Going Out In November

The taxi’s full and your breath is cold

Booze is in your belly and you’re starting to feel old

Don’t matter cos you’ve got your best clothes on

Ready for the weekly demise that’s still going strong

 

Straight back into the drinks

One day you’re gunna have to see a shrink

Too many times you’ve thrown in the kitchen sink

And that’s going out in November

 

The bouncer gives you a nod

You’ve been here so many times before

The barmaid you fancied

Doesn’t work there anymore

 

Straight back into the drinks

One day you’re gunna have to see a shrink

One too many times you’ve thrown in the kitchen sink

And that’s going out in November

 

Payday was only last week

But the money’s running dry

All you wanna do is learn how to fly

Dance with that girl over there and kiss her pretty smile

 

Straight back into the drinks

One day you’re gunna have to see a shrink

One too many times you’ve thrown in the kitchen sink

And that’s going out in November

 

Your mate’s downing shots and he’s ripped his top

Things are about to get lary

However you can’t be bothered

Excitement’s gone and you’ve lost your touch

 

Straight back into the drinks

One day you’re gunna have to see a shrink

One too many times you’ve thrown in the kitchen sink

And that’s going out in November

 

Getting chips on the way home

You share a glance with sultry pair of eyes

She gives you a look that says

Boy, you best come this way

 

 

Straight back into the drinks

One day you’re gunna have to see a shrink

One too many times you’ve thrown in the kitchen sink

And that’s going out in November

 

© Jack Nugent

 

 

 

 

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Love’s Forlorn

White noise fills my mind

The space where you once were

Leaving it all behind

To remember the pieces of my wasted time

 

You gave me no reason

You gave me no rhyme

Sweet girl

Forgive me these crimes

 

Once you were my saving grace

Memories of smoke and lace

Love at dawn

That kept me in my place

 

You gave me no reason

You gave me no rhyme

Sweet girl

Forgive me these crimes

 

All the drunken nights

All the lousy fights

All the drugs and ripped tights

Feel so good now

 

You gave me no reason

You gave me no rhyme

Sweet girl

Forgive me these crimes

 

Hung upon my lovers cross

Strung out and lost

Never thought you’d leave

A kiss and your gone

 

You gave me no reason

You gave me no rhyme

Sweet girl

Forgive me these crimes

 

The touch of her skin

Got my heart beating

She had eyes that made me see far

She showed me life and how to live it all

 

You gave me no reason

You gave me no rhyme

Sweet girl

Forgive me these crimes

 

© Jack Nugent

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Devil’s Banquet

This shiny colourful globe that rotates in space;

Who rules the roost.

Is it the knowing and the loving,

Or the greedy and the murderous?

 

The Devil’s holding a banquet

And he has got a lot of friends

There’s always the same guest list

No matter what century, the uniform’s still exist

 

Denizen’s of wealth, policy and subordination

Met at a table under a red moon

Ready to boast of their recent triumphs

Victuals laid out lavishly, more than enough

 

Its become somewhat of a tradition

This moonlight escapade

Salivating over tales of their bloody exploits

That keep their power in reign

 

The main course is lamb and cocaine

Cutlets get sliced and chewed

Lines get sorted and snorted

As the clink of cutlery secedes

 

The Devil clap’s two pale hands

To which he stands, arms spread to his lads

“Now then you fickle lot, are you have beens or have nots

Who will stand and give us talk of their most evil lot”

 

A Priest, in ceremonial garb rises with a meaty smile

He stares about the room, his cross glinting in the gloom

He clears his throat of wine, it is time

To hear tales of wickedness and deceit

 

“I have ensnared the weak and fearful, poisoned to get to this position,

Corrupted an innocent idea for my own malicious tuition

Through years of scheming and wrongful achieving

My brethren have dined out on humanity’s believing”

 

In deities that never were, these stories did never exist

Only this Devil, sitting right here before us, and the lies he did twist

Have we managed to perpetuate this, our craving for power

To lock ourselves up, with gold and wickedness, in our Ivory tower”

 

These words were greeted by respectful applause and happy eyes

Of those dining with the Devil, and all their deceit and lies.

