.

Artwork for More Than I Can Chew

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Thu, 27 May 2010 15:25:00 +0000

Tracey Jayne Thomas

I just thought I should put up a bit of a shout for the person who did the artwork for More Than I Can Chew, Tracey Jayne Thomas. Hey, she's got the same surname as me! Well, not surprising, as she's my wife of 27 years. I know, I know, 'how did an ugly bugger like me...'

Tracey created this artwork in exactly the style I wanted for my poetry book, though it's pretty far from her usual - quite incredible - style.

This is an example of her paintings:

I Wish - by Tracey Jayne Thomas - Acrylic on Canvas

You can see more at her website, www.TraceyJayneThomas.co.uk

Go and take a peek, but come back soon!

Head in the Sand

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Wed, 26 May 2010 14:03:00 +0000

Saw an old fat man on the corner,

little black box in his hand,

but when I got up real close I saw that,

he'd buried his head in the sand.

When I stood by his side I heard laughter,

well the vibration it was tickling my toes,

I knew right then I'd have to stay there,

find out what the fat man knows.

So I looked at the box he was holding,

it had buttons with numbers on top,

and so I reached down and I pressed one,

and that's when his laughter did stop.

Heard a voice from the ground it was crying,

said there's children who are homeless and poor,

said that some they were sick or were starving,

or had been killed in some other man's war.

He saw soldiers kill women and babies,

bomb towns until nothing could live,

saw politicians check with accountants,

about how much help they should give.

Well I couldn't stand the sound of his sobbing,

so I reached down and I pressed number 2,

'cause I wanted to hear him laughing again,

and I didn't know what else to do.

Well his crying now turned into anger,

and his fists they were thrashing around,

told me some youths had just robbed an old lady,

beat her up for her very last pound.

He said an old man with medals lay dying,

seems he couldn't afford to buy heat,

and the lawman found his broken body,

frozen solid under one single sheet.

Just when I thought he may hit me,

I saw and I pressed number three,

but I'm really quite glad that I didn't,

see the things that he said he could see.

He saw little girls selling their bodies,

young boys injecting dope,

children whose life has no meaning,

a generation without a hope.

He saw a man with a gun killing schoolkids,

in a place we all thought they were safe,

and mothers saying prayers at their grave sides,

to a God for whom they've lost their faith.

I soon hoped I'd find a fourth button,

and with it that things would be changed,

but it only gave more pain and sadness,

just the same sorry sights rearranged.

Just then a deep scream came from within him,

chilled my bones and my heart and my blood,

and I knew for a moment what the fat man knew,

that the world he could see was no good.

It was right at that point that I realised,

one button I'd missed was marked 'off',

so with fear for the future I pressed it,

and nothing was heard but a cough.

Well that old fat man, he was clearing his throat,

and soon laughter was heard once again,

but no wiser was I to the reason,

I was sure it would drive me insane.

So I came right out and I asked him,

said, "Hey fat guy, what is it you know,

makes you see that your world's now so funny,

when there's nothing but evil on show?"

That's when he got up and he told me,

said, "It's really quite simple you see,

all the problems with the world, well, they ended,

the minute I switched off my T.V."

Something for the Credit Crunch...

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Tue, 18 May 2010 08:22:00 +0000

Cabbages and Kings

Beside the trolleys I search for a pound,

then turn around to the sound,

of crisp clean notes, as their whisper fills the air,

from the wallet of the man, who hasn't got a care.

I follow behind, I know my place,

I realise that this is a one horse race,

for I'm still counting out potatoes one at a time,

whilst he's moved on to kiwi fruit, coriander, tarragon and lime.

To the canned goods display we two are enticed,

he choses for quality, whilst I chose for price.

I stock up on beans, down to 19p,

and spaghetti hoops (Buy one, get one free)

Whilst his are tinned olives, red salmon and ham,

mine's hot dog sausages, pilchards and spam.

then he heads for the cheese, fresh Parmesan and Brie,

I opt for the smallest piece of Mild Cheddar I see.

Just one peek in his basket, and I know that his clothes,

will be brighter and whiter and smell like a rose.

I take the stuff in the plain white pack,

pick up some conditioner, then put it back,

He opts for soft pinky tissue, with a knowing smile,

I take some with a surface like a ceramic tile,

he picks up all of the things that I've seen on TV,

I check out the 'expired goods' and hope he won't see.

There's a cake in my trolley, just for a while,

I usually put it back when I'm in the last aisle,

still, I can stock up on bread, cheap, white, medium slice,

if you want your food healthy you have to pay the price.

The yoghurts look good, but that's all I can do,

then I head for the milk and he's there too.

Ha! we all need milk and milk's all the same,

though the marketing men really know their game.

For it seems that there's something called 'Breakfast Milk' now,

and though I'm quite sure it still comes from a cow,

on the packet it reads 'More goodness and taste!'

so our chap with the wallet, he grabs it with haste.

When it comes to the till, then I'm always ahead,

he's still back with the booze thinking, white wine or red?

All my small change and coupons, I've just enough to pay,

I think I may even live, to shop one more day.

Back outside by the trolleys, I retrieve my last pound,

then turn around to the sound,

of crisp clean notes, as their whisper fills the air,

from the wallet of the man, who hasn't got a care.

noreply@blogger.com (About Rob Thomas...) — Fri, 14 May 2010 17:50:00 +0000

The Mark of a Man

I don't know a thing about,

drive shafts, tappets or,

overhead cams,

or any other bits of my car.

I despise football and cricket,

I don't know what makes it offside,

or if it's a good wicket.

I don't go to the dogs,

and whenever I cut logs,

I get splinters.

Winters,

are not good for my skin.

I've never known the words,

to rugby club songs,

and I don't know any blue jokes.

I haven't got my own spanners,

or socket set,

and I've never even bet,

on the national.

I never use phrases like,

"I'll get 'em in", or,

"it's your shout",

what's that all about?

and I don't clout,

my kids,

at the weekend.

I won't shake your hand so hard,

that your fingers seize up,

and I prefer a china cup,

for my earl grey tea.

You see, I have no desire,

to set things on fire,

or drink seven pints with my lunch.

And I don't think it's particularly hard,

to own lots of keys,

on a bunch.

I believe Doctor Martins are just,

comfortable shoes,

and when I use public loos,

I choose,

a cubicle.

If it's clean.

And if the lock works.

And if there's some tissue paper.

Which is not very often.

I don't really enjoy,

a night with the lads,

I prefer a night in.

I don't play to win,

and if you're ever in need of

a safety pin,

I know my way around,

a sewing box.

I only climb stairs,

one step at a time,

I know that poetry,

doesn't have to rhyme,

always,

and I won't call you 'homo',

if you drink your lager with lime.

I don't think it wet to get upset,

at a film on TV,

or to ask me,

if I mind holding your handbag.

I rather like using,

a Clairol foot spar,

and I have no objection to buying a bra,

or driving a small,

pink,

car.

Oh and I don't buy a paper,

for the "tits",

on page three.

Just what kind of a man,

does that make me?