Poet Feature - December 2020
Like being on a bus driven by Sandra Bullock, Billy is hurtling towards middle-age, leaving behind a trail of regrets and carnage in his wake. Dressing like he has been dragged through a hedge backwards with a hairstyle that yells; "Help, I'm being held hostage!" Billy has been writing poetry seriously since the tender age of 3 years ago.
His inspiration for his work is based on something someone said, the ragged streets of Bristol and situations that he can get a unique perspective and/or twist like a M Night Sha…, M Night Shall...like the bloke who directed The 6th Sense movie. His writing influences are John Cooper Clarke, Philip Larkin, Leonard Cohen, David Bowie, Ray Davies, Douglas Adams and Charlie Kaufman.
Even though he is as "Street" as a muddy path in the woods, he has had one poem published in an American magazine called Urban, two poems read out on radio and was on TV everyday for a year as the face, (well the back of him), of unemployment for the South West of England.
He loves performing his poetry at open mic nights and is looking forward to getting back onstage once it is safe to be round people again. He has plans to publish a collection of his poems in the next year or so, (if he gets his backside into gear), but in the meantime his poetry can be found on his Instagram page.
He also thinks swearing is funny and clever and loves life. Life doesn't feel the same way and has told Billy to back off or they'll get a restraining order.
IF WAR WAS FOUGHT WITH CAKES
If War was fought with cakes not guns
Could the French disarm with cream choux buns
Will Germany go and use their scruples
Invading Europe with apple strudel
The Americans, with their do or die
Target the Middle East with apple pie
Of course you won't hear the British grumble
Defending the realm with rhubarb crumble
With its infantry armed with the latest rifles
Laser-scoped custard topped sherry trifles
Can you call it an armed contest
When the world's been bombed with Eton mess?
The news reports from far flung places
About custard pies thrown in enemies' faces
And hundreds and thousands will face death
By chocolate, that way is the best.
So, if war was fought with cakes not guns
Our waistlines lose, but it was yum.
Through fears come tears that fall
Forsaking me was all in vain
When pain comes back a creeping
Weeping eyes cries out my name
I'm there for you when crisis rise
I'll prise away that pain for peace
For you light that fire for desire
I give to you that sweet relief
And when life's toll takes hold of you
That vice-like grip that pulls you down
Suffice to say I'll rip it's grasp
And stamp your problems underground
My love runs true inside of you
I'll stick with you and we will win
I'm your love, your saint, and saviour
Your one and only heroin
She hides herself around the corner
I'm told she is brighter, better
And that should save myself to her
But Present is a jealous bitch
Knocking at my door at midnight
Bringing her friends
She tells me to fully embrace
Both the Here and Now
And that I should be in the Moment
Present slyly whispers into my ear;
"You can always wait for her
But Tomorrow never comes."