More Poems

Here are some more poems about gear and my life - first written in 2000!

Gear Pixies

The gear pixies are here,
They’re at it again,
Stealing stuff,
For personal gain.
It was here a minute ago,
I saw it there.
No one would nick it,
No one would dare.
The only people,
With big enough balls,
Are those little pixies,
3 inches tall.
They come round here,
When everyone’s stoned,
And when no-ones looking,
They nick your bone.
Your smack, your cash,
Your pills your hash.
When they go pinching,
They make sure your mashed.
So you blame your mates,
You have a go,
But where your gears gone,
Nobody knows.
You check all your pockets,
You jump up and down.
You check all the tops,
You check on the ground.
Your gears disappeared,
Into thin air.
You punch a wall,
You pull at your hair.
Wherever its gone,
One things for sure,
Whatever you had,
You have no more.
Those pixies have robbed you,
They’ve done you good.
They’ve sneaked in your gaff,
And stole what they could.
So while your crying,
Dabbing at tears.
Just think of those pixies,
Smoking your gear.

By DoubleDipped

My Mum

Mum sits there,
In front of the tele,
Tray of food sitting on her belly.
Eating, thinking,
Watching Eastenders.
What’s in her head I think and wonder,
Washing, ironing,
Cleaning, shopping?
Her house is proud,
But I don’t see her stopping.
Or does she aspire to greater things?
Probably.
But I wouldn’t know, she is only my mum,
With me as a fuckup as her only son.
Wasting time with my dangerous habits,
My selfish behaviour.
Does she think she could have made better?
Does she want me to succeed?
Does she want me to be good?
Healthy,
Alive.
All I want is my shirts to be ironed,
And the funny thing is,
She doesn’t seem to mind.
That’s why I love her so much.
My mum.

By DoubleDipped (2000)