Saturday, February 18, 2017

Lookback tour

Suddenly, articles about Lincoln City are everywhere. 

The Times published one on our barber-jobbing forward;
the Telegraph on Rheady and his JCB past
And the Echo on a City diehard following the Imps from New Zealand.

I fall into a similar category, but not in Anglo-American nor European terrain. 
I have lived in Tokyo for too long to tell.

But City's recent exploits have excited me probably more than when I was resident at LN6 0EA.  More than when Derek Bell, John Fashanu, Trevor Peake, and Colin Murphy pulled the fans into Sincil Bank.  But that was a long time ago. Still, me and my mixed race brood, we love Lincoln.

I scored a first half hat trick in front of Murphy, but  in a development only too typical of my footballing “career”, an asthma attack struck me in the second half.  Colin said no more to me.  IT was clear I was no Paul Scholes; I was a skinny-whippet like player - the Kanchelskis of the team. 

And Lincoln City youth team were hardly the best in the county. Hykeham Dons (Wimbledon youth outreach) and Wyberton always beat us.

The biggest difficulty I had in the years after playing was coming to terms with Class and Privilege. I yearned to look overseas and see whether the British system really was so unfair. And then in Japan, I saw the British class system realign through accents, habit, and impulses. But ways to success can transcend all barriers; planning and work which Danny Cowley reflects. 

Timeworn principles which he uses
Enjoy it while it lasts


It is the place I love. 
And my family does too
We all love the Imps.
We all love the cathedral;
we all appreciate the welcoming view of her spires

Fate had it that I left her fair land.  She made me find love overseas. I have no regrets but Lincoln is my home. Tokyo is my working city; Lincoln has taken on mystical and romantic airs 

The bright lights of Tokyo; the temples of Old Kyoto;
the World Cup stadia I did sing in:
They are nothing compared to Lincoln

And nothing changes my feeling:
as far as land goes - Lincoln is forever in my heart.

My early years were spent in Arthur Street, a stones throw from Sincil Bank. 

Before Thatcher set in, my family defaulted on payment for our house

And we ended up in  St Giles. 
Soon after Westwick Drive.

I was fortunate enough to attend Lincoln Christ’s Hospital School and in doing so I had a unique viewpoint of Class.  Lincoln had it all but nobody wanted to talk about it: upper, middle, and working
, all wanted to just get on with it...

Council-estated, I worked and was surrounded by trinkets of working class culture.  The people of St Giles, their friendliness could not be surpassed, but theirs was to be mocked and laughed at.  Theirs was an attitude that was unsophisticated yet free of the falsity and fakery of my “friends” on the Bail.

My father took a grenade in the service of the queen.  Left his blood on a Syrian battlefield.  But when he left, jobs they were menial.  They were underpaid.  He grew disillusioned but matches at Sincil Bank brought us together. We stood on the terraces; we saw Steve Perryman fall over the ball in a victory over Spurs.  We saw Harry Redknapps Bournemouth humbled in a 9-0 slaughter - his first match as manager.  We did see the trails and tribulations as the entered mid 80s meltdown and brief conference glory.

Unlike many of my peers, I did A levels; I performed well.  Enough to be accepted by my first choice of study, SOAS in London.  Passed the interview and they accepted me, but it was not to be.  No money from the family meant a gap year.  A year which I “wasted” and "was wasted" as was the way of my culture of the time. 

I took up a course at The University of Hull, and did live overseas.  In Malaysia; in Thailand.  And became a teacher.  Today I remain in this profession; and happy I am too.

But Lincoln stirs my heart.  When we last came back, we met season-ticket holder Uncle Terry (AKA: TIT - True Imp Terry) and saw the loss against Sutton.  We met Danny Cowley, bought the new shirt, and heard the gushings of the staff about DC: (”He’s so friendly. Not like the last one.  Talks to everyone…”). 

Despite the loss, I know we were in good hands.  I looked at the pitch.

My mind went back to playing for the youth team versus Sheffield Wednesday...

Friday, February 17, 2017

Desert drafts

Mocking Friend

9 10 13
View of Great Portland Street, London.

Forgive this old soul for being so presumptuous,
      but there is something you've plain old forgotten.  

Something we mulled upon, 
    made a gentleman's agreement upon,
      in that casual eatery. 
A short walk from Great Portland Street.  

We went there on his last day in London
   when he headed back to Tokyo by way of KL. 
We talked for some time of our Desert Island of Discs.

Can you remember?  
     You can, can't you? 
          Don't say you can't. 
               Because you do

The discs manifested from a heaven.  
Nutritious to few but we;
     known by few but we. 
And preferable to that weekend
    in Devon!.

Yes, I sense that you do remember! 

Music our sublime friendship
Building blocks
   while youths waters slowed
   And faster ticks, 

We now have the children;
      the wives above our station.
Demanding children
     who want nothing but our time. 
Pressure-filled jobs that demand
    creative response ... now.  
And expensive lives on the land
    in which with she, we too often ... row.
We will work until retirement day.
     Until the bishop comes to say
          "The gate of mort is here
            No time to shed a tear."

Family and music revealed to us the sublime. 
They showed us daily;
they showered us with love. 

They said:

"Fruit and tokens
     from mercantile life
 Are worth
     a miniscule lot; 
 In fact, they are worth
     A grand total of:
     Diddly squat!  

 Papers and qualifications are not worth one jot compared to feelings that kith and kin induce.

