Five Poems by Bradford Middleton

 

NO WOMAN IN MY BED

 

I get home

With the intention of

Kicking back, smoking

Just one and then

Getting some rest

But, as usual of late, my

Mind soon turned on to

The thought of women.

You see the bed on

Which I relax, kick back,

Nothing more than an

Old beat-up couch in

Reality, has been there

Over a year and

I still ain’t had

Anyone to share it with

 

 

TALKS WITH THE BOSS & SOME GUT-ROT WINE

 

Tonight the words flow hard & serious

As exhaustion & stress are the only

Things work have left me with and in

All honesty it’s all been too much for

My poor harassed mind.  There have

Been talks with management & that

Always means something BAD &

Tonight I’m reduced to this… these

Words as a saviour as my rot-gut wine

And smoke help soothe the madness

That’ll be helped by no work tomorrow.

 

 

THIS NIGHT IS RUINING ME

 

Tonight is trying its hardest to destroy me as

Football talk gives way to tennis & that is one

Game I ain’t ever enjoyed whilst all the streaming

Options have been bled dry of anything funny

& anyway this afternoon I watched two films

& worst of all the god-damn novel I am reading

Is a piece of dull lifeless crap that made me want

A drink almost as soon as I was ten pages in and

That was only by lunchtime and now, as I look

At the clock in the corner of my screen, I see it is

Twelve past eight and I’m already three poems

Deep and my mind is running & the only thing

That can stop me now is sitting on my kitchen

Sideboard or behind some nearby bar so beg

For me as I go over to my kitchen…

 

 

REFINING MY TASTES

 

As the years move on my

Tastes refine, grow more

Middle-aged with every

Passing day or month or

Year and of all the music

I now have grown to love

Somehow the oddest of all

Are those shaggy moptop

Boys The Beatles.

 

Growing up i got stung early,

Circa 91, by a young manic

Preacher from the streets

Telling me how he laughed

When ‘Lennon got shot’ only

To then capitulate, sell out to

The man, and hell i just gave

Up all hope.

 

Now i sit around wondering

If any new band have written

About Richey, the missing

Gunslinger, in such an honest

Way and i know.  Of course

No one has cos one great

Single ain’t worth shit when

Compared to 5 years of

Totally sublime genius.

 

 

DISCONNECT AND SLIP THIS LIFE

 

I’ve turned my back,

Turned my back on those places, those seats,

Those bars that have ruled my world for

About the last dozen years and at last

I can find comfort, joy in the company

Of my own.  I sit, I smoke

I occasionally reach to my fridge

And grab a beer but no more can

I face the prospect of wasting so

Much money in the pursuit of who

Knows what in some desperate

Sad and ever so tiresome bar, all of

Which I am now completely bored

Of.  

 

A waste of money,

Better spent on other things,

The mixture of the bad-odd and the loud

Who never let up, allowing no time to

Disconnect and slip into a better frame

Of mind.  

No chance to create a good impression

When the only thing to be done is

Drink until you’re drunk and then drink

Some more just to make sure.

 

Those days are behind me now but

Doubtless in the near future they will

Again become a vital part of life

But almost certainly not here not in

This town where the beer costs too

Much and the bars are nothing but

Playgrounds for the rich.

Bradford Middleton lives in Brighton on the UK’s south coast. When he ain’t working his part-time supermarket job he can often be found either drinking at one of the many local bars or at home working at the words he dreams will let him escape this life. All his poetry chapbooks have sold-out now but he does have several new ones planned and under consideration. Since 2020 he’s been working on his first proper novel ‘All the Way to the End of the Line’ which he hopes someone will get to read soon. He tweets occasionally @BradfordMiddle5.