Mark is a Barnsley born comedian, vocalist poet and songwriter. He has been a number of bands over the years, most recently Mark Jackson’s Criminal Waste of Talent (or CWOT as it is affectionately known). He has written for and appeared on stage and screen, and has previously published selections from his diaries.
A lifelong Barnsley FC fan. Mark also enjoys games of snooker at his local WMC (he is admittedly rubbish) and games of Cribbage on line against a computer opponent called Bill.
Poems
Theres Always a Queue at Greggs To Those In My Pockets A Different Sort of Yorkshire Lad The Night the Titanic Went Down 2020
Theres Always a Queue at Greggs
As another major High Street store. For the very last time closes it’s door. And a place where time and money was spent. Is now up for sale or rent. The loyal staff who have worked there years. Now fight to hold back the tears. While another shops on its last legs. There’s always a queue at Greggs. The family butcher and local baker. Go the way of the long gone candle stick maker. And on windows in white it said closing down. Are now covered in ugly boards of brown. As the bankers bonus falls in their laps. And leaves the rest of us fighting for the scraps. Small business man steals, borrows or begs. There’s always a queue at Greggs. And for the last time the landlord shouts "Time Gentlemen please". And to the brewery he hands back the keys. As another pub goes to the wall. Ripping out a communities soul. Because high rent and a smoking ban. And much cheaper beer from a supermarket can. Means the landlord is pulling the very last dregs. There's always a queue at Greggs. <<<
To Those
To those in Barnsley A and E who kindly booked me in. While others hurled drunken abuse that bounced off your thick skin. To those who acted quickly when it was clear I was in danger. And treated me like their own loved one and not a total stranger. To the ambulance staff who drove me and helped to keep me calm. And made sure I was safe and sound and came to no more harm. To those waiting at Sheffied now well aware of my plight. Who took over my welfare for the next 13 nights. To those who worked to save my life with their specialist skills. With scans and drips and injections and all the required pills. To those who gently comforted me and soothed my aching head. And told me not to worry as I felt shame when I wet the bed. To those who after I lay for 4 days were there to help me stand. And as I took my first few steps you gently held my hand. To those who when I was out of danger accepted me on their ward. And monitored my progress and kept me well informed. To all those and many more who looked after me everyday. I am forever in your debt, a debt I can't re-pay. Because to each and everyone of you, I owe you my life. Which meant that my family and my friends got me back home alive. Dedicated to the NHS. Particularly Barnsley A&E and Sheffield Hallamshire hospital, who saved my life when I nearly died. <<<
In My Pockets
In my pockets when I was a boy. I'd carry with me a little toy. Like a dinky car or a toy soldier. Or an action man when I got a bit older. And if I was good, for a treat. My mum would let me have some sweets. Like palma violets and licorice laces. Or a sherbet dip that made you pull faces. In my pockets at secondary school. Trying to attract the girls and look real cool. But this was always doomed to failure. As in my pockets I carried an asthma inhaler. And at the end of the day at the school gates. You would meet up with all your mates. To buy football stickers from the shops. And try and get rid of all your swaps. In my pockets as a wild youth. With an attitude and something to prove. I'd left school and got a job. So in my pockets I now had a few bob. For the football matches and punk gigs A box of matches and a packet of cigs. Some juicy fruit and a plastic comb. Try and save enough change for the bus fare home. In my pockets as a young man. Trying to get by the best I can. This comes with responsibility. Like a mortgage, wife and new baby. You carry a passport for holidays overseas. And your very first set of car keys. And another set of keys for your new home. The cigs and matches had gone but sadly so had the comb. In my pockets has an older man. With a paid up mortgage and a pension plan. I've a card for getting money out of the wall. And a mobile phone so I'm always on call. Dog poo bags and a glasses case. And a mask if I need to cover my face. For a man now in his sixties. My pockets have held many memories. <<<
A Different Sort of Yorkshire Lad