Next stood a man with a pencil mustache and black suit, it was his time,

To tell the haughty crowd, of his most delectable crime.

 

“I have schemed and loaned to the poorest of the poor,

When they cannot pay back I have kicked them out of their own door,

Seized that which wasn’t mine, delivered misery to a gluttonous score

Dined with my treasure, kept adding to my hoard, and used many a young whore.”

 

“When my gold was enough I paid off the judges and kept politicians in my pocket,

Told lies for profit and used society’s conjunctures to strangle the single market,

Designed fiscal policy to ensnare the peasants into servitude, evil at its most darkest!

All the while I remained the coyest”

 

 

So the last man stood with a bowler hat and a smoking cigar,

While the devil looked on, ready for more.

He was the leader of a country, voted for by its people,

War mongered and silenced the peaceful.

 

“Firstly, I would like to say to the designers of dread,

Thank you for your clever heads,

Taking us down paths that only we can tread.

I followed your lead and became a disease.”

 

“I masqueraded as hope, the savior of lives,

But all I did was take payment, authority and deprive

While my friends here, pulled the strings, and taught me how to smile

As the people succumbed to the charm, without question of my beguile”

 

And so the Devil rose, as tears rolled down his hollow cheeks,

He applauded and exclaimed at the stories so bleak,

 

“I am happy my lads, that you have kept up this charade,

It’s why I invited you to this most profane parade

To history you will not fade,

Your kin will play the same game, wickedness they will braid.”

 

“I bid you goodbye, for this is the one and only occasion,

Once a generation this here banquet will be laid.

Raise the next one as the same, otherwise your debt won’t be paid,

And to my home, you will be slain.”

 

The Devil held a banquet,

Solely the powerful came,

Until next time,

Where the wicked come to dine.

 

© Jack Nugent

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home

Home is not that homely.

There’s dog shit and litter,

Outside my front door;

The seagulls control my sleep, and wake me up just for fun.

 

Terraced Housing of all colours,

Much like the people who live within their walls.

Everyone has a dog or cat or a baby or a fucking car;

Or more.

 

The greetings are varied;

“Assalamu alalikum”

“Yahk sheh mash”

“Alrite”

But they all sound the same to me.

 

Half the people voted for Brexit

The other half didn’t bother.

I debated the politics

With my immigrant friends.

 

My home is home.

We are the ones who build communities;

Buildings & walls,

Do not create societies.

 

© Jack Nugent

 

 

 

You Left

I once knew a girl whose eyes were as bright as the world

I know her still, in my dreams and remnants of memories

I told her I loved her on the banks of the Thames

She told me with fervour that “I love you so sir”

 

Then we waltzed through the arches of London Bridge

To the shouts of the street pedlars

And the wind blowing the falling brown leaves of autumn

All the way to the palace, where we kissed under the gaze of the Queen 

 

Our bellies were full of wine

But we didn’t mind

The night was full of beguile

And I’d wished known what was about to transpire

 

Kilburn was foggy the night that you left

The lampposts were lonely

And my heart breaking in its chest

I drowned my sorrows in a barrel of whiskey till the dawn rose 

 

You said I was handsome you said I was yours

But my heads in tatters and you caught the coffin ship from Liverpool

To dance with chance in the land of the lady of liberty 

And me in cold blighty alone with my dreams of you 

 

I once knew a girl whose eyes were as bright as the world

I know her still, in my dreams and remnants of memories

I told her I loved her on the banks of the Thames

She told me with fervour that “I love you so sir”

 

 © Jack Nugent

Death Under The Bridge

Down beneath the stone bridge he sat, his head bowed against his chest. Mist rose from the water to lap at his boots in lazy curls. Three alcoves the bridge had underneath it, and he sat in the middle one, on a patch of dirt, just above the water line propped alongside the damp, mossy wall. For now the water was low and he was safe but when the high tide came he would be washed away by the currents.