Warm, unconditional, loving selves,
      won on a level playing field
      Or so we thought

 And to them we yield
      Love and fluctuating grip
      from their nails
      from their tales
      Anger when looked upon by other
      ... males

And others try to quantify
     the act of falling in love

Mathematicians will try,
    And "complete the incomplete"

They can
               Shove it.

Godel would have warned them away.

But we found it.
It took so long to discover 
And came in unexpected ways...

... I spent time aboard Foxbase Alpha and similar minded ships. I willingly submitting to the whims of the Dice before earning the right to Approach Her, .... while you, as you willingly recognise, have my persuasive words to thank, in part. 

Without them: 

You'd have missed her' -- She'd have flown outside your port.

Your Lissa; my Hero - 
Making our spirit ascend
   but also to work and broadcast;
Two realities seeking to suspend
   belief in the divine truth. 

Our angels sent us back into the dirt!


Wrapped into Her arms; 
  we could overcome
The tiresome evocations,
And be charged from sublimation

Allowing us to live on

And that was the sentiment
   we both felt
As we inhaled smoke
   of bygone years
   Rising in the Half Moon mist
   Falling with locals, sipping beers

Preparing to return to Her.

We were Juniors in goal mood
Became Seniors; no need to brood
Juniors who did what we could
Now dirty; smothered in mud

Bloodied and beat
On the real "High Street".

Thursday, February 16, 2017

This Be A List




























Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Paper Over The Family Fuck

Oh hurry up and go

To Osaki

And Suzuki

Swim in that corporate kamikazi

Oh hurry up and come

To Me

To He

Sit on that fool of mine

Make it simple

Make it true

No need to dress

You know what to do

I am the seedholder

The tool you wanted

Made you wheeze,

The life we lead!

I only need your screen

Only your body to preen

Your body is mine, I mean,

to adore, to hold, to sheen

At the drop of a eyelid

I will old you with love

I will young you; Kid,

  throw out teddy; above.

Where the sun never shines

Where filthy tongues climb

But cleanliness survives

Ecstasy of the beast time

And we will merely

Paper over the Family Fuck

Let the salesman push his luck

As I settle confidently ...

Yes you wanted to

Paper over the Family Fuck

What your quickening did do?

What was it that you took?

The thoughts went away

that filled me with dismay

But the fuck,
Family did say
Fate meant it this way.

“Paper over the family fuck”

But why daub those words

    without apologetic verse

Because I am a blind dumb fuck?

Whose viewing habits you had in mind

   and perceived I would not dare find

A way to gamble with the loss of your fruit

Addiction of pleasure; yours to play, behind

Unwind and wind; wind and unwind

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Valentines Sway

Valentines Sway

I don’t want dance on Valentines Sway. 
It says nothing about the love I feel for you. 
It is the invisible hand
Pushing me to purchase

I don't agree with your Valentine expectation
It says nothing about the love I feel for you
Yours is a forcefed thought
    that any pure-minded lover
    would resist
    and sent packing
So that I will do.

But I can Valentine any day of the 365
I can Valentine when the TV is off
I give emotion; honey to the hive
To you my cap, I will always doff

To me you could too;
I will it become true

Yet take that expectorant away from me
Give me a shot of the hard stuff.
Turn off the TV as you turn off yourself
When you handle me like a reliable machine
   that cannot but show Cupids respect
   to your long-lasting beauty

You are happiest when the interaction is trivial
When you don't have to contemplate truth
Mundanities and group-talk make you convivial
Cant you see this?  Oh, forsooth,
So, I don’t want to dance to Valentines sway
But I did want to dance on that beach in Okinawa.  Natural rhythms pushed us together and your face it did shine.  No children, then; no paperwork, then.  Just sex and satisfaction.  

Lovemaking and rhythms made by ourselves. 

I recorded your voice on a TDK. 
It melted into the sounds of waves. 
So young, so forceful, so pretty. 

Our ears listened to nobody but one ourselves. 
Cocooned in a lovenest of our shaping...

I cant listen to it now. 
I cant take the tragedy
Of what the corpse did to you
  or how it slew
Your spirit
  which the patriarchs knew
  they would return and try to reclaim

(They thought their property would be returned)

They imposed a limit
   and imposed a screen
   on our love
Between our faces
    between our races
    inside the workplace. 
    Burned on a fireplace

They robbed us of natural rhythms
    that should be passed on to our children
They replaced it with bump and grind;
To anxiety doctors
You did find
    And meals with salesmen
       who you asked me if you could eat out with
    I said no but who was I to say no
    Or yes...

Oh, family? 
Family, fuck. 
Family fuck.

To the velvet voices of salesmen, the women glared;
And group-talked themselves into other realities;
Other possibilities in which
    material ecstasies,
    and meme-forced fantasies
    could be accepted

So I don’t want dance to Valentines Sway. 

It says nothing about the love I feel for you. 
It is an invisible hand
Pushing me to purchase
Chocolate masquerades. 

Mediating between us and Real Love. 
I shall not show you love at their behest.
If you have forgotten,
Love emerges unbidden;

Love appear when you
  least expect it. 
Love is the unlisted meme
  in the scene
Love is the valiant gesture
  of the Real Man or Woman.

Let us go back to the rhythms we feel. 
Let us free the rabbit from her legal mask. 
Does she fuck like an animal once again lose control?
Does she act like a mother once again let her free?

In this civilisation, I will not follow commercial romance. 
I will not kowtow to their machine-like dictate.
I shall not live in accordance to their predictable ways. 

The thud of the credit card;
The scream of a fame star;
The painful silence of the oppressed;
Hard to hear feelings of the heart

On Valentines Sway.