You say potato I say photo

 I took a photography and cookery night class at the local college. I hadn't done too well in school and had a habit of getting my words mixed up so I was a little worried about the essay writing, but I felt pretty confident on the practical side. So when I read the instruction to now cook the photo in the oven for 50 mins I thought perhaps it could have been a strange request for my end of year roll. On the other hand I was more than willing to dip my baking potato in sodium iodine and to hang it up in a dark room in order to develop it. the results were remarkable, I won the end of year photography prize, apparently my post modern take on potatography went down a storm. Moreover I did exceedingly well in the cookery competition in which I gained third prize for most developed photogenic food category, only pipped to the post by a half baked apple iPhone and a Samsung soufflé. 

Dance hall

 The sound of the feet in the hall

The tap tapping has stopped

On the old wooden boards

Quiet it creaks

And scores in shores,

Like the waves on the sandy beach

The leaping, the sweating, the 

laughing too

The going wrong, the who's who

The meeting of feet,

The look and the move

Swinging of hips

Beating of boots

Pirouetting

Waltzing

Gingerly stepping

Taking flight

Like a swan

And the house is so empty quiet now

Now that the dancers have gone

These bones

 I am a skeleton poet

I have to have lived and died

To write again

Get hold of my bones

Lay them in a line

Try to figure out the sense

Where did I come from

How was this thing arranged?

Everything was blown up you see

When he died

He had to write himself back into life

They rearranged his pieces like a puzzle

A shoulder blade from India

A collar bone from Bangkok

From England his muzzle

A thigh bone from the Russian step

And a rib cage from Mexico

It all came together

An Everyman

So they say

This skeleton poet

Who came to read on that summer's day

He is gone now

Into the grasses

Under the earth for to recline

Forever and a day

Maybe in rebirth you will find

Him writing poems

Again

About this or that or other

About how they sold the Times

About how he loved his mother

And what would a woman

Skeleton say back?

Shake her bones

Rattle the bone sack

Tell us poems are things of clay

The flesh has wrought desire

But words are the bones that hold fast

After the music has been burnt by fire

Buzzed out

I'm in the Buzzard BnB in Bedfordshire

I'm sleeping on the wing

In a feather down mattress

My pillow is of duck down

And my bed fellow a funny fucker

She's a buzzard the same as me

Oh a real Buzzcock cocker

I'm in the Buzzard B 'n' B, 

Come pack up your sheet

I'll go down to breakfast in the morning

Claw my way down the stairs

I pass a Golden Eagle in his Eyrie Attic

And Sparrow in his window box

A lot of us Buzzards here we lost our nest

We flew it long ago

In the long flight West

Looking for a new home

In a countryside so green

Yet we ended up in Shepton Mallet

If you know what I mean

The streets are pretty busy,

well the streets are pretty clean

The houses are full and empty

Helps with the homeless scene

Some have too much

And many don't have any

And they think they'll take a shot

At the national lottery penny

But no they never win

Only scrape by a livin'

Yet the pallets keep on turning

The lorry wheels keep on spinning

I'm not saying it matters

I'm just a buzzard on the brink

I speak my beak

And think my think

If they start policing that

Then the whole pontoon might sink

We'd be back in 1984

And pigeon holing people

Based on their way of thinking

Let me see if you will commit a crime

My monitoring machine is blinking

well in a sense we already have it

With a google can of beans

GDPR and algorithms who know where you've been

Think they will predict where you are going

If in your thoughts they've seen

Some evidence of intention to a crime scene

It's a fair cop governor, I've been circling around

this field of dreams

Longer than my tail feathers

Shorter than a stream

I'm trying to catch a little mouse

But all I can find is carrion

If you call me a predator on the prowl

I'll scream and shout and swing my towel

In such a carry on

This town is a birds nest baby

It's full of stick houses yeah

And all the match stick people

Go about combing flames out of their hair

And each fiery tongue licks the next

As every wing is clipped

By a cuckoo government 

who've taken over the nest

So show me back to Bedfordshire

Where I may rest my head

In the Buzzard B'n'B 

back in my home

Bed stead

New Life

 I went to the supermarket Today

And they said that`ll be seven thirty one,

How do you you wish to pay

Well card has five pound minimum

You want a bag

No I want a life

Oh they`re on two for one offer

Very good said I,

I'll take two, 

One for me and one for my wife

I know she'd like a new life

So there we were I'd purchased my new life

With my Potatoes and yoghurt

And I could n't wait to get it home

and try it out

Back at home

I opened my new life

But it wasn`t all it said it would be

It wasn`t always shiny

Blade runner

 You want to run with the blades

You want to hold the glass in your hands

Running on shattered dreams

And holding broken knives

Through door ways of perception

In pyramids of inception

Where birth of new life

Had its conception

Animal or human

Soul or hole

Love or all else above

As a way of introduction -presentation skills one

 I'd like to thank my mother and father for having sex and mixing sperm and egg, for if it wasn't for them, I would n't be here today able in some ways to write in English. Thank you, now on with my presentation.