An evening with the Punk Poet
. . . John Cooper Clarke.
Fleeing Chicken Town, evidently.
A National Treasure
. . . if Bedlam was a nation
with Hugo Race , me . . .
and some culprits from the Wreckery.
Sadly, Nick Cave had left the country.
Edward the Axeman had also gone
missing . . . after breaking a string.
Most profoundly, the Punk Poet
asks for a coat.
So Hugo raced to offer his shirt.
As the Seeker searches for a light,
the High Lipster thanked Hugo
with a solemn benediction ;
“May your Kingdom
. . . be in Armageddon”.
Knowing that the Punk Poet
had just spent ten years
in an open-necked shirt,
I pretended not to listen.
Plus, my coat was Irish linen!
Some came for communion
Some came for enlightenment
Some came to worship
Others came to learn …
and gaze upon his Essex tan
And we all chipped in …
for an urgent blood transfusion.
God bless you John Cooper Clarke
Stay strong … Keep on keeping on.
Photos: David B. Redpath © 2018