Here are some poems taken from The Journal Of Danny Chaucer. If you enjoy these, why not purchase the book from Rabbit Press!

If you'd like to read some poems from the forthcoming follow-up Click Here now!

Rock Family Tree

My mum is Madonna
Taught me all she knows
About singing
And the rigmarole of sex
All my mates are famous
(Come to lunch one afternoon
Meet Brad Pitt
Swoon, girls, swoon)

My dad is Alex Ferguson
Taught me all he knows
About football and winning
Want to meet the Man U team?

Madonna and Alex
Met in Italy
Dad was with Aberdeen then
Playing in a friendly
Against Milan AC
And Mum
Had a day off filming
They had that instant
Sun-bursting-through-the-clouds
Love-at-first-sight thing
And later
Behind the Coliseum
Well...
Here I am

Alas their love was doomed
Their diaries too full
Madonna had more hits to write
Alex was looking for a challenge

But I still visit them
And they meet up when they can
And send me gifts on my birthday
A signed football
A CD
C/o my adopted parents

Poem to Jenny

I sit by the window
As the sky grows dark
Watching the road
From your house to the park

As you walk past the window
You see me and grin
I glance up - our eyes meet -
I wave - Come on in!

I open the front door
My face has gone red
I bring us two drinks
(There is much left unsaid)

There’s a film at the Showcase
We both want to see
I suggest that we go there
You quickly agree

I sit by the window
The street lights come on
If you had passed - I wonder
What would I have done?

Bad Teacher Rap

Yo,
Mr Fleming - did you admire
Those teachers who
Called you a liar?
Victorian teachers
Who hit you round the ear
Pushed you, poked you
Taught you fear?
Made fun of your religion
Made fun of your nose
Made fun of your haircut
Made fun of your clothes
Detained you, caned you,
Hurt you, reviled you,
Taught you nothing about
Honesty, integrity
Taught you nothing but
What you can’t do
Didn’t even teach you
Anything half useful?
Yo, Mr Fleming
Did you think I too
Might one day
be a teacher like you?
Carry a big stick
Always shout
Clever in a superficial
Artificial shallow mean
Official kind of way
Rap it out
Snap it out
You’re gonna pay one day
Do you pray, Mr Fleming,
And were you ever young?
Were you born aged sixty
First step at sixty-one
Queued up at the window at sixty-two
To collect the living that
The world owed you
Is it true, Mr Fleming
That this is your creed?
I will take all that I need?
Aspire to dullness
And conformity
If you want creativity
Don’t look at me
I will teach the children in my care
That life is a pain
That you have to bear
If I see a spark
Shining in their eyes
I will cover it and smother it
Until it dies
Sarcasm’s my style and negativity
Wrapped in layers
Of narrow-minded bigotry.
Mr Flem, Flem, Fleming,
The last thing I say
Teachers like you
Got to fade away
You ain’t a teacher
You’re a full-blown
Fool
And we don’t want teachers
Like you in school

Forming a Band

I said to Tommy Lock
I’m thinking of forming a band
Whaddya think?
Punk? He enquired
Boogie-woogie, Hip-hop?
70s influenced? Retro rock?
Acid-soul-house-jazz or pop?
Ambient-pyscho-techno-thrash?
Heavy metal? Hard core? Slash?
60s, flower-power, disco, soul?
I shrugged, You know. Just rock ‘n’ roll.

Charlotte's Sofa

The things Charlotte told me
I could hardly believe
A life of impossibilities
Sitting on her threadbare sofa
A couple of Woolworth’s prints on the wall
TV blaring next door
Kids fighting upstairs

Her mum was friendly
Made us a cup of sweet tea
Left as alone
To talk
And explore one another’s bodies
But Charlotte was not with me
Well, her body was, of course,
But not her mind
Her mind was somewhere else

We walked to the bus stop
Kissed goodbye
I sat on the bus
Half watching the dark shapes of factories
And shabby shops drift by
Half satisfied
Half wanting very much
To cry
I don’t know why

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