I was born and bred in Barnsley. Which is in Yorkshire, Gods country. Into a working class community. We didn't have much but we were happy. My dad worked hard for the money. And my mam did the shopping on a Friday. But there was summat on her list that I didn't agree. I'm a Yorkshire lad, but I don't like tea. I would go and visit my old granny. And she would put the kettle on immediately. I'd sit down on her settee. She would bring me a chocolate bicky. Then the pot would come out in a woollen cosy. She asked if i like it strong or milky. I said "Gran I'm very sorry". I'm a Yorkshire lad but I don't like tea. YOU DON'T LIKE TEA, WHAT'S UP WI THEE? You'll bring shame on the family. Your grandad will turn in his grave in the cemetery. We will have to question your sexuality. But can you remember that advert on ITV? Where they would dress up a little chimpanzee. Mr Shifter, cooooeeeee. They were monkeys dressed up to try and sell tea. I got a job in a factory. Set on as the latest trainee. And at snap time we'd go to the local cafe. For a sausage sarnie or bacon buttie. The gaffer said "What's up lad, aren't you thirsty?" The brew in here is bloody lovely". I said "Sorry boss, you might think I'm barmy. I'm a Yorkshire lad but I don't like tea". I met a girl at a party. And we fell in love instantly. And one day I got down on one knee. And asked her to marry me. She said "Mark i love you dearly But we can't be together in matrimony. There is something we lack in compatability. I'm a Yorkshire lass and I love my tea". Now I don't mind a cup of coffee. Like a cappuccino or a latte. But Typhoo, Ringtons, or Tetley. I think I'd rather drink my own wee. And I know this might cause controversy. And I hope you treat me with sympathy. But here endeth the story. Of the Yorkshire lad who doesn't like tea. <<<
The Night the Titanic Went Down
On the 10th of April from Southampton bay. The Titanic set sail for theUSA. It was the world's largest ocean liner. Not a soul had seen one finer. It held over 2000 passengers and crew. Many looking for a fresh life in pastures new. The A deck was the ultimate in luxury. Strictly for the privileged and wealthy. Most other passengers were in decks B to G. The majority of whom would perish at sea. As the ship sailed in waters still and calm. There seemed to be no cause for alarm. But on the 14th April just before midnight. The lookout Frederick Fleet say a terrifying sight. "Iceberg" he shouted to the first mate. They tried to steer round it, but left it too late. Then the ship hit the iceberg on its starboard side. Making a hole over 300 feet wide. At first there seemed little need to panic. Because nothing on Earth could sink the Titanic. But as it filled with water, what before was unthinkable. The Titanic was indeed sinkable. Captain Smith asked for lifeboats to be dispersed. With the call of 'women and children first'. But there weren't enough lifeboats, to save on cost. Which meant that many more lives were lost. The ship then tipped up, the bow snapped. Leaving hundreds of doomed passengers trapped. As the stricken vessel began to descend. It was rumoured the band played on to the end. Over 1500 men, women and children would drown. On the night the Titanic went down. Dedicated to all who lost their lives. 15.04.1912. <<<
2020
It started like any other year. Celebrating in the pub over a beer. It was old year out and new year in. We just wondered what Brexit would bring. But in China at a place called Wuhan. A virus came unknown to man. What was it about? What did it mean? But we would soon be aware of Covid19. Then it came to Europe, in Spain, Italy and France. Would it come to Britain? Boris said "No chance". Because we are an island, there's no need to worry. But they soon changed their mind in a hurry. Then we were all given a warning. Telling us that we had to stay in. Many of us were asking why. It became apparant when people started to die. And in every city and every town. The country went into lockdown. We were told from the very start. We had to stay 2 metres apart. Wash your hands, cover your face. Keep a distance, create space. The vulnerable were told to self isolate. But sadly for many it came too late. They closed the shops, restaurants and pubs. Gyms, churches, theatres and clubs. And all the kids were told to stay put. As the schools and universities shut. People lost their jobs or were furloughed. And we had to cancel our holidays abroad. Members of families were kept apart. We missed them so much and it broke our hearts. How we looked we didn't care. As we cut or grew our own hair. To keep in touch we would join a chat room. As we learn't how to use WhatsApp and Zoom. And through all this we were truly blessed. By the wonderful work of the N.H.S. And we would stand at our gate and applaud them. On a thursday night at 8pm. The summer came, the infection rate dropped. So they re-opened the pubs and the shops. With others you could start to mix. As long as you followed the rule of six. Schools and uni's went back for the year. Which was probably not a good idea. The restrictions had been lifted but at what cost? Because many more lives were lost. The winter came and the infection rate rose. So the shops and the pubs closed. And we were put into different tiers. But what that meant wasn't clear. We got ourselves into a muddle. Who was allowed in our social bubble. Many were still on their own. And had to spend Christmas alone. So 2020 has thankfully gone. And there might be good news for everyone. Because they have started to vaccinate. But sadly for many it came too late. So it's old year out and new year in. And we still wonder what Brexit will bring. But until the day that all this ends. Please keep safe and well my friends. Written on January 1st 2021 <<<
Fantastic poetry from Mark Jackson, though it leaves me flummoxed to read that he is from Yorkshire and doesn't like tea