Silly Poem – Christmas is Murder

‘I hate Christmas – it’s murder!’ she said. ‘If it wasn’t for breakfast, I’d stay in my bed. Why eat a turkey, for lunch and for tea? Why kill this planet, when a lie-in’s for free?’   Copyright owned by The Silly-Savvy Salopian, December 2019 Silly-Savvy Adventure – Chilton’s Ears Savvy Poem – Old Towns…

Savvy Article – Climatopause

Written in response to an article implying that climate change is responsible for hair loss in men. I’m feeling it: waves of anxiety run through my inners like slow-cutting knives; my golden-orange locks thin out, to make way for razor-blade edges of silver-white; and I’m all clammy, alternately baked hot and frozen cold, I’m nearly…

Savvy Diary – Bottle of Wee

If the environmental issues featured in this post touch a chord with you, please also view posts by my fellow blogger The Wandering Ambivert. So I’ve given up the day job! But, almost a month into my sabbatical, how am I faring? Have a made a single penny out of my blogging? No. Have I written…

Savvy Poem – Snowdon’s Foot

  Vertical. Vertical does not go with vertical. Turning back, I stick to ground level. My right foot being crook, I remain at one with the foot of Snowdon.   Pressure. Pressure is a cure for the pain. I apply it, settling myself down upon the arch of Snowdon’s foot, hoping to stunt the flow…

Puke Pie Prelude

  Immingham, South Humberside, 1981   Chimneys. Smoke. Fertiliser. Photo by David Wright But the black clouds and vomit-inducing stench were just a prelude. The hallucination that greeted the Cool family, recently departed from Aberdeen, was Killingholme. The village of Killingholme merely represented the pearly gates to its larger-all-embracing neighbour – the after world … Immingham. But the Cool family didn’t…

Who are the ‘Bus Wankers’?

A collection of poems about the author’s bus travels, dedicated to the inspirational lads (clearly avid fans of the In-Betweeners) who drive past her bus stop every day, shouting ‘Bus Wankers!’ The ‘Bus Wanker’ poetry collections represents a plea to all councillors, across the UK, looking to save money by demolishing our much-loved bus stations. Instead, councillors should be…

Exhumed

  Knackered, exhumed, drawn-out, mesmerised … H & M tempts, siphoning up the remnants of me through a straw hat, bidding me with flesh-striped leggings, to sport my way over, fly over the stationary traffic, to zone out the time-wasters, to make mockery of the drivers queuing for home.   I take off …   up…

Fag-Stop Killer

Bus stop pick up? Driver-change? Brake? Stop. Break. Driver desperate, desires to kill – ten minutes, just ten minutes of our time. Spluttering stop; bus cranks out in lullaby lay-by. Engine gasps, grumbles, grizzles, groans; passengers fidget and fudge – ferocious and desperate to kill. Driver’s all chewed-up, choking, croaking – “Just ten minutes!” Holding…

Tenner An Hour

‘Tisn’t bad, for a tenner an hour, to take the 87, for a morning run, for a couple of hours and a couple of passengers, for a break from routine, a drive to the town. The money’s not bad, if you’re on the way out From a life on the go … a pilot’s career…

Bus Youths

Flaps – dark eye-shutters, open at right angles to head-windows – clear, translucent, sparkling ports of access to a mass of perfectly-tuned, white-grey matter. Still young, still sprightly, and polished, ready to take on another day, to make synaptic deliveries, to utter profundities to similarly fresh-minded acquaintances about: the nocturnal habits of toilet rolls, enlisted…