TYNESIDE POETS!

TYNESIDE POETS!

Monday, 23 February 2015

TREVOR TEASDEL - TEESSIDE DYNAMO


































Trev Teasdel - A Short Autobiology!:

Trev was born in a rush of wind in 1951, down home Coventry, much to the surprise of the Countess Godiva and her horsemen. Here he etched his early song lyrics, wrote 'A Lotta Rain is Fallin' with Pete Waterman, ran Hobo, Coventry Music and Arts Magazine and the Hobo Workshop where the early Two Tone started in the basement below. In 1980, he came to Teesside to do a degree in the Humiliations and passed with honours - on through the Management Committee of Community Arts Middlesbrough, Teesside Writers' Workshop and the New Poetry Scene. He was performance poet turned co-editor of Voice of the North, co-founder of Outlet and the annual Write Around Festival and later the Writers' Cafe gigs at the ARC in Stockton and the Georgian Theatre. Along the way, he published The Escaped Poet, Poet Reprobate, Nightfall in Sorrento - anthologies of his poems and a Gnome Label album of his songs Songs From the Coventry Underground 2007. He won the Northern Voices Poetry Award in 2010.

DEBT CEILING                                                                   

I reached my debt ceiling long ago, 
defaulted, 
dismissed my armies, 
closed down my parks 
and human zoo.

A world of phone calls,
false legal letters 
designed to frighten
from world banks and 
interplanetary leaders. 

Now my trains don't run, 
the buses are late, 
fuel prices levitate 
and politicians lie 
(what’s new!). 

I swing from the ceiling and 
owe a debt to no one. 
Money is a lie that we buy 
wrapped up in pie, cooked in the books
'til debts are skyscrapers high.

I'm packing up my subprime loans, 
portfolios 
lack of interest rates, 
credit agreements, promissory notes, 
commercial instruments (with the power of attorney) 
and moving to the debt free zone. 

Pass me my Stetson, saddle me a horse,
I plan to water the desert with poetic justice 
on nature’s globe 
where couplets rock in flower beds and 
bees are free and foxes flirt 
and badgers mate in congress.

Yes I reached my debt ceiling long ago 
in this blockbuster world 
full of shadow and sound, 
with conspiracies for plots 
and guns for compassion 
and storylines written 
by spin doctors on super yachts. 

My pockets are empty, my mind a goldmine. 
I am the treasury of earth without a dime to my name. 
I am the IMF of the idea bank, 
the FT index of a cooperative world 
where wars no longer radiate 
and poverty’s re-nourished. 

I return my all my debt notices to 
the bankrupt oligarchy, 
out of ideas 
out of cash, 
out of heart and 
out of mind. 
Yes, that's the situation - 
You’re loan funded world 
is in administration!



Nightfall in Sorrento

Sorrento -
The Communion of the urban puzzle
Where elegance is attitude
The fashion club of the urban groove
Eco-driven citizens

In slender tones of mobile silence
Nocturnal spiders in basement bars
Live the lust of the selfish gene

In Sorrento 

Spin doctored money blenders with hidden agendas
Crammed with fruit in the cave of clones
Lie low in Sorrento

In the wah wah cadence of Sorrento radiance,
Re-mortgaged estate agents with Vintage Bentleys
Sway in the breeze to nightfall’s synthful sassy jazz

Glow worm leprechauns in dust-down denim delights
Ageless and jazz-hot; hide behind enemy-lines

In Sorrento

Nightfall in sorrento
The civil disobedience of a New Era
The world in one city, refuelled and air-cooled.
Adidas Pre-Raphaelites on a Full English cutting edge
Predicting a riot in the chic chill-out of a power-pop city

The Revlon Accurist with pipe smoking planes
In his own back yard
Sails his skintight riverboat in the shimmering waters 
of Sorrento 

Escaping the chaos of a goose-pimpled Colditz
With his third wife escape plan
from the regional assembly of the Canterbury Tales
Lost in Sorrento 

Midsummer night dreamtime
Astro-bars in Sorrento
Robert Frost fashion brands

Follow the universe less travelled by

He was a trainee with a code name
Sleeping with the saints in Sorrento
Dark textured with age defining make-up
The full glamour and scandal on DVD

Eagerly awaited - 
The king of contenders
Hot toasted and out to sea on another public art project
Dizzy in the city with Calvin Klein moth repellent
Paying lip service to high drama
In the urban puzzle

She’s like art in unexpected places
Soft spoken
Sky diving
Sunfresh
Sensitive
Sexy, suave
Stealing the show
On the soft silken routes of Sorrento


DANCE & R n B -
The SURROUND SOUND

One-stop, hip hop, coming soon,
Club classics from the attic.
Acid jazz and retro blast,
Brass with balls, passion freaks,
Bad asses, bad in bed,
Live your passion, get your ration on the slate -
Tongue and groove.

The cadging coppers cap in hand,
Jing and Jang orangutans.
Make the difference, make your mark,
Make a notch with your crotch
Coming soon. Trance that tune!

You’re the single of the week
Party proof, hair that’s sleek
Retro-clothes, half antique
Pratt your hair and show a cheek.

Daft, defected, unsuspected,
Erections resurrected.
Home goal, hard soul,
Soil the action with dank distractions.
Fuck hard 'because you’re worth it',
Never dampen your down your style.

Kitsch bar dynamite, box office smash,
Born in a brewery on organic beer.
It’s game on-edgy. Passport Sunset,
Afterthought condom,
The Kings of Leoness
Seek the fallen goddess.
But Your grail’s in the ale
Where you leave your vapour trails.

It’s R&B stunning, sponsored by Loreal,
It’s Mingus Cunnilingus,
'Unforgettable', Nat King Cole'd,
Way good, way good,
Hip hop, one stop,
Acid Jazz.

Ah! The dancing gambler,
The warbling breeze,
Can’t stop to freeze or unzip his knees.
On a local scene with choice cut capers,
He’s in the papers with thieves and rapers.
It’s a downtown beat,
A dawn flotilla
Of academic-epidemics who think with their dicks,
A one-stop promo,
passport sunset -
In golf as in life.
Perfectly aligned
With online tickets
For Fat Boy slim,
Fat Boy Slim,
Fat Boy Slim.

It’s 'a must-see' drama,
Wholly Expresso
In a Mocha malaise.
You piss on your passion
As your soul goes flashin’.
You got sonnets in attic
And raps in the gutter.
Your life’s like a clutter
Of tranced R&B.

Ah! But you’re the single of the week,
Party-proof hair that’s sleek,
Retro-clothes, half unique,
A wig for hair and bare of cheek.

Fast food, fast fuck,
Urban Guerrilla.
Your mind works like Mozilla,
A Firefox hedonist
Of misinformation,
A Dreamweaver diva,
Microsoft in the head - 
You shatter the windows of the dead.

You dance like a geek, look sleek
But your girl comes clean, unzips your genes,
Feels for your rod, alters your DNA
But steals your Ipod.

Ah! You’re sick as a carrot,
You fuck like a parrot.
What ho!
What can anyone say?