Poems about our capital to celebrate National Poetry Day
Richard Purnell is a writer and performance poet based in Streatham. He gets most of his ideas from ambling around London, watching stories unfold. Richard enjoys the world-class hubris to be found on Clapham Common and warmly recommends a trip on the N68 night bus. Richard Purnell's first show, Inside the M25: A User's Guide, with Gary From Leeds, recently had a sell-out run at the Camden Fringe Festival.
Battle of the peacocks
The winter in the gym has paid right off
First hot one on the Common and he knows what he's got
The abs are ripped; the pecs are stacked
When you've got it going on you've just got to get it off
And yes, like a good boy scout
He's come prepared of course
With his orange Calvin Kleins
Peeking out the top of his shorts
A none too subtle suggestion to give the ladies pause
But what's this! Here's something he ain't bargained for
Two brash Aussies, very buff with gay hair
Have come out of nowhere
Capturing all the girls' attention
With a sickening display of cartwheels and somersaults
The challenge has been set, from man to man;
He puts down his Magner's, feigns a yawn,
Bends his body into a ball
And when all the eyes of the Common are set upon him
Rises up, and starts walking on his hands
The night bus
A bottle of water rolls past,
Full of yellow liquid,
Oh God, that isn't, is it?
Two stops in and they're having a jimmy
On the N68 night bus
And what a bloody cheek!
The girl sitting by me has gone and fell asleep
Leaving a dribble of spittle on my retro jacket sleeve
But I don't mind too much
Because I know it's all about the love
On the N68 night bus
And the boys who haven't pulled are full of lust,
A sense of duty and honour says they must
Have a little word with the doner-eating birds
On the N68 night bus
And a chap in the back is chatting black,
Going on his phone
'We need to fuck him up, blood,
He ahksing for trouble, bruv,
We need to fuck him up.'
And the girls sitting by are like,
'You need to fuck him up, blood!
You need to fuck him up!!'
For the well-bred woman it's all too much
On this rampaging beast of a bus
Headphones on and she's dreaming
Of rolling fields and clotted cream teas
She wants no more of this polyglot scene
On the N68 night bus
And the atmosphere starts to turn nasty
When a white man gets on and starts to do a whitey
He's getting called 'fucking wanker' and 'prick'
Because if there's one thing you don't do
you don't never be sick
On the N68 night bus
As his effluence rolls down the floor
Like an alien species on the march
Or the soul of an Englishman after dark
A big-haired man pulls out his guitar
And starts playing
Ooh, Baby I Love Your Way (reggae version)
Wanna be with you night and day, yay-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay
And the bus turns into a magical place
Each addled face reanimates
Every weary body starts to sway
And the Christians praise Him above
Because we've been reminded
It's all about the love
On the N68 night bus
Yes, it's always all about the love
On the N68 night bus
On the N68 night bus
