A Cockney Boy, by Danny Kemp


A Cockney Boy

I’m thankful I’m a London boy, that’s where I was born, bred and raised.

I’ll stay a London boy until the end of my days.

I don’t want to change a thing, I’m proud of what I am.

I would hate to live a life where all is just a sham.

I had a good education, as I went to a very good school.

I can speak in an upper-class voice, but speech is only a tool.

I look on life in a cheerful way, always trying to smile.

But lately, I have to say, I can only hold that pose for a while!

Now, too many people are pedestrian, with scarcely a thought of their own.

Instead of what’s on their shoulders, there should be a hollow stone.

Platitudes don’t sit well with me, they’re meaningless and banal.

I prefer people with an imaginative mind, who are insightful and have their own style.

London is an ever-changing city, with an ever-changing face.

It can be a challenging scene, if you don’t know your way around the place

Foreign languages are spoken everywhere, unnecessarily rude sometimes it seems to me.

Because I’m just plain speaking man. I’m a cockney boy you see!

© 2014, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved.


About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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