Normanton is made of dying stars – by Jimmy Andrex

 

Brian Cox says
everything is falling
in curves,
forever in space-time.

always falling,
collapsing, expanding,
fusing
a 96 chemical everything.

Falling in curves
that look like orbits.
Einstein
worked it all out;

collapsing, like the bloke
on the steps of The Midland,
dropping
to his knees like James Brown;

everything slumping downwards,
with the exception of
his pint,
which stays steady as a gimbel,

even whilst falling
he still fights gravity,
struggling
to his feet for a fag.

Does anyone in The Midland
give a flying fuck about
Einstein
or his Special Theory?

A poet passing in a car
might see them instead,
falling
into a clichéd grave

and toss handfuls
of words onto the sinking
coffin.
But poets don’t know shit,

otherwise there’d be pubs full
of them, creating
meaning
from collapsing language,

words sucked inside out
by the massive force of
dying
brains, desperate to escape

the gravity of knowing
that even this
poem
is running out of time.

 

 

 

“Normanton” was written in response to driving through the eponymous quaint market town and seeing people frequently falling over, especially out of pubs.  Jimmy wondered if there were some immutable force responsible for this, as he had been watching “Wonders of the Universe.”  However, he thinks we all must resist the temptation to look down on anything or anybody as we’re all made of the same stuff.

Jimmy is on Soundcloud and on Facebook with Northern Beat Poets.

Full English – by Jimmy Andrex

Tommy Robinson, whatever your name,
I’m glad you’re so keen on English culture.
Let’s get together, maybe have a look
at some Anglo-Saxon poems, brought over
from Norway by Vikings. You’d like them lads:
Hardworking, enjoyed beer and a good scrap.
You’d love Beowulf, especially that tale
where he dives deep in a freezing fjord,
grabs Grendel’s mother and hacks off her head.
Just for you, I’ll use English sonnet form,
just like Shakespeare, whose plays and poems
helped make and shape our green and pleasant tongue.

If we’re English, can we help but admire
all the voices in our mongrel choir?

You might like to try out Morris Dancing,
amidst the pint pots on old village greens,
though I guess you’re less keen on blacking up
as Arabs. Still, if it’s culture you want,
let’s start with our own language as it rolls
off our lips like the sea on Dover Beach:
Warm waves of Latin, regular as roads;
Harsh hatchets of Norse, its vulgar vowels
spat through tense teeth, consonants like crackling
ripped off roast ribs round friends’ fires after fights
over land or laws, a fusion of French
words and German that gels the best of both.

If we’re English, can we help but admire
all the accents in our hybrid choir?

But this might be too academic
for bunkered believers, burying their fear
under flags with clenched fists and gritted teeth.
Simple as it is to believe we are
pure, the village green you think you stand on
is Bermuda Grass, your flag Chinese,
your parents Irish, your splintered thinking
from 30’s Germany, (just like your car,
I notice). There never was a pure island:
It always was this invasive mixture,
accident of limestone, granite and chalk,
where foreign forges itself into fixture.

If we are English, can we help but admire
Mixed beauty in every single breath of our choir?

 

 

 

“Full English” was aimed at the founder/leader of the EDL as Jimmy was sick of hooligans and nutcases talking about our “heritage” as a front for racism.  He even used medieval/Norse alliterative rhymes.  No-one ever noticed, but the day after he performed it for the first time, the EDL leader resigned.  Sadly the EDL didn’t go away.

Jimmy is on Soundcloud and on Facebook with Northern Beat Poets.