From morning’s first gasp to night’s last fall,
shuffling and twisted and hardly at all,
the spine carries these two leather sacks,
restless, tired and cut by coughing hacks.
It hangs them up and lays them out
to quiver in evening’s long gaze,
before another marching order:
for this arrogant smoker
must walk tall through these summer days.
Written: 3:50pm, 27th May 1999
Posted in Scrapper's Poetry, Verse
Just had a tooth repaired by Mr Thompson of the Montpelier Road Dental Surgery (01273 733 901). Just when I thought all dentists were natural born brutalists, he was charm itself and he was prepared to accept my request to decline the anaesthesia.
I can’t understand why people bother with pain relieving injections, which cause far more discomfort than the dentist’s drill. I’ve even had a root filling without anaesthesia and okay it was a case of keeping the faith but it wasn’t as bad as, for example, the last fist fight I was in.
Cup in hand and long strides
Towards the left hand side
He leans, effortlessly, and forlorn.
I saw him from my window
Stretching across the view
Not rushing, not slow,
Just a man amongst a few.
Cup in hand and long strides
Not turning his eyes
An hour or two after dawn.
Written: 9:35 am, 18th January 1999, (c) Scrapper Duncan
Posted in Scrapper's Poetry, Verse
Us locals often say of the Brighton Festival, “It’s not for us.” This year, it is for the oppressed people of the world, particularly in Burma. The official announcement is going to be made in 10 minutes.
Posted in Aung San Suu Kyi, Brighton Festival