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…

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…