Thursday, 29 November 2018

Cheeky chappy





Cheeky chappy

Tommy Robinson prejudice and fear
Generated angst on the internet
Converted to cash by those who revere

He went to prison now he’s in the clear
The show’s on the road the stage has been set  
Tommy Robinson prejudice and fear

Football hooligans chant the name and cheer
The love they feel for their favourite pet
Converted to cash by those who revere

Angry mobs are very easy to steer
Hatred for Islam is the safest bet
Tommy Robinson Prejudice and fear

Grooming gangs aren’t the only issue here
Contempt for others deemed to be a threat
Converted to cash by those who revere

Now UKIP have given him a career
Stephen Yaxley- Lennon’s not started yet
Tommy Robinson prejudice and fear
Converted to power by those who revere



Friday, 31 August 2018

Dead man walking



Dead man walking (Polperro, Cornwall 1995)

A summer holiday just begun
In a hurry
With his wife and son

A man pushing thirty on a steep hill
Had a caravan
And a week to kill

Hurrying up to the top of the track
His wife said
You’ll have a heart attack

He laughing at his wife’s remark
Came across
Something in the dark

On the ground in jeans and shirt
Blood trickling
Mingling with dirt

Sightless eyes gaze into space
Shock and fear
On the lifeless face

A body laid there a woman cried
The man saw it
And shivered inside

The woman cried out please help me
Beside herself
Who wouldn’t be?

She said they were just walking back
And he collapsed
A heart attack?

More people came one made a call
The police arrived
To the relief of all

One comforted the other tried
To resuscitate
As the woman cried

I’m sorry there’s nothing we can do
He said to her
Sadly that was true

One moment breathing then no more
She told them
He was fifty four

An ambulance took the body away
The man hurried back
To his holiday
                   
                         ***

Time passes fast and people forget
For many death’s
A long way off yet

As in the case of what’s been said
Of one in a hurry
Another found dead

The man in a hurry of course was me
In my mind’s eye
I presently see

A man pushing sixty on a steep hill
A youngster no more
Yet hurrying still





Monday, 20 August 2018

The Charming man



The charming man

“Please would you mind stepping on to this chair?”
Said the charming man with the charming hair,
In a charming voice, calm, soft and polite,                                          
With a charming smile; charming and bright.
The commoner stepped up onto the chair,
Stood underneath a noose hanging there,
The charming man said, “Put your head inside”,
And the commoner, charmed, gladly complied.
The charming man smiled, charmingly sighed,
Kicked at the chair and the commoner died.

“Please would you mind coming over here?”
Said the charming man; charming and clear,
With a charming manner; charming and fair,
With a charming face and a charming stare.
The commoner came to the edge of the tower,
Stood to attention, gave a quick bow
And the charming man said, “Listen carefully,
Get ready to jump on the count of three”.
The charming man counted and charmed as could be,
The commoner jumped to his death, eagerly.

“Please would you mind picking up this gun?”
Said the charming man, the charming one,
In the charming suit, charming bowtie
And charming top hat; what a charming guy!
The commoner picked up the weapon and said,
“Would you like me to point this gun at my head?”
And the charming man said, “My, how did you guess?
How clever you are, of course I do yes.
Now put your finger on the trigger and press”.
So he did, (and the servants cleaned up the mess).

“Please would you mind following me?”
Said the charming man ever so charmingly.
With the charming demeanour and charming bent
Of a perfectly charming upper class gent.
The commoners heard him and loved his style,
So they happily followed and after a while,
They came to a field of mud, barbed wire,
Dead soldiers, trenches, gas and gunfire.
The charming man left them in that quagmire,
To fight for his cause, and fulfil his desire.


Tuesday, 7 August 2018

Laika



Laika

Canine crew
Sputnik 2
November ‘57
Moscow stray
Fired away
Died and went to Heaven

Two
Five
Seven
Zero times
Her coffin circled Earth
The bastards
Evidently felt
A dog’s life
Has no worth

Monday, 16 July 2018

Murdoch conned the working class



Murdoch conned the working class

Murdoch conned the working class,
Did it very craftily,
Normalising tits and arse,
Changing viewpoints gradually.
Told them that their unions
Were to blame for all their woes.
Altered their opinions
Made the bosses their heroes.

Murdoch conned the working class
From his empire overseas.
Thatcher with a gifted pass
Sold off all their industries.
Largess from the big fat cats
Made things run without a hitch,
Buying shares and council flats
They believed that they were rich.

Murdoch conned the working class,                           
Steel works, ship yards, mines closed down.
Britain turned into a farce,
Unemployed in every town.
Union leaders stripped of power,
Discontent, north-south divide,
(London was a big cash cow
Long before the old witch died).

Murdoch conned the working class
And he does it still today.
Liars now are superstars,
Living safely far away.
Ruthless takers with no shame
Rob the pensions of us all,            
Immigration takes the blame;                         
Murdoch’s friends divide and rule.


Monday, 2 July 2018

The hardest punch


The hardest punch.

A father and a son,
Lived apart for years,
Shared no celebrations,
No joys no mutual fears.
Their relationship was broken,
And distance could not heal,
Nor the rift that was between them,
Could any miles repeal.

Resentment, disappointment,
Across the airwaves came,
Unspoken; still they clashed
And wrestled all the same.
A truce was never called for,
A point was never gained,
Only memories distorted
By bitterness’s stained.

