03/03/2009
Trees
When I woke up that day it seemed normal
like the rest
I brushed my teeth, ate toast and got dressed
Put on my shoes, coat, hat and walked out the door
It was then I first noticed things weren’t quite the norm
I could hear an endless murmur
at first it was faint
I accredited it to my imagination and carried on my way
On leaving the paper shop
paper in hand
I noticed the sound was still there
louder, clearer and
it seemed to originate from the trees
I’m used to hearing stuff but this was quite distinct
Should I tell someone else?
But what might they think?
So I decided to investigate the noise on my own
after all
it sounded more like a chat than a moan
I figured the clearest place
to hear with ease
would be a place surrounded by trees
So I made my way
on a bus
to the woods
after discarding my paper
‘cause no news is good
as I approached the forest the sound became clearer
I could make out some words
as still I got nearer
By the time I was completely within
the trees
the sound became a din
‘excuse me please’
I timidly said to the trees
‘I can hear what you’re saying
can you put me at ease?
My education tells me
trees can’t speak
They grow, get cut down
and burnt for heat
Or get planted in lines to look nice and protect
Or grow wild and provide homes
when left to neglect’
‘indeed’ replied an oak
‘or so science says
but your ancestors used to listen instead
they understood that we were here first
we’re part of the life
part of the earth
we can help them to live
find food and shelter
everything was beautiful when we worked together
but humans became bigoted
“intelligent” and proud
with science and industry came humanity’s fall down
now they burn
consume
destroy all that they can
because it’s part of their new god’s master plan
a scheme to create uniform unhappiness
to live a life for money
no matter how crap it is
and forget that their home is a beautiful place
full of wonder and joy
not competition and disgrace
we trees are old
we’ve seen it all
our roots travel deep into the soil
the soul of our planet
we can feel it’s hurt
but to “civilization” this soul is just dirt
to be cleaned up and packaged
sold to some sucker
for more money to fuel the capitalist clutter
if everyone could remember how to listen to nature
the chance of survival for us all would be greater’
like the rest
I brushed my teeth, ate toast and got dressed
Put on my shoes, coat, hat and walked out the door
It was then I first noticed things weren’t quite the norm
I could hear an endless murmur
at first it was faint
I accredited it to my imagination and carried on my way
On leaving the paper shop
paper in hand
I noticed the sound was still there
louder, clearer and
it seemed to originate from the trees
I’m used to hearing stuff but this was quite distinct
Should I tell someone else?
But what might they think?
So I decided to investigate the noise on my own
after all
it sounded more like a chat than a moan
I figured the clearest place
to hear with ease
would be a place surrounded by trees
So I made my way
on a bus
to the woods
after discarding my paper
‘cause no news is good
as I approached the forest the sound became clearer
I could make out some words
as still I got nearer
By the time I was completely within
the trees
the sound became a din
‘excuse me please’
I timidly said to the trees
‘I can hear what you’re saying
can you put me at ease?
My education tells me
trees can’t speak
They grow, get cut down
and burnt for heat
Or get planted in lines to look nice and protect
Or grow wild and provide homes
when left to neglect’
‘indeed’ replied an oak
‘or so science says
but your ancestors used to listen instead
they understood that we were here first
we’re part of the life
part of the earth
we can help them to live
find food and shelter
everything was beautiful when we worked together
but humans became bigoted
“intelligent” and proud
with science and industry came humanity’s fall down
now they burn
consume
destroy all that they can
because it’s part of their new god’s master plan
a scheme to create uniform unhappiness
to live a life for money
no matter how crap it is
and forget that their home is a beautiful place
full of wonder and joy
not competition and disgrace
we trees are old
we’ve seen it all
our roots travel deep into the soil
the soul of our planet
we can feel it’s hurt
but to “civilization” this soul is just dirt
to be cleaned up and packaged
sold to some sucker
for more money to fuel the capitalist clutter
if everyone could remember how to listen to nature
the chance of survival for us all would be greater’
Scott was the pride of his school
Scott was the pride of his school. A fine athlete, he often won the football matches practically on his own, you could say he carried the team. But this didn’t bother him, in fact he enjoyed being the best, and enjoyed the attention that it brought him. He wasn’t amazingly attractive, yet his girlfriend was one of the hottest girls in the school. He wasn’t particularly bright, yet most of the teachers forgave his stupidity, and tried to give him as much extra help as they could, just because he was the school football star. The coach, who was also the head of the P.E. department at his school, had practically adopted him as his own son, much to the disdain of his real parents, and would take him home, bring him lunch, call him up at the weekend to go for a run, or to watch whatever match was on the t.v.
