25. Mick Pettinger
The Kid who cares from Cortonwood.
Mick is a South Yorkshire poet and musician who works in care and as a teaching assistant. His 2020 poetry collection “Just A Kid from Cortonwood” met with critical acclaim. He has also been involved in acting and film-making.
He enjoys chess, gaming, writing poetry and stories as well as movies, socialising and attending open mics.
Poems
Dear Steve
I'm sorry I wished you dead, the very night before you died. The day you died, I wished you'd not left. I wish l'd not said what l'd said. I miss you and it did something to mi head. I see mi future and there's no hope of love. You taught me that in the end everybody will always leave. A good lesson to learn early on; We all die. It's part of life. I miss watching TV with you on a night. Red Dwarf and Black Adder. In the morning I miss the laughs and the fights. Where's mi sparring partner now? I miss you so much that I beg for the day when I come in search of you. Remember the times when people left their car doors open? Expressly for me at five and you at seven to climb in and press all the buttons? Remember how Cindy took the ball around both of us before giving it back to mi Dad? Remember when I fell on mi arse at school? You and your mates lifting me in the air and taking me to the teachers like an ambulance made of kids shouting fucking "nee nor nee nor"!? I'm told there was an incident where I chased you with an axe. Seems I was already mental enough before you died. Holmesy had to play Leonardo when you left. He was the only one of your mates who knew I did miss you. He knew I was just pretending you never existed. I did that because I didn't know what to do. At the time I didn't know how to feel so l pretended not to feel. Mi Dad looked the same as before and I wanted to be like him. Strong. So l did what l'd done before. What I wanted. I had a laugh and pretended that things could still be fun. But they weren't fun and they're not now. Every night and every morning I find myself searching for somebody to share a laugh with. Somebody to rock around the house with. Did I do anything to make you proud of me? Did I prove myself as a worthy liver? Because sometimes I want to be where ever the fuck you are. Can't I just talk to you for five minutes? Can't I see what you would've become, and what you look like now? I have a memory that you were laid cold and lifeless in a coffin in the front room. I know you were cold because I touched your pale cheek and there was nothing there. You, my brother, had gone. I remember that you disappeared with a ceremony as I coloured in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles book. At the time I was expecting you to come back. Except you never came back. I feel angry that you left me, even though I know it's not your fault. I feel like you left me to the mercy of the cruel cunts at school who told me it was their Dad who ran you over or that they pushed you in to the road. I feel like if you'd not left, mi Mam and Dad might not have seen you every time they looked at me, reminding them that you're gone and all they've got left is me. Yours Painfully Mike <<<
My First Photograph
I'm sat next to our Steve. We're both looking dapper! Wi' our Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles cardigans on. We had Bros jeans around the same time. Cheers, mam! We loved our jumpers. and our jeans. But they aren't what mattered in that photo. Our Steve had the blue t-shirt on with the collar. And I had red. I may have dreamt it but I feel like we had an argument about why he got the blue shirt when I liked blue more than he did! And in that recollection I believe his argument was that he played Leonardo so he had to have blue and I always played Michelangelo so that's why I had red. Except, Raphael was red, so that wasn't a good argument! Anyway, that's not what mattered in that photo. I had big jam-jar glasses on and blonde hair like the Milkybar Kid! He had dark brown hair so they never sung that song to him. Advert said; "Milkybar Kid is strong and tough!" Well I wasn't. What mattered in that photo wa that nothing wa missing. We weren't inseparable, we fought all the time, but we could count on each other. There was always someone there for me. We were close. But not for long. When he went there became this huge void. A whole lot of something to fill. Time, company, laughter, mostly a proper wrestle or a good fight, someone to climb with. I find myself tryna fill my life. It doesn't work. I can't ever feel the same. A half of something supposed to be whole. In my first photograph, I wasn't alone. <<<
To Feel Loved
The shower stopped I dried mi face once But it's still wet I sing songs that drive the pain out of me or at least that's what I attempt. I've done this to me’sen. It's rained non stop for a week Yet today when I'm in need There's nothing to hide the feelings inside. Walking through a bustling town, eyes red and everyone knows, I'm not stoned. I don't care what people think of my face I need to get out o' these four walls Silent drops from distorted lids lashes buckle, but never a sound clenched jaw, driven walk I'm off to find the healers to feel loved again. <<<
Passage
A passage is a room between two spaces it takes you places and holds memories of mine. I remember as the sun dawned but shined, the look on their faces, as they gave me the news. That passage still serves to this day, as a space in time, a place where love happened and tears fell, tears which were dropped, dried or wiped. The place I was caught by mi mam, eating a full lemon meringue pie. Where I tried to steal from her purse but her poverty taught me a good lesson you shouldn’t pinch, and especially from people who have nowt! A front passage, not back! Although, the mud of life trampled through ere. Now it's where mi parents see us off on a warm summers day after a hearty Sunday dinner. The passage has seen our lows but now there are highs, this is what happens with a passage, in time. This entire passage, is about a passage, A passage that wa mine. <<<
Bitter
Do you think the kids are bitter, about what the Nazi's did to the Jews, many years ago? How could they be? Without telling them, they wouldn't even know. Do you think the kids are bitter, that there were scabs during the miners strikes, many years ago? How could they be? Without telling them, they wouldn't even know. "But we need to tell them what they did to us!" No, you don't. Do you think the kids are bitter about people on benefits? I bet you never speak of the bankers. Do you think the kids are bitter about people travelling from one country to another? The world is big enough for us all, but not in narrow, prejudiced minds. "But we own this land!" No, you don't. Do you think kids are bitter that someone lost the FA cup? Do you think the kids are bitter that someone is atheist or religious? "But we have to pass things down, it's tradition!" No, you don't. Do we want to see kids fight? Do we want to see kids die? for ancient traditions, for long held beliefs that we own this land, or for old grudges that should have died when those old battles did. Bitterness is passed down from parents. It doesn't have to be. <<<
Quantify
There's something within you that I like. As I try to quantify and summarise I realise it's more than your looks, your personality, your brain or your eyes. Something disguised in the complexities of human behavior. Something we so simply 'apply' a four letter word to. Something that would have me believe, I'm more than I am to keep you safe. This feeling that I could take on the world to see you smile again. No four letter words can describe this. No chunks of circular metal could symbolize this. No fantasy could be this real. If the world ends tomorrow, I had the best life <<<
A lot more than "Just a kid from Cortonwood" your a Poet with a strong voice. these poems may well be personal but they are also universal.
That I read every word means I greet a great story teller. .