The Bread and Roses Poetry Competition

Hello and good day to all

Please find below my three poems as entries to your fabulously apt poetry competition. I am early, like all good boy scouts and I believe I have met the brief and provided verses true to the commoner, the common good and the music of poetry.
My important details are as follows:

Name: Peter Boydell
Email: peter.boydell@hotmail.co.uk
WhatsApp: +44(0)7730 098 486
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A Poem: Watching A Fly On A Slate Table: A Fly Tetralogy

With the full privilege of a month in a Himalayan hut, I was granted the rare liberty of observing a common fly for a period not too removed of two hours.  I’d avoided flies in Rishikesh: they’d usually flown hot, straight from a homeless and vomiting cow’s arse.  But here in the flowery mountains, I imagined this one had just danced from a pink rose or at worst had been pestering a butterfly.  You may think that flies are just black dots that you brush off, but I firmly advocate closer inspection.  A whole world is waiting in the minutiae.  My protracted period of muscidae monitoring resulted in the following poem.

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Dearest and Favourite Aunty Margaret

 

Double Bed Cabin Near The Back
Overnight Bus Ride
Mumbai to Jodphur
West India
Asia
Earth
Milky Way
Universe
Somewhere in Space

9th April 2017

 

Dearest and Favourite Aunty Margaret,

When we were called at 9:50am this morning to be advised that this bus was now leaving at 10:25am as opposed to its scheduled departure time of 11:30, we had to get our Mumbai skates on. Typically Indian that. We feel very lucky to have made it on board.

Bandra was our date night location for our final night in Mumbai. The preferred, ‘happening hotspot’ for the stars of Bollywood, we were hungry for some Bollywood bling. It turns out it’s mostly a place where Indians with privilege take the opportunity to treat Indians in service like dog shit; valet parking, ‘Bring my chicken over here,” “Clean my table.” “Dust my ego.” This kind of social-hierarchy bollocks. And it plays out constantly here. In traffic jams, in bars, buying vegetables, arranging transport. When I get them to clean my bum hole etc. Continue reading

Religion Vs The Real World

As a kid my mum would give me one of those impossibly big old fifty pence pieces to put in the donations basket and pack me off to church with my siblings. Winny, my dear gran, is Roman Catholic. Paying respects to her religious tradition, us five siblings were biblically named in age order; Simon Andrew, Paul Richard, Rachel Mary, Christopher James and Peter Philip. Oh how names can deceive.

Our mother didn’t come to church with us. A housewife with five children, she would wisely take the opportunity to have some time for herself.   She would catch up with the two-metre high piles of dirty washing, over-boil some potatoes in the pressure cooker and listen to Fleetwood Mac. And rightly so. She has more important things to do with her Sundays. Continue reading

XL Bar

Do you remember those CD multi-stackers that were hidden in the boot of posh cars in the late eighties and early nineties? Imagine loading a five-stacker with; N-Sync, Now That’s What I Call Country, Nickelback, Michael Buble and Cher. Now press random play. Collette and I went to a one-percenters bar last night. Proper dregs.

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Motorbike Cops / Outlaws

If you’re a die-hard outlaw and in a fictional bike gang called The Road Dog’s, like we are, then this article could save you from the clutches of the Goan Five-O’s.  Peace braa.  Kriminalz!

Pony-haired, yogic, London plumber, Tom pre-warned us about Goan cops pulling over tourists to extort them for cash. Continue reading