Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

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

Good afternoon Jon and greetings from Coventry on a wet but mildly warm summer’s day here in the Midlands.

Better weather last weekend for The Warwick Folk Festival, a fantastic four days headlined by your favourite singer/songwriter Jon, Richard Thompson.

This week I appeared on BBC Radio Warwickshire with Melbourne performer and Lomond Hotel barfly, Enda Kenny, where we discovered you can’t say “arse” on the BBC.
Guess we won’t be invited back.

Today we’re travelling to the south west of England and the town of Western Super-Mare, with my old mate Dirk Diggley-Quiggley.

What have you got to say Dirk?

Dirk says “Super”


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

Also have a listen to the songs on the New Album “Angel In Reverse


Super

Dirk was a dandy
Were he beer he’d be shandy
A boorish, arrogant snob
Dirk thought “superb”
Less adjective than verb
His appearance, a full time job

Smug, supercilious
His conceit left most bilious
Concerned with only the exterior
He ponced round the bars
Entertained super stars
Though he thought himself quite superior

Dirk took a shine
To a lass named Divine
Entranced by her creamy complexion
They’d walk by the sea
He’d gaze lovingly
Not at her, but his own reflection

They were perfectly paired
The virtues they shared
Right down to the same first initial
Both were simplistic
Brash, narcissistic
And incredibly superficial

“Smooth” Dan Millane
Unencumbered by brain
A trait, Divine found captivating
They began an affair
While Dirk did his hair
Locked away, exfoliating

Being self centred
The thought never entered
Divine would consider deceit
Cocksure and callow
Exceptionally shallow
With looks, surely no man could beat

Poor Dirk was reeling
“A man more appealing?
Who could be better than me?
Look, a crooked incisor
God, no moisturiser
What could she possibly see”

“My reputation dented”
Dirk sadly lamented
To be dumped, God, how demeaning
But if he felt grief
The moment was brief
His eyebrows in dire need of preening

Beauty is cheap
When viewed as skin deep
A truth not always heeded
For looks, they will fade
Wither, degrade
In the end, we’re all superseded

© Copyright 2014 Ian Bland

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