Resentment of a tyrant,
Memories tinged with fear,
Was all the son could feel
For the man he’d once held dear.
Disappointment, disillusionment,
Aggravation and regret,
Felt the father for his son;
His expectations never met.

Then one day came tidings
Of the father to the son;
Announcing he was ill,
And his life was nearly done.
“Come home”, the message rang;
 “Time is running out”.
The tyrant, it transpired,
Had succumbed to cancer’s rout.

The son arranged a trip,
A plane ticket he acquired,
To where his father lived,
And where he himself was sired.
And in trepidation,
He sat beside the bed,
On which lay his father, whom
He knew would soon be dead.

The father, barely breathing,
Awoke and saw his son,
Contemplated all the fatherly
Things he’d never done,
Looked into his son’s eyes,
Smiled and gently sighed,
And felt a warmth inside him,
He’d previously denied.

A punch dealt from a death bed,
Is very hard indeed;
The recipient left scarred,
Will barely cease to bleed.
Hence with dreadful expectation,
On his father’s dying day,
The son in silence waited,
For what he had to say.

The punch came not as words
But via an inward stare;
The father’s gaze diverted
To the warmth residing there.
The son then knew with certainty,
He’d drawn his final breath;
He saw the look of anguish;
His acknowledgement of death.

To the bed from out of nowhere,
Doctors, nurses ran,
Drawing curtains ‘round it
To hide the dying man.
Continuously bleeping,
The sound of the machine,
Now getting ever faster,
Behind the curtained screen.

The curtain then pulled back;
The orphan looked inside,
And saw upon the face
Of his father, who’d just died;
Serenity and acceptance,
Saying peacefully and clear;
“Death’s a wonderful thing son,
It’s not a thing to fear”.

A father and a son estranged,
Lived apart for years,
Shared no celebrations,
No joys no mutual fears.
But the father gave a final gift,
The son could not deny,
He never taught him how to live,
Yet showed him how to die.












Tuesday, 15 May 2018

The angry gammons



The angry gammons

The angry gammons gandered
The gabbling gammon man
He gabbled and they gargled  
With gladness and élan
With gratuitous grandiosity 
He gave the gathered clan
The grandest and the greatest
Most glamorous golden plan

How greedily they grabbed
Every garishly garnished groat
How eagerly they heard
Every ghastly grumbling note
How gullibly they believed
The ignorant grating goat
They gladly gave him governance
How gleefully they gloat

The angry gammons cheered
As he gusted “Now we can
Guard against the Gauchos
With a Wall gargantuan
Give guns to all good Christians
Grotesque Muslims we will ban
Garrotte the girly snowflakes
Get ghastly with Iran”

The gabbling gammon man
Gazed at the gaping crowd
 And faux graciously he gabbed
In a voice grotesque and loud
“All the world’s a golf course
 And the gutless will be cowed”
And the gushing gammons gasped
Glazed glorious great and proud





Sunday, 29 April 2018

Righteous man


Righteous man

If I could follow God’s great plan,
And be a selfless righteous man,
Renouncing Satan’s tempting goal
To save my long corrupted soul,
I’d ride a camel through the eye
And fly to the highest of the high,
There to rest where God did sow
Gardens through which rivers flow.

If I could ignore all material things,
Resist the pull of the devil’s strings
And be immune to the lure of lust
And all things destined to be dust,
Would I be raised at the end of days,
For angels to God to sing my praise?
Would I be judged on sage advice
And handed the keys to Paradise?
                                                                                                                                      
It’s been written the sum of all fears
Is a day of fifty thousand years
And on that day the dead will rise
Disrobed and bereft of all disguise.
And finally, it will be understood,         
Deeds are weighted, bad against good.
What outweighs the other, God will tell,
Only he decides between Heaven
Or Hell.

I’ve not followed God’s great plan,
I’m far from being a righteous man,
Satan’s not real? God doesn’t exist?
This world’s for pleasure, why resist?
Am I just a fool? Who knows for sure?
Maybe deep down I aspire to be pure,
In lieu of the day I stare death in the face,
I’m keeping a store of things good
In case.







Thursday, 12 April 2018

Get ready for war



Get ready for war

Distorted opinions
Holding the floor
Get ready for war
The flag’s waving
Pretend lions roar
Get ready for war

Refugee children
Dead on the shore
Get ready for war
Black white brown
Rich man and poor
Get ready for war

Left right middle
Extremist bore
Get ready for war
Man in the street
Says what’s this for
Get ready for war

Scared atheists cry
The religious implore
Get ready for war
Peace activists gasp
Restrained by the law
Get ready for war

Youth middle aged
Ten and three score
Get ready for war
Babies pre- schools
Two three and four
Get ready for war

The finger of blame
Points to the door
Get ready for war
The blameless suffer
The angry ignore
Get ready for war

Woman with child
Exhausted and sore
Get ready for war
Push out a statistic
Scream till you’re raw
Get ready for war

The truth or the lie
Both matter no more
Get ready for war
Cos “it is what it is”
No cause to explore
Get ready for war

Who started all this?
You’ll never be sure
Get ready for war
Is this Armageddon?
Is that what’s in store?
Get ready for war

A sudden news flash
An outburst a furore
Get ready for war
Go figure out
What you just saw
Get ready for war