Out of Shielding Poem

Out of shielding at last

‘Out?: she asked with a gasp.

I think you’re being deliberately obtuse

For it’s not my mouth that been out of use

It’s the pubs that are closed

and the dentist too

No more people asking to use the loo

We’ve been busy during our shielding

Doing decorating and jobs that needed doing

In fact, it feels as we’ve almost caught up

Now I can get into church gain

something something something heaven!

A poem i wrote for my Mom coming out of shielding!

© Andrew Watkins 2020

FMCG

Buoyed up by abbreviations

and a sense of only apathy

I wander to gaga

Send them into space at speed

and imagine they are treated

like some alien race

The talking bed who only speaks terrestrial

The kettle that only boils

The toaster on a short fuse

Perhaps one day they will learn

how to communicate like us

say the aliens over cheese

and alien crumpets

Somewhere on the planet

someone has made a discovery

He is human afterall

Perhaps he could interperet

between these contraptions.

and the home planet

and then lead a mission for the aliens

Then he would not be the lien

but a toaster human

A quick poem by Andrew Watkins © 2020

Asleep In The Club

Up before dawn to line up outside
the raining shining hard on the pavement
Did I forget something or is it my brain?
Skyscraper babies
Cloning of our lives
Ourselves mere reflections
of a consumer society
gone wrong, consuming itself like a phage virus
spitting out excretions of individuality
to be consumed like cupcakes
bought at your local patisserie
itself a symbol of rebellious
machinations carried out
under the cloak of privacy
all that is allowed is fake
by those getting it right
themselves spitting bile
at those recumbent losers
who dare to question the status quo
Is it our passions alive with flame
or is it just a stupid game played out in the schoolyard?
where water flies and extinguishes doubt, reason, doubt
the one thing that sets us apart from the apes
is our art, our reason, our lives.

 

©Andrew Watkins 2020

A Sand Shark

A lost man, a sad man
a shallow man, a bad man
a quiet man, a shy man
a funny man, a queasy man
Which man?
A sharp knife, a bread knife
a paring knife, a life knife
a David bowie knife, tonight wife(knife)
a porcupine, a schnitzel
a Pop! goes the weasel
a morning, a snoring
and a bedtime drink
for breakfast, for elevenses
for a brunch for the senses
for women and men
of all ages
colours
race
creed
0
1
0
0
0
1
0
1
00
Good Morning!

 

Andrew Watkins 2019

Chicken Peri peri

Where Do i Belong.jpg

wHERE dO i BELONG?
LIPS COLD LIPS
INSIDE WHERE ITS WARM
OUTSIDE IN HELL
WHERE THE BRACKEN SPILLS AND CHOPS
LIGHTNING DRAGONS OF GREEN
SMOL BOTTLE OF POP
GREEN FROG
AND A DISNEY BLACK AND WHITE

pOP! gOES THE WEASEL
sHAPES FLUTTER AWAY
LEAVING LINES OF GREY

YELLOW PAINT EVERYWHERE
THE EARTH NOW MATCHES THE SUN
AND I FEEL WARM INSIDE

bANG! GOES THE GUN
aND i AM LOST AGAIN
SCREAM GOES THE SHOUT
WHERE IS MY CLOUT
MY COURAGE MY ALL
LOST IN A BLAZING SUN

tHE DRUNKEN MOON WAXES IDLE
IN A CLOUD OF MONSOON RAIN
AND I WANDER THE FOREST
DRIPPING WITH ENUI
AND BAT DROPPINGS

a WRIGGLY WORM SAYS HELLO
FROM HIS LEAF TOP, TOP HAT
AND CANE WAISTCOAT IN THE RAIN

hELLO! mR wORM i SHOUT
hOW ARE wE tODAY? i ask
fINE fINE fINE SAYS HE
tHEN  a bIRD sWOOPS dOWN
aND tHERE iS nOTHING aGain bUT rAIN

i LOOK UP INTO THE YELLOW SUN
aND REALISE i NEED A GUN AGAIN
tO bLAST AWAY THE PAIN oN mY fACE
tO rEORDER THE UNIVERSE AGAIN
TO BURY MY PAIN

i AM THE wOOD. i AM THE FOREST
sOAKED IN YELLOW RAIN
DRIPPING ENUI TO THE GROUND
THEN i AM BACK AGAIN
AND THE WORLD IS GREEN
AND i AM PINK NOT WHITE
THEN THE WORLD TURNS YELLOW
AND i GROAN
AND THE WORDS COME OUT YELLOW
AND MY PAIN IS YELLOW
AND THERE IS A SONG ABOUT THIS YELLOW
BY COLDPLAY
wHERE IS MY GWYNETH?eVERYWHERE
iS sHE yELLOW TOO?

YES
wE ARE ALL YELLOW

 

Andrew Watkins 2019

To All The Amazing Artists Everywhere

describe me in lines
in colour surprise
show me the real
show me fantasy
just show me!

Those first lines
that stay with you always
are primers for the paint
that you buy later

That masterpiece you made
wasn’t all that in your eyes
yet they became comfortable
in time, you will too.

Lifes percussion is deafening
And hard to stand on
Just draw anyway and capture
What you have seen

That line you heard is not all; it seems
to know where you have been
and the heavy metal style
makes you feel mean

James Hetfield once said
I’m not getting out of bed
So the rest of Metallica
joined him instead

Trying to find meaning is tough
When others say it isn’t there
and you can’t see it either
and whose to say there is any when you draw

That’s the appeal I suppose
to waste time doing something you enjoy
and might bring pleasure to others
on a rainy day

But. There is a but. There will always be heavenly.
No matter if you live in hell
Describe me with lines
with colour surprise.

Copyright Andrew Watkins 2019©

A Life of Chaos

Smudge Hedgehog.png

I dry my eyes
and curse myself
Why am I here?
You came to me
On a Chariot
I was dreaming
of camelot
We danced in the dark
We shimmied ourselves dry
Well I did
I was smitten!
The old songs and emotions
cast aside
Now i sing the old
songs daily
and wonder
if you live fairly
Could we meet
under an anarchists flag
and pledge ourselves to
a life of chaos
and discovery?
and change the minds
of the garden fences
evermore?

Andrew Watkins 2019©

 

Metaphorics

Spidery webs across the page
I look up and you are gone again
A ball of light is all that remains
Save the light of a conductors baton
all is darkness without pattern

That ball of light leaving lightning streaks
used to illustrate our metaphorics
writing in the language of gods
we wept together against all odds
and made our mark on a land of sods

the cobwebs are bare and glistening
and I know that you are listening
to the sounds of old made new and christened
by the hands of god good is made
and ready are the arms graciously saved

Perhaps one day we will meet again
and preciously guard our love token
Until then fear not for we are saved
by our brethren in these cold cold days
lift up your spirits and behold
the rites of passage from infirm to gold

 

Copyright Andrew Watkins 2019

The Salt

Over rocks and gravel
I stick my tongue
hunting for the sweet taste
of salt
My body needs it
My body feeds it
the sweat needs it
to be
the sweet taste of salt
Turning over stones
I lick underneath
dislodging the creatures
whom I seek
I could be at this
another week for
the sweet taste of salt

Copyright Andrew WATKINS 2019