This was his final year at the school, and everyone expected, in fact everyone knew that he was going to get picked to join the junior side of the local premiership team, then onwards and upwards to the 5-figures-a-week salary and public adoration that professional footballers are used to in this day and age. It all just depended on the formality of the scout coming to watch him play one more time with his school, which was happening the coming Saturday, which also happened to be the school-regional finals, and then the contract would appear and everyone would be happy, Scott the most. The scout had already watched him play in 2 matches and had been notably impressed with what he saw, reported back to the club manager and been given the contract to bring down to this match, and if Scott maintained the standard he had displayed previously he was to snap him up straight away, as already a couple of the rival clubs had been sniffing around the school, trying to lure this boy wonder to their side. Like most young men, Scott had always dreamed of playing for his local side, but, like most young men, it could only take a higher figure from one of the other teams to change his mind, and his loyalties. But as it stood, the local club had a generous offer, and everybody was fairly confident that that Saturday night would be spent celebrating City’s newest signing, as well as the retention of the regional school’s cup for the third year running.
After training on Friday, which had gone pretty well for all concerned, before the boys all got showered, the coach came in, sat them all down, and gave a small, heartfelt speech.
‘Boys, tomorrow is a big day for us all. If we win this match, we’ve won the whole league once more, for a record breaking third consecutive year, and proved that we really are the best team in the whole district. I know a lot of you have been getting the notion that Scott is the only reason why we’ve come this far, and once he’s left after tomorrow we’ll be back down to the bottom, but I can tell you, and I know that Scott agrees with me on this, that there is no way he could have ‘carried’ the team this far alone, that each and every single one of you is responsible for us getting this far and when we win tomorrow you will all have a reason to feel proud.
Of course, that said, the game will bring us all another reason to celebrate; by this time tomorrow our Scotty will be a fully fledged member of the City junior squad, a ,massive achievement for anyone and a testament to all the hard work he has put in to training, and of course his natural talent.
Now, I want you all to go home and get a good night’s rest, think positive thoughts, dream football, dream winning football, and be here fresh and ready to kick some St. Martin’s arse in the morning!!
Give yourselves a big cheer;
Hip-Hip!
Hip-Hip!
Now get out of here!’
The following morning Scott woke up t 7.30 like every other day, showered, shitted, ate a bowl of muesli, banana and yogurt, drank a litre of orange juice, and the coach was there to drive him to the school stadium.
‘How are you feeling son?’ asked coach Daplyn.
‘Good thanks coach,’ replied Scott. ‘Slightly restless night, y’know, nerves n that, but I’m feelin fit an confident’
‘Good lad. We’re gonna need you out there today, those St. Martin’s lot have just been getting better and better, and they’re wising up to you now too, expect a lot of cover on and off the ball’
‘It’ll be fine coach. If Smithy and Farrell can keep up wiv us we can beat em. Farrell’s crosses ave been getting much better, an I know I can out-jump any of them defenders. If he can get it in to me, I can get it in the back of the net’
‘Good boy. And don’t think about the scout, he’s just there to watch you play, nothing else’
‘Right you are, coach’
As they pulled in to the stadium car-park the whole thing hit Scott somewhat, and he got a wave of nervousness. The entire rest of his life depended on this very game. The coach must have picked up on it, as he said
‘Remember son, you’re here to play the regional-school finals, nothing else. Don’t think about the scout, he’s just here to watch you play’
None of the other players were there yet, as usual, so Scott set out to do a few laps of the pitch to start getting warmed up. After 3 laps most of the other boys were there, and it was up to old Jones, the school caretaker-cum-team coach to get them all star jumping, toe-touching lap-running and all other manner of warming-up activities. As they were doing this the St. Martin’s bus pulled up in the car-park, the boys filed out and started doing pretty much the same stuff as Scott and his team.
After not too long the stands started to fill up with spectators from both schools, the St. Martin’s supporters on one side and the Lord Williams’s supporters on the other. Scott could see his parents and little sister, and his girlfriend and her friend all sat together on the front row. And 3 seats down from them, the scout. How was he supposed to ignore him now?
The anticipation in the stadium was palpable; with all the blue flags on one side, red and whites on the other, early tentative chants being sung, the team line-ups being read out over the tannoy. When it got to Scott huge cheer went out across the whole North stand, something he had got used to but still tried to ignore, so as not to get carried away and over-confident in his own abilities. It always reminded him of the City matches in a way, each week the same group of people come together with a single mind, putting the team up on a pedestal and pinning all of their hopes on eleven individuals, singing simple tunes with easy-to remember words, forgetting the rest of their lives and problems for 2 hours of worship. In a funny way it reminded him of his childhood trips to church with his grandmother.
Coach Daplyn called the team into the changing rooms for the pre-match pep-talk.
