Roadie & Co

by Terry Sorby

This is Terry's second poetry collection to be published by Earlyworks Press.

Terry Sorby's writing is always accessible....It is poetry to be enjoyed not decoded. If you enjoyed Pam Ayres, you'll enjoy Terry Sorby. I do.

- Nigel Humphries.

Some extracts from the serious end...

Roadie

Bent-backed he cruises our streets

like a ship’s prow through rough seas

constant pressure, that’s the secret

let the broom take the strain

scuffed streetwise edged

Mk7 Bass broom

deftly follows kerbstone’s curve

push, pause – push, pause

neatly piled society’s detritus

scooped and shot

into green wheelie bin.

Anonymous soul bedecked in dayglo

goes unnoticed.

Night Beat

Regulated pace, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other
senses keen yet dulled by routine
slap – slap – slap
of weary boots on damp pavement
mind screams for any interruption
robbery, murder, a pitiful drunk
something to break the monotony
fill his book with minor detail
caress the endless paperwork
in warm, lighted charge room
breathe in the scent of vomit
sergeant peering over his shoulder
take your pick
anything to be out of that pissing rain
and the stale smell of sodden blue serge.

Insight

He walks with confident tread
yet tentatively negotiates
the street furniture
yawing like a yacht around unseen obstacles
as if by human sonar
click, click, click
flagstones echo tapped question
trained ear translates directional answer
‘seeing stick’ – man’s eyes
charts his way through life.

Urban Robot

Eyes glazed

brain tuned to pause

urban robot trundles along

poisoned constant drone

hisses and whines

transporting a human

into another dimension.

Lost in the ipod-mosphere

of medulla destruction

constant trivia shovelled

like the horseshit of another age

the megabytes of useless knowledge

stored in the unripe brain

as it hurtles towards puberty.

...and some extracts from the funny end:

The Lady Amelia Blanchflower

Was held against her will in a tower

The rascal who stole her

Could in no way console her,

So he let her go after an hour.

A lady by the name of McGuire

Sang soprano in the church choir

As she took a deep gasp

There was a smelly loud blast

“It wasn’t me,” she said – the liar.

There was a young poet from Oldham

Who orated out loud as he told ‘em

Quoting verse and prose

From the hole beneath his nose

He whipped out his books and he sold ‘em.

Roadie & Co - Poems by Terry Sorby
ISBN 978 1 90645108 0

 £6.50 + £1 towards p&p to UK addresses