Brian Bilston: Out of Character

having noticed one day
his keyboard was dirty,

he reached for the soap spray

and gave it a SQWERTY,

before scrubbing away

'til each letter was clean

in ignorant bliss of

having wrec ed his machine -

for the  eys which once wor ed

no  grad ally did not

and the more that he ty ed

the  orse it all got

so that as the close

of his  oem dre  near,

as he   atched ever  s mbol,

e er  sign disa  ear,

he felt li e a  ostman

at the end of hi  ro nd,

 ith barel  a lette

in hi  bag to b  fo nd.

Brian Bilston: Groundhog Day

Alarm clock flips itself to six
'I Got You Babe' is in my head
I see my shadow on the wall

Think I'll stay in bed

Brian Bilston: Poem

These are tough times for poets.
With the re-introduction of rationing,

many poets are having to live on as little as five similes

and four ounces of metaphor per week.

Haikus have been reduced to twelve syllables.

Brexit has led to a shortage of French villanelles

and Dicilian octaves, while elegy prices

are set to increase by 50 per cent this winter.

Some poets have been forced to burn

their sonnets simply to stay warm;

many can no longer afford to give their poems

more imaginative titles.

And so, think of the poor poets, shivering

in their cedar-clad writing cabins,

wondering where their next rhyme will come from -

and should you have any spare iambs,

odd odes or spent pentameters,

rusting tin cantos or throwaway lines,

please donate them to a Word Bank near you.

Credit card payments will also be accepted at this time.


(on 8th January, 1940, food rationing was introduced in Britain)

Brian Bilston: Mrs Claus

It's the same every year. He sits there, in that chair,
watching the snooker, or studying the form guide,

moaning about his back, the state of the economy,

the awful weather, anything, and then - like it's

happened all of a sudden - he jumps up and shouts:

'It's December! And there's so much to do!'

as if he's not had the time to grow his own glacier

in the eleven months which have just trudged by.

I like to watch him jump up and down for a while,

pull at his beard in agitation, cry into his hat:

it's a good learning opportunity for him, not

that he ever takes it, but it does make me feel better.

Merry, even. After a few days of this, when he's

properly plummeted down the chimney of despair,

convinced himself that all is lost, I'll give him

a hankie and then show him what I've been up to.

Some of us appreciate the benefits of planning ahead.

We see beauty in a schedule, feel the frisson 

of an approaching deadline, the joy of breaking up

a big task into its constituent parts, like taking apart

a toy to figure out how it works and fits together.

I take him to the workshop first, show him around

the assembly line - teddies, dolls, splat guns, gadgets

all whizzing along the conveyor belt, from elf to elf -

and then onto the warehouses to look at the presents

all parcelled and labelled, stacked up, shelf by shelf.

From there, I lead him around the offices and watch

the rosiness come back into his cheeks as he sees

the itineraries and maps, weather forecasts, travel documents,

and we head to the stables, where the reindeer

have just come back from thir daily workout.

I can't do it all myself, of course. It's a team effort

(with the exception of him) and the assistance of Logan,

the Head Elf, has been ... well, let's just say his input

has been very warmly received. We're planning 

a little celebration, in fact, now the year is nearly over.

Logan's got me pencilled in for the 24th. I checked the calendar

and sadly, it looks like Old Sleigh Face is rather busy

that night. I suspect I might be, too. Happy Christmas.

Brian Bilston: Ten Christmas Song Haikus

I

Boxing Day bargain,

yours for a giveaway price 

heart of George Michael.

II

Christmas, driving home.

Pop star motorist seen in

Rea-view mirror.

III 

No, I would not wish

for Christmas every day

but I think Roy Wood.

IV

Enid Blyton books

hang in stockings on the wall.

Bright Noddy holders.

V

Morrissey slaughters

that song by Jonah Lewie.

Stop the carvery.

VI

This year, all she wants

is to be shunned no longer -

Pariah Carey.

VII

Saw Mummy kissing

Santa Claus. So did Daddy.

Christmas of sadness.

VIII

November the First

and it's beginning to look

a lot like Christmas.

IX

Elton's long walk home,

lugging his tree behind him.

Schlep into Christmas.

X

New Yourk fairytale.

Brooklyn dentist fixes up

Shane McGowan's teeth.

