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Dr Mince's Gotham Tours
Poetry Page

Here is the page where I get to regale you with poetry wot I have wrote, as well as other beautiful artistic creations.


I watch the seabirds
as they spiral like god's funny mobile.
I hear their cries,
like god's funny mobile phone.
I can see the cliff face now
and me, the jumpy boy, face set
and matched to the sea.

I know the waves
and I see there are drowning too.
Women, men and dogs,
white fronted, flecked with spray.
Water breaks on the place
so little left to be saved
and yet less than it takes to be free.

Fate walks,
Mammons cannon sounded.
Worn lust supposed suppressed and broken,
spoken of only
by Men like me who cry-
raised amongst the dust
and lost amongst the drownded.


Narbhol (#2311)

Narbhol Actual size=300 pixels wide

"A sophisticated combination of rugged functionality and pure beauty, while its sleek lines communicate elegance and grace." Bunty McSkimming

Trembling fingers, That Mister Cigarette,
trembling hands that miss their cigarettes.
The muddy stuttering yellowed hands
that backed away the car
and stacked away the crates.

Blackened nails, cracked and callous -
broke the pencil lead in frustration.
You could remember the number,
and push out into the street
to make the call.

Pass the flower shop, pass the launderette.
Score a paper, have a lucky dip,
get some caffeine in your veins.
The phone box don't work anyway
not that she'd answer.

The shouty men with cards
bang on the table and the cups
battle in their saucers.
Above the steam and spaghetti sauce,
lonely-eyed at the window.

South Notts Bus
It's the best for us
It gets you there with the minimum of fuss.

On the whole it's better than the train
When you get on there is no pain
I'll certainly go back again.

Don't forget about Babs
He's always ready and he's had his jabs
Everbody is keen to get him in their cabs.

Midland Red by Dick Gilbert

Midland Red, you don't know how
Your service does affect us
'Cos we live on your bus route
And your buses can collect us

Running for your buses
Keeps us really fit
From your Coalville depot
Alongside Snibston Pit.

Your buses go to towns we know
You even took our Jack
He got your bus to Tamworth
But then you brought him back.

There's smart buses, and dirty buses
But yours will always stand out.
Perhaps next time
You could stop when I stick my hand out