Friday, 31 January 2020

NINBY


NINBY

House the homeless,
Feed the poor,
Open up
A foodbank store,
Shelters
For the hard core,
The injured
And the scarred.
Teenage kids
Who’ve run away,
Sons and daughters
Led astray,
Give them all
A place to stay,
But not in Nigel’s yard.

Not in Nigel’s back yard,
He don’t want your mess,
Find another dosshouse,
This is his address.
Take that
Sleeping bag away,
You’re permanently barred,
You can rummage
Rubbish bins,
But not in Nigel’s yard.

Flee the war,
Sail the seas,
Cross the barbed wire
Boundaries,
With a million
Families,
Tortured, drained
And starved.
Leave the spies,
The secret police,
The night terrors
That never cease,
There’s asylum,
Love and peace,
But not in Nigel’s yard.

Not in Nigel’s back yard,
He’s told you loud and clear,
This plot of land’s
A private band,
You’re not welcome here.
There’s sympathy
But there’s no tea,
Sorry if that’s hard,
You can be a refugee,
But not in Nigel’s yard.

Cultivate
A nature trail,
Help the birds
And bees prevail,
Breathe the air
No longer stale
With fossil
Fuels marred.
Harness power
From wind and sun,
Get the carbon
Down to none,
There’s a clean up
To be done,
But not in Nigel’s yard.

Not in Nigel’s back yard,
Take yourself away,
Greta doesn’t speak for him,
He needs a holiday.
While you've been
Slating cars and planes,
He's been on his guard,
Go on strike,
Hold up the trains,
But not in Nigel’s yard.

Not in Nigel’s back yard,
He’s got things to do,
He don’t want a wind farm
Ruining his view.
Your invasion
Of his space
Is held in low regard,
Make the world
A better place,
But not in Nigel’s yard.



Monday, 27 January 2020

Snowflake


Snowflake

I reached a stage
Of online rage
With a troll on
The Guardian’s homepage
And he called me a fake
A soy boy snake
A fruity cake
And a snowflake

He followed me
Became a pest
Sent me a friends’
Request in jest
And he called me a fake
A soy boy snake
A fruity cake
And a snowflake

He shot the breeze
Aimed to tease
With laughing emojis
If you please
And he called me a fake
A soy boy snake
A fruity cake
And a snowflake

I asked him what his
Problem was
He said he did it
Just because
And he called me a fake
A soy boy snake
A fruity cake
And a snowflake

I typed FUCK YOU
The screen went blank
The laptop died
My heart sank
And he typed I’M A FAKE
A SOY BOY SNAKE
A FRUITY CAKE
AND A SNOWFLAKE

He hacked my emails
My account
Blackmailed me
For a large amount
And he called me a fake
A soy boy snake
A fruity cake
And a snowflake

He lifted
My identity 
Now all my followers
Think it’s me
Saying
I’M A FAKE
A SOY BOY SNAKE
A FRUITY CAKE
AND A SNOWFLAKE

And if you’re reading this
The moral is
Beware of trolls
Who take the piss
I’M A FAKE
A SOY BOY SNAKE
A FRUITY CAKE
AND A SNOWFLAKE

He called me a fake
A soy boy snake
A fruity cake
And a snowflake
And I took the bait
That knocked me dead
When I should’ve ignored
And blocked instead

Friday, 24 January 2020

Shit and sugar


Shit and sugar

Back in August seventy one
In jumpers and beachwear
With a spade each
On a windy beach
Near Weston Super Mare
Me and my twin brother
Not far from mum’s deckchair
Filled and emptied pails of sand
For castles here and there

What we got to eat mum?
I asked her hungrily
As the wind blew
Seagulls flew
And salt came off the sea
Shit and sugar she replied
And laughing gleefully
We each took a sandwich  
And scoffed it eagerly

Dad took us to the pier
We went on every ride
Paid a call
To the mirrored hall
The helter skelter slide
The ghost train and the dodgems
And we nearly puked inside
The waltzers after eating
Ice cream and doughnuts fried

We walked along the seafront
With bags of soggy chips
As seagulls scrounged
Wasps buzzed around
Overflowing skips
I listened to the waves
Tasted sea salt on my lips
Felt the evening chill
Watched the lights of distant ships

We got back after dark
I dreamed that night in bed
Of a slice of ham
(Or was it spam?)
With thin cut buttered bread
I asked mum for a sandwich
And she in anger said
There’s only shit and sugar
So I ate that instead 

That morning in the chalet
I awoke in sorrow
Two weeks had passed
Much too fast
We’d be home tomorrow
Back in boring Chadwell Heath
And school too soon to follow
Leaving Brean Sands was to me
A bitter pill to swallow

We got home the next day
And eventually
That holiday
Far away
Was a distant memory
Of shit sugar buckets spades
Deckchairs by the sea
Rides slides doughnuts chips
My twin brother and me

And though it was a cloudy day
With wind and not much sun
Yet I still laugh
At the photograph
Of us two having fun
Or so at least it seems to me 
And when all’s said and done
We were a happy pair indeed
In August seventy one

Monday, 6 January 2020

Writer's block


Writer’s block

Meaningless nothingness
Lip service to uselessness
I can’t take it
Any further now
Like the man grey
In the Overlook’s employ
With nothing to say
All work and no play
Makes Jack a dull boy
But all play and no work
Makes me
A dole boy
Either way
My brain refuses
To employ
A single
Cell
Go to Hell
You fuckers
I admit defeat
I give up
I can’t compete.