Brian Bilston: Santa Claus is Coming Around*

He better watch out. He better comply.
He better not flout. I'm telling you why -
Santa Claus is coming around

He's making a list but he hasn't got far,
It needs to be in line with GDPR -
Santa Claus is coming around

He doesn't see you when you're sleeping - no more CCTV

You can opt out of presents any time - he's big on privacy

He's trademarked his name. He's protecting his brand.

He's building new grottos with the regs to expand -

Santa Claus is coming around

He's hiring today, with improvied D&I,

You don't have to be an elf if you'd like to apply - 

Santa Claus is coming around

And his band of little helpers, with all the toys they make,

Receive health and safety tarining, and guaranteed tea breaks

The bullying's gone. He's cracked down on those

Who picked on the reindeer with the red nose -

Santa Claus is coming around

He wants to go green and get there in haste,

A sustainable business with minimum waste -

Santa Claus is coming around

He's got a set of valid visas to deliver wherever he may.

He's paid his import tariffs and he's MOT'd his sleigh.

Now he's all packed. He's up in the sky.

He won't drink your sherry but he'll eat the mince pie - 

Santa Claus is coming...

Santa Claus is coming...

Santa Claus is coming around

*to the realisation he needs to tighten up some of his business practices

Brian Bilston: Musical Statues (variation)

when the music stops,
find a statue

of a slave trader or tyrant

and topple it

cheer and dance

then move on to the next

the game ends

when all such statues

lie rusting and broken

at the bottom 

of the ocean

(2nd December: International Day fo the Abolition of Slavery)

Brian Bilston: This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the chocolates

that were in

your calendar

and which

you were probably

saving

for each day of advent

Forgive me

they were delicious

so bittersweet

and so Christmassy

Brian Bilston: Last Minute Christmas Shopping

You get the myrrh, the other two had said -

which was all very well

but it was now nearly six o'clock

and the shops were absolutely rammed

because it was Christmas Eve -

at least it would be in a few centuries

once the annual festival of Christmas had established itself -

and quite frankly, he was tired and fed up

having had one hell of a journey

just getting himself to Bethlehem

what with the saddle rash

and the traffic on the ring road outside Damascus,

and the neck ache from looking up at that star all the time,

and losing that ruby out of his best crown,

and that slightly superior air

Caspar and Melchior would always show towards him

which made him feel like a dullard,

and the fact it had taken him so long to park his camel

that most of the shops had started to close,

and that he kept on losing his bearings,

he'd walked down this street maybe three times already

yet he was still non the wiser,

and neither was he any closer to getting some myrrh

and talking of which,

wjat the hell even was stupid myrrh, anyway?

Brian Bilston: It's a Wonderful Life

Angel, remember when we first met?
You were happy and carefree.

I guess that it must take its toll, 

all that watching over me.

But I'm watching over you, as well -

I'm here to answer every call.

I may not yet have earned my wings,

but I'll catch you should you fall.

Brian Bilston: An Alien Observer on Earth Files his Weekly Report Home

Not much to report this week,
beyond the usual:

Received twelve racist insults.

Got beaten up twice.

Witnessed three far-right rallies.

Watched Top Gear one night.

Four more towns under water

plus two new wildfires.

Trolled on Twitter

by climate-change deniers.

Lunch with the PM

and his good lady wife.

In sum, still no sign

of intelligent life.

Brian Bilston: NHS Test Results

Please do take a seat. I appreciate
this must be a very difficult time for you -
waiting is never easy - so let's crack on

and take a look at these results.

The cuts you have sustained are severe.

Life-threatening, even. The bruising and soreness

consistent with a prolonged period of abuse

and neglect. It's no wonder you feel run down.

To address these concerns, I prescribe

a decent pay rise and an immediate change

of government. That should also help to sort out

the malignant lump you were worried about.

But the good news is that your vital organs

are still working well. More than well, in fact.

Your heart, in particular, is remarkable.

I don't think I've ever seen one so large, 

so strong and healthy, as it pumps blood

and love and kindness, eighty millilitres

to a single beat, two thousand gallons every day,

flowing, always flowing, supporting all that life.

Brian Bilston: Metamorphosis (Fruits of the Forest flavour)

Scraping his tub clean,
Greg finished reading a magazine article

about how you are what you eat,

and the next morning awoke from unsettling dreams

to find himself transformed in his bed

into joghurt.

Oozing his way out from under his duvet

and trickling thickly across the floor

towards the bathroom for his morning shower,

Greg wondered what to do

about the 10am board meeting,

and how on earth

he was going to explain all this to Samantha.