‘This is it boys. The moment we’ve all been working towards all year. I know you’re the best, you know you’re the best. Now all you have to do is go out there and show the world you’re the best!’
At this a cheer went up in the changing rooms.
‘We need to be hard, fast, and accurate. Keep the ball moving, keep yourselves moving, create space and then occupy it. Keep the ball going forwards, keep it out of our half. We’re not going to let those pansy St. Martin’s lot show us up, we can beat them and we will beat them!’
Another cheer.
‘Remember, this is our cup! We’ve had it at this school for the last 2 years and we let those red and white toffs take it away!’
Yet another cheer.
‘Come on then lads, huddle up. This your day in the spotlight, now go out there and shine! One, Two, three’
‘Bill’s is Best, Bill’s is Best, BILL’S IS BEST’ in unison.
The team filed out down the tunnel from the changing room to the pitch. As they were passing under the final arch nobody noticed the commotion above their heads, as a scuffle over seats was breaking out between a couple of large, face-painted drunken men.
Scott was quite near the back of the line, as usual. The coach liked to build up the tension for the crowd a bit this way. As he was reaching the end of the tunnel the overhead fight was climaxing, with the fatter of the two blokes looking like he was losing. Just as Scott reached the daylight the fat bloke toppled, grappled around for anything to save himself from falling, failed, and he went over the edge of the railing. It wasn’t far down to the ground, far enough for the crowd to gasp, then simultaneously draw a breath, the effect of which was so loud that it caused Scott to look up. It wasn't far for the bloke to fall, in fact it gave Scott just enough time to shout
‘SHIT’
before he broke the fall of a drunken, over-weight football fan.
Hysteria broke loose in the stadium like a tsunami. Girls and ladies were screaming. Men and boys were staring, open mouthed, muttering under their breath. The players from both teams just stopped and stared. Coach Daplyn wet his pants a little bit.
The fat bloke just lay there, on top of a crumpled soft something that had broken his fall. Whatever it was, it had sounded weird when he landed on it, like a sack filled with kindling wood and oranges. As he put his hand down to push himself to his feet he felt something wet, warm and a bit sticky his palm. By this time a couple of the players had gotten over the shock and were rushing to see what had happened, what they could do. If anything. Coach Daplyn ignored the darkening patch on the front of his jogging trousers and ran to help them lift the fat oaf off his star player, his surrogate son.
This was his final year at the school, and everyone expected, in fact everyone knew that he was going to get picked to join the junior side of the local premiership team, then onwards and upwards to the 5-figures-a-week salary and public adoration that professional footballers are used to in this day and age. It all just depended on the formality of the scout coming to watch him play one more time with his school, which was happening the coming Saturday, which also happened to be the school-regional finals, and then the contract would appear and everyone would be happy, Scott the most. The scout had already watched him play in 2 matches and had been notably impressed with what he saw, reported back to the club manager and been given the contract to bring down to this match, and if Scott maintained the standard he had displayed previously he was to snap him up straight away, as already a couple of the rival clubs had been sniffing around the school, trying to lure this boy wonder to their side. Like most young men, Scott had always dreamed of playing for his local side, but, like most young men, it could only take a higher figure from one of the other teams to change his mind, and his loyalties. But as it stood, the local club had a generous offer, and everybody was fairly confident that that Saturday night would be spent celebrating City’s newest signing, as well as the retention of the regional school’s cup for the third year running.
After training on Friday, which had gone pretty well for all concerned, before the boys all got showered, the coach came in, sat them all down, and gave a small, heartfelt speech.
‘Boys, tomorrow is a big day for us all. If we win this match, we’ve won the whole league once more, for a record breaking third consecutive year, and proved that we really are the best team in the whole district. I know a lot of you have been getting the notion that Scott is the only reason why we’ve come this far, and once he’s left after tomorrow we’ll be back down to the bottom, but I can tell you, and I know that Scott agrees with me on this, that there is no way he could have ‘carried’ the team this far alone, that each and every single one of you is responsible for us getting this far and when we win tomorrow you will all have a reason to feel proud.
Of course, that said, the game will bring us all another reason to celebrate; by this time tomorrow our Scotty will be a fully fledged member of the City junior squad, a ,massive achievement for anyone and a testament to all the hard work he has put in to training, and of course his natural talent.
Now, I want you all to go home and get a good night’s rest, think positive thoughts, dream football, dream winning football, and be here fresh and ready to kick some St. Martin’s arse in the morning!!
Give yourselves a big cheer;
Hip-Hip!
Hip-Hip!
Now get out of here!’
The following morning Scott woke up t 7.30 like every other day, showered, shitted, ate a bowl of muesli, banana and yogurt, drank a litre of orange juice, and the coach was there to drive him to the school stadium.
‘How are you feeling son?’ asked coach Daplyn.
