Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

 

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Grand“.

Good afternoon Jon and greetings, once again, from Coventry.

Only one week to go till BBQ Day and I’m suffering from a severe case of BBQ envy – sausages, orchestras, Funky chicken and of course Dan Warner at The Lomond Hotel for some post barbie sizzle

Not many BBQ’s happening over here at the moment – it took me ten minutes to scrape all the ice of the car windows this morning.

Still, I’ll be performing at the Bedworth Folk Festival next weekend and then on to Ireland – maybe you could fly me back for the day – now that would be grand.

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

[audio:JVG_Poem20131124.mp3]

Also have a listen to the songs on my latest ¬†album “Angel In Reverse


Grand

A friend of mine, just recently, won eight hundred grand
I wondered what I’d do with those readies in my hand

The first thing, I decided, if I won that sort of cash
Is consider all my options so I don’t do something rash

A philanthropic gesture or a hedonistic spree?
I’d weigh up all the pros and cons, and act judiciously

A trust for homeless poets could be classified progressive
A hundred thousand pints of Guinness? Perhaps a touch excessive?

Jewellery I find weighs you down, I like my aging car
Socks and jocks, always handy: a subscription to RRR?

I could upgrade my partner; someone younger, lithe and toned
But let’s face it, when the cash ran out, in a heartbeat I’d be boned

A fine Italian suit, would be well within my means
But could it match the comfort of my fifteen dollar jeans?

Five hundred dollar loafers, in a week they’re out of fashion
While my thirty year old doc’s, I still love them with a passion

A coat born in a sweat shop in some distant, impoverished, land
Made for pennies, retailed for hundreds, when labelled by a “Brand”

Those chic designer sunnies, aren’t really built to last
No better than my cheapies and I’d lose them just as fast

Don’t offer more protection, regardless where they’re made
My car boot specials, frankly, leave them in the shade

A vintage Maton arch top, just like the great Dave Molls
Nine hundred dollar designer jeans, complete with designer holes

Mid life crisis hormone replacement, commonly known as “a Harley”
Thanks to Abbot’s mate, Mark Textor, I won’t be going to Bali

Cosmetic augmentation? But where would I begin?
The pigeon toes, the sagging arse, the nose, the eyes, which chin?

Phalloplasty, ab inserts, even breast reduction
Enlarge my pecs with fat transferred by means of liposuction

What’s the point, I’m too far gone and it’s way too late to panic
Like trying to use a bandaid to patch up the Titanic

It would take more than enhancement, I need total resurrection
To be perfectly honest I’m perfectly happy with my state of imperfection

I could put it away for a rainy day and never get to use it
Watch it like a hungry hawk and worry I might lose it

Spend it, save it, donate, invest – doesn’t matter where I’d stick it
My chances of winning are fairly remote since I haven’t bought a ticket

But I still have most of my faculties: I’m not hungry; in fear; I can stand
I have family, friends and the remnants of health: buy that for eight hundred grand

© Copyright 2013 Ian Bland

 

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