Either alive or dead. For how long he had sat there he did not know, his body was bruised and broken. A great pain in his ribs made it difficult to breath and bubbles came out his mouth when he did. His knee was broken, he could tell that much and his right arm didn’t want to move, laying limp by his side. He watched the dark river water lap at his fingertips but he couldn’t feel it, his whole arm was numb, it felt strange, like he wasn’t his self and must’ve had an awful lot to drink, however he couldn’t remember doing anything of the sort.

A panic rose from his gut but its adrenalin couldn’t help, he lifted his left hand and with it, inspected his head. A lump the size of an egg grew out of the back of his bald noggin, covered in congealed blood. Lamenting at his situation as the acquiescence of death set in, an image of his wife appeared in his mind, he tried to cry but had forgotten how. He hadn’t cried for over fifteen years, not since his first day as a carpenter’s apprentice, when he hit a nail straight through his thumb, so he screwed up his face and wailed, silently. The pain in his chest soon stopped the wailing, fear gripped him like it never had before, and he could not compare it to anything he had feared before. This fear came from within, from somewhere deep down, from somewhere primal and animalistic, it was the fright of death.

Shock was beginning to set in, and mortality was not far behind. A man’s whistle cut clean through the mist, and suddenly someone jumped down into the alcove from the bridge.

“My my, what do we have here then, a right mess by the looks of it, they touched you up good and proper, my little pinchpenny” the stranger declared.

The dying man looked up groggily and tried to focus his eyes on the man who just jumped down, to join him by the water. Hope rose in his punctured chest, he was saved!

The stranger bent down, and with his hands went through the bewildered man’s pockets, which is not what our bridge dweller presumed, and not too kindly either. Pain shot everywhere. The stranger grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, so close he was inside the brim of the stranger’s hat. He could see the man’s unkempt facial hair and rotting teeth, acidic breath filled his nostrils.

“What did you tell them?” The stranger shook him roughly.

 

The dying carpenter moaned in reply.

 

A gloved hand slapped his cheek, hard.

 

“What did you tell them?”

 

Another moan.

 

“You useless sack of shit, you can barely hear me I’m guessing, pain must be bad” The accoster sighed and continued

 

“It’s not your fault, mind, I’ve arrived too late to get what I need from you” he said as he shook his head.

 

“Bastards, probably didn’t think I would find you, either way, you’re fucked, and I need to take my leave” and with that, the hatted man took himself off, climbing back up to the bridge.

 

The water was rising, tide was coming in and within a matter of hours the tide would take him, his body food for the fishes. The only place that he would still live would be in his wife’s memory.

 

The Hound of Moulsecoomb (A Short Story)

All he could see out of the window was the reflection of himself and the empty carriage he sat in. Unflattering lights above made his reflection look drawn out and old. His eyes strained to see things in the gloom. Faint silhouettes of leafless trees and house lights. Thinking of warm homes and central heating made him feel far away.

Tiredness spread over his body. Eyes heavy, he scanned the document he was reading making sure it was worded perfectly. He was going to hand the Divorce papers to his wife, that very night. Fifteen years of marriage. He sighed as the brakes screeched, a great scrapping of metal on metal. He wrapped his tartan scarf about his neck and departed the train at Moulsecoomb.

Crisp night air greeted his face at the deserted station. The chill reached his bones. He walked down the dark platform and up the stairs to the bridge over the track. His heels clacked on the concrete. It echoed all around him on the walled bridge but the sound that bounced back made him stop in his tracks. A growling emanated from somewhere in front of him followed by unnatural snarling.

His wits lost, he stood stock still for a second and lifted his briefcase in front of him, as if using it as a shield and shuffled forwards. Barks sounded around him making him cower, terrified, but he could see nothing. He edged towards the stairs and as he turned onto the next set of steps, waiting for him at the top was a black blood hound the size of a horse who lunged at him, ghostly passing through him. And so he tumbled down three flights, landing dead on the platform, the divorce papers falling quaintly about him in the still cold air.

© Jack Nugent