‘Good thanks coach,’ replied Scott. ‘Slightly restless night, y’know, nerves n that, but I’m feelin fit an confident’
‘Good lad. We’re gonna need you out there today, those St. Martin’s lot have just been getting better and better, and they’re wising up to you now too, expect a lot of cover on and off the ball’
‘It’ll be fine coach. If Smithy and Farrell can keep up wiv us we can beat em. Farrell’s crosses ave been getting much better, an I know I can out-jump any of them defenders. If he can get it in to me, I can get it in the back of the net’
‘Good boy. And don’t think about the scout, he’s just there to watch you play, nothing else’
‘Right you are, coach’
As they pulled in to the stadium car-park the whole thing hit Scott somewhat, and he got a wave of nervousness. The entire rest of his life depended on this very game. The coach must have picked up on it, as he said
‘Remember son, you’re here to play the regional-school finals, nothing else. Don’t think about the scout, he’s just here to watch you play’
None of the other players were there yet, as usual, so Scott set out to do a few laps of the pitch to start getting warmed up. After 3 laps most of the other boys were there, and it was up to old Jones, the school caretaker-cum-team coach to get them all star jumping, toe-touching lap-running and all other manner of warming-up activities. As they were doing this the St. Martin’s bus pulled up in the car-park, the boys filed out and started doing pretty much the same stuff as Scott and his team.
After not too long the stands started to fill up with spectators from both schools, the St. Martin’s supporters on one side and the Lord Williams’s supporters on the other. Scott could see his parents and little sister, and his girlfriend and her friend all sat together on the front row. And 3 seats down from them, the scout. How was he supposed to ignore him now?
The anticipation in the stadium was palpable; with all the blue flags on one side, red and whites on the other, early tentative chants being sung, the team line-ups being read out over the tannoy. When it got to Scott huge cheer went out across the whole North stand, something he had got used to but still tried to ignore, so as not to get carried away and over-confident in his own abilities. It always reminded him of the City matches in a way, each week the same group of people come together with a single mind, putting the team up on a pedestal and pinning all of their hopes on eleven individuals, singing simple tunes with easy-to remember words, forgetting the rest of their lives and problems for 2 hours of worship. In a funny way it reminded him of his childhood trips to church with his grandmother.
Coach Daplyn called the team into the changing rooms for the pre-match pep-talk.
‘This is it boys. The moment we’ve all been working towards all year. I know you’re the best, you know you’re the best. Now all you have to do is go out there and show the world you’re the best!’
At this a cheer went up in the changing rooms.
‘We need to be hard, fast, and accurate. Keep the ball moving, keep yourselves moving, create space and then occupy it. Keep the ball going forwards, keep it out of our half. We’re not going to let those pansy St. Martin’s lot show us up, we can beat them and we will beat them!’
Another cheer.
‘Remember, this is our cup! We’ve had it at this school for the last 2 years and we let those red and white toffs take it away!’
Yet another cheer.
‘Come on then lads, huddle up. This your day in the spotlight, now go out there and shine! One, Two, three’
‘Bill’s is Best, Bill’s is Best, BILL’S IS BEST’ in unison.
The team filed out down the tunnel from the changing room to the pitch. As they were passing under the final arch nobody noticed the commotion above their heads, as a scuffle over seats was breaking out between a couple of large, face-painted drunken men.
Scott was quite near the back of the line, as usual. The coach liked to build up the tension for the crowd a bit this way. As he was reaching the end of the tunnel the overhead fight was climaxing, with the fatter of the two blokes looking like he was losing. Just as Scott reached the daylight the fat bloke toppled, grappled around for anything to save himself from falling, failed, and he went over the edge of the railing. It wasn’t far down to the ground, far enough for the crowd to gasp, then simultaneously draw a breath, the effect of which was so loud that it caused Scott to look up. It wasn't far for the bloke to fall, in fact it gave Scott just enough time to shout
‘SHIT’
before he broke the fall of a drunken, over-weight football fan.
Hysteria broke loose in the stadium like a tsunami. Girls and ladies were screaming. Men and boys were staring, open mouthed, muttering under their breath. The players from both teams just stopped and stared. Coach Daplyn wet his pants a little bit.
The fat bloke just lay there, on top of a crumpled soft something that had broken his fall. Whatever it was, it had sounded weird when he landed on it, like a sack filled with kindling wood and oranges. As he put his hand down to push himself to his feet he felt something wet, warm and a bit sticky his palm. By this time a couple of the players had gotten over the shock and were rushing to see what had happened, what they could do. If anything. Coach Daplyn ignored the darkening patch on the front of his jogging trousers and ran to help them lift the fat oaf off his star player, his surrogate son.
SAYWOTYOOSEE
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