Nobody’s Fault

July 2017

When I were five, I started the system.

Five days a week, for a bunch o’ times tables.

I ‘ave a go now, but can’t even list em’:

Got no use to a guy who fixes cables.


When I were eleven, knew it weren’t over.

Nine ‘till three fifteen, each bloody day.

Spent my last few years hungover,

N’ when I was done, couldn’t wait to be away.


When I were sixteen, didn’t get better.

Got some gig with a mate o’ me dad.

Nine ‘till five, said ‘at written letter…

But at least I weren’t no undergrad.


January 2017

When they were eighteen, they left home.

‘Ad to leave to make their millions,

‘At’s what they said, as they got their loan.

Nine thousand a year? Cost ‘em billions.


When they was twenty-five, they worked

At minimum wage, not twenty pound an hour.

They was ‘ungry tired and overworked,

Fightin’ for the right to a shower.


When we was fifty, we was broke.

They got them jobs with their qualifications,

But them loans? What a joke.

Nobody’s fault! But this damn Nation’s.


The first thing that came into my mind as I looked at today’s photo prompt from Creative Writing Ink, was a short, little poem I wrote just before I started university. Poetry’s never been my strongest form of writing, probably because I simply enjoy writing prose so much more, but I had a go, and this poem was later published in a young writers’ anthology, so I figured it might be worth sharing.

Creative Writing Ink 06/07/17

There’s something strange about this crazy world;

I wanted to sit back as it unfurled,

But now I’m trapped in these churning waters,

Stuck watching as the confusion slaughters.

I don’t know who I am or where to go:

Do I stand out or join the pressing flow?

I need a guide to help me through the dark,

Because I’m here and want to leave my mark.

Everything’s changing; everything’s new,

But I guess that’s life, and you feel it, too.