Brian Bilston: From the Encyclopedia of Alternative Facts

Frankenstein was the monster’s name.
There’s no such thing as climate change.
A solero is a type of hat.
The planet is not round but flat.

Six is the legal drinking age.
Women get paid an equal wage.
Elvis once sang in Take That.
The planet is not round but flat.

Achilles had a dodgy knee.
Terror comes from refugees.
Insomnia affects most cats.
The planet is not round but flat.

The president’s above the law.
Russia did not start the war.
It’s impossible to change a fact.
The planet is not round but flat.

Brian Bilston: Queueing for an Ice Cream

although he didn’t smoke, grandad never went anywhere
without the old tobacco tin in his pocket

one day me and my brother asked him what he kept in it
some sand, grandad said

why do you keep some sand in a tobacco tin, we asked
where else would I keep it, he said

but why keep sand at all, we asked
it’s special sand, grandad said, it’s come all the way from France

we peered into his tin and stared for a while
French sand didn’t look very special, it looked like ordinary sand to us

why’s it so special, we asked
each grain represents an old friend of mine, he said

grandad must have had a lot of friends, we thought
did you go to the beach with them when you were a boy, we asked

yes, something like that, grandad said, snapping the lid shut,
asking the man for three 99s, two with red sauce

Brian Bilston: An Awful Lot of Foolishness

On the first April the First
someone thought it might be funny

to balance a bucket of water on top of a door,

and see what happens.

As it turns out, it was funny - 

so much so that the following year,

the incident was not forgotten

and there developed a fashion

for the stretching of cellophane

across toilet seats, and the tying together

of shoelaces. A few years after that,

the fake dog turd was invented.

It wasn't long before everyone was at it.

Clever hoaxes were constructed

involving Martian landings

and left-handed toilet paper,

and each year the pranks

became ever more elaborate,

and might take months or years

or centuries in the planning -

genetically-modified spaghetti trees,

the creation of large-scale shifts

in weather patterns, the extinction

of the black rhinoceros -

until it seemed as if such tomfoolery

was what we lived with every day,

and that all the high jinks and the tricks

and the hoaxes were no longer

distinguishable from truth.

Well that escalated quickly, the people said,

slapping each other on the back

and laughing.

Brian Bilston: The Morning After the Night Before

I'd appreciate it if you cuold read this poem
a little more quietly than some of my others.

Thing is, it was a bit of heavy night

at the Great Orpington Poetry Festival,

and I think I may have heard one Pindaric ode too many -

sorry, please excuse me one moment

That's better. Where was I?

Ah yes, the Pindaric odes ... although, come to think of it,

I do remember one particular Petrarchan sonnet

sounding a little off, and it makes me wonder now

if it may have been spiked -

Look, you're reading this poem far too loudly

practically shouting it.

Right, let's try one more time. This morning,

I thought I'd try necking a quick villanelle,

hair of the dog and all that,

but I could only keep down a couple of lines or so -

No, you're doing it again ... this isn't going to work.

Either you need to stop reading, or I should stop writing.

Tell you what, how about I do the latter

and then let's see what happens.

But quickly - before we part - don't suppose

you've a couple of aspirins to hand, do you?

Brian Bilston: Welsh Customs

I can't deny that ever since Wales
declared itself an independent republic,

it's been something of a pain

having to go trough Welsh customs.

For one thing, I dislike dressing up

in a shawl, red gown and Welsh hat.

the Customs Officers can sometimes be

overly critical of my baritone

when we sing 'Land of My Fathers',

and I can see them struggling to keep

their faces straight at my efforts

to pronounce Llanfairpwllgwyn-

gyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllanty-

siliogogogoch. My leek soup

is in need of more cream, they tell me.

With all this added rigmarole,

the queues to get across the border

are horrendous. Thank heavens

for Gwyneth, with her coal-black hair

and a smile to gladden any valley,

who'll send you through fast-track

for a bunch of golden daffs

and the timely bestowal

of a hand-carved lovespoon or two.

Brian Bilston: Love is a Skin

love is a skin
that protects you,

a warmth that spreads

from the tips of your fingers

to your heart

sorry - not love -

glove, i meant glove

Brian Bilston: Odds

The chances of winning the lottery
are 1 in 45,057,474,

or, to express this probability

in a non-mathematical way,

quite slim.

Statistically, being crushed to death

by a vending machine

is a far more likely occurence -

particularly for me,

as I use vending machines a lot

and I've never bought

a lottery ticket.