Don’t Know Zip (The Neighbour #9) (Poetry Month #24)

Gathered round him, laughing. Whole pub thought he were drunk. Half way down my lager and black I saw his head lolled. They put stickers on his face. Grinning like Cheshires. His eyes closed, lips turning blue. I said “Get out of the way, you lot. Put him down. Lie him down on the floor.” Bugger it if floor were sticky with slopped beer. I gave him kiss of life. Well nobody else saw he was dying. My training kicked in. Tha never really take a break. Well he almost went again in ambulance. I just sat down and cried. They fetched us a double whisky.

Time later he comes round with bunch of flowers, box of chocs and a thankyou.

via Daily Prompt: Zip

Our Avid (The Neighbour #9) (Poetry Month #23)

daisy’s infest the lawn with garish yellow, abandon themselves to naked display, flaunt their unsightly heads like fever blotches and pustules of them and if you just lop of their cocked heads and don’t fork out their deep roots they come back again snooty and snotty, like neighbour we’ve been trying to hoik out lounging on his deckchair fag in gob smoking out street with his obnoxious weed. Calls it herbal. My arse it is. Purist marijuana. Toked up and high he is. Like a frigging daisy.

via Daily Prompt: Avid

Three Poems | by Paul Brookes

Many thanks to marvellous Janet and the outstanding Communicators League for publishing three poems

Communicators League

Stone Lass

Spunk sees Cruel lass from afar
gobsmacked by her looks
he gets smitten hard
and determines she’ll be hooked

Asks her mates for her mobile number,
and all her social media pages,
scours internet for details,
winds himself up in rages.

Gets his message through once
or twice but she mocks him
“ Fancy me. You do right. I’m gorgeous”
and promptly blocks him.

Finds her home and knocks
and her Dad answers and says
“She don’t want to know, son.
Thinks your a stalker. Away!”

Writes his first letter and posts
it personally through her door,
it tells her she’s won and he’ll be gone
she can celebrate and more

she can see him lose his life
which is all he has left for her.
Cruel scoffs at this but goes along
for the crack and laughter.

She sees him throw a rope
already knotted around a…

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Harmony (The Neighbour #8) (Poetry Month #22)

and Cadmus and marriage she mused over her vodka shot espied her young gardener the neighbour, all tight arse and bronzed nicely and her his posh totty fallen on hard times due to financial irregularity, yes she would enjoy a fall on his hard times, a cliché but it was her cliche. She was a cougar, wasn’t she? Not mutton dressed as spring galivanting lamb. A cougar with two plastic hips and a dream in a shot glass.


via Daily Prompt: Harmony

Spiked, I (The Neighbour #7) (Poetry Month #21)

see him dig over his borders with fork, and see years ago through red eyes a sharp school uniform in black, Mam secured noose striped school tie flap, black shined shoes scuff in his headlong gasp at bodies twitch pierced on school railings, small animals impaled shudder and shakes his head to make these sights disappear out of his sweated head. And my neighbour forks up worms.

via Daily Prompt: Spike

I Fry Me Chips (The Neighbour #6) (Poetry Month #20)

in proper fresh Beef fat for better flavour, in a proper chip pan. Don’t let

old fat lie. Keep it new, not like neighbours, nowt against them,

not meaning to be offensive but veg don’t put hairs on your chest,

or give a bloke owt to hold onto on a night. There’s yon young un out

on a morning in her slippers and pyjamas hangs out her undies,

as if no ones looking. Him next door in his loose dressing gown lumps white

bags in grey bin, pussy cardboard boxes in blue. Like I said don’t let old fat lie.

Tha allus sees summat proper fresh

out thee windows.

via Daily Prompt: Fry

Chuckle (My Neighbour 4#) (Poetry Month #19)

at his military haircut garden, her delicate wineglass posture backyard, my cracked concrete yard, rotted wood fence and gate and don’t feel guilty for once, or that it’s a provocation for others to take it out on me. I marvelled at my late sister laughing off her mistakes, whilst I felt inadequate, incompetent at mine. How did she do it? Don’t take life seriously is the lesson. Took me years to learn I defeat myself. Now I laugh at my incompetence, and remember her chuckle.


via Daily Prompt: Chuckle