When was Britain great?

Cheers to Jonna for the second line. But mostly cheers to the guy who tried to force his Brexit opinions on me earlier today, thus turning my pen into a machine gun: fuck the sword.

UKIP logic part one:

When was Britain great?

Are you British are you proud

Is it in your D.N.A?

To sing “God save our gracious Queen”

And celebrate Saint George’s day?

“What’s wrong with that?” I hear you ask

But please don’t take it personally

I’ve got some questions of my own

And I was hoping you’d tell me

When was the last time Britain was great?

Was it back in eighty four?

When Thatcher took the miners on

And with their faces wiped the floor

And later sold our industries

Even the water that we drink

Our rail and our utilities

Everything but the kitchen sink?

When did Britannia rule the waves?

Was it in the seventies?

When Amin sent bananas in jest

To a land financially on its knees

The Pistols sang “God save the queen

No future no future no future for you”

And Jimmy Saville got away with rape

(Apparently Margaret Thatcher knew)

The nineteen sixties had great bands

The Beatles, The Kinks, The Stones, The Who

John Lennon sang “All you need is love”

And for a while it seemed

That at least was true

Would you rather remember rivers of blood?

Do you think Enoch had prophetic sight?

Have you read the speech

In great detail?

Do you tell it to your kids in bed at night?

Maybe Britain was great in world war two

The bulldog spirit can’t be denied

But didn’t Russia also play a part?

And what about the help

Roosevelt supplied?

And did the British people in Forty five

Really think it was Churchill who won the war?

If he was the greatest ever PM

What the fuck did he get voted out for?

Were things any better before that time

With poverty and debt never far away

Was the general strike of twenty six

A homage to the fairness of the British way?

I remember a story my nan used to tell:

Four older brother’s, lives barely begun

Diphtheria was rife, and whilst they slept

It paid them a visit, and killed each one

Was Britain great in the first world war

When countless youngsters lost their lives

Their sacrifices formalised in

letters sent to mothers and wives

And was it right and was it just

For fifteen year old boys to be

Put to death by firing squad

For running away from the enemy?

Was Britain great when the Titanic sank?

And the poor, being not much more than slaves

Watched as the lifeboats rowed away

As they froze to death in their icy graves

Throughout British history it seems to me

That greatness was something enjoyed by few

For everyone else life was dark and grim

Is that where you want to go back to?

Are you British are you proud

Is it in your D.N.A?

To sing “God save our gracious queen”

And celebrate Saint George’s day?

Is this, your land of hope and glory

A shining example to human kind?

You say you want to make it great again

But it never really was

Except for in your mind

Pissing blood

Pissing blood

Some people

Prefer to piss

With their eyes closed

Or with the lights out

Because after all

What they can’t see

Can’t hurt them

And though it’s often said

That happiness

And sadness

Are ephemeral illusions

And are like two sides

Of the same coin

Or two parallel lines

Sandwiching the truth

They are mostly happy

Not knowing

And they try not to think

About the thief

That comes in the night

To grab the unsuspecting

As they go on living

With their heads

Buried

In the sand

The blood runs dry

The blood runs dry

The doctrine of lust, ambition, greed

The never sated urge to feed

Disguised by those who will devour

And walk the corridors of power

The windows dressed with words they preach

There’s little substance in their speech

And yet the oratories prevail

The Times, The Express, The Daily Mail

The Sun beams down on the lowest soul

The worker shrugs and digs his hole

And never stops to wonder why

The vampires suck

The man bleeds dry

The nurse assists those lying sick

She’s all alone and must be quick

The labouring mother’s turned away

There’s no bed on the ward today

The ill-informed will name and shame

The need to hate, the need to blame

The single mother vilified

The poor and needy help denied

And those who are led still mesmerised

And those who are broken more despised

And the masses fight (that’s you and I)

The vampires suck

The woman bleeds dry

 

A policeman's death is a young man’s kicks

Been smoking dope since the age of “Six”

A beaten alcoholic dies

In a high street doorway where he lies

Failures borne of childhood fears

In competition with their peers

Search for food under dustbin lids

So it’s been said of hungry kids

Elected politicians say

“Austerity’s the only way”

A beggar ignored by passers by

The vampires suck

The child bleeds dry

An oil well burns a fracker drills

A missile’s fired a terrorist kills

A family crawling on its knees

Joins the ranks of refugees

The destitute in endless shifts

Cross seas in overcrowded skiffs

Their futures faced no doubt in fear

For many are not wanted here

Though none of them had ever planned

To be the scapegoats of this land

The powerful propagate the lie

The vampires suck

The world bleeds dry

 

The man next door

Part of the "Fruits of the Oak tree" series

The man next door

You know the man that lived next door

On whom contempt and

Scorn you'd pour

And sometimes acknowledge

But mostly ignore

Though outwardly he was a slave

He sought the best way

To behave

Searched his mind

And found a cave

Left all possessions on a shelf

And contemplated

With the self

The concept of poverty

And wealth

And in that meditative state

There was no pain no love

No hate

No joy no sorrow

To contemplate

There for a while he did remain

Till senses lured him

Back again

To the unreal world

Of pleasure and pain

Made contributions without pride

Rewards he for

Himself denied

And in that way

He lived then died

That man next door

You thought you knew

And categorised

With thoughts untrue

He saw the self  

Inside of you

Twelve days of xmas

Tis the season bla bla bla........

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me.......
....a jumper that didn't fit.
On the second day of Christmas my true love and me........
............had a row over it.
On the third day of Christmas my true love said to me........
...."why are you so miserable?"
On the forth day of Christmas my true love went for me......
...............with a kitchen stool.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love couldn't see........
...any reason to stay.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love packed her things
........and went away.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me......
......her wedding ring.
On the eight day of Christmas my true love gave to me..........
.....absolutely nothing.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love wrote to me.........
......asking for a divorce
On the tenth day of Christmas I sent her my reply...................
..........it said "of course"
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love came back........
.......but only to get some more things
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love isn't here.............

And the telephone never rings

Way to go

Based on a true story:

Way to go

Some guy on the news today
Paid half a million quid
For a personalised number plate
I swear that’s what he did
Half a million for a plate
That’s numbered twenty five zero
Way to go
Way to go
Way to go

And earlier on today
He'd bought another one as well
Over a hundred and thirty thousand
For the plate two fifty L
He said “I was determined”
It’s a “privilege” don’t you know
Way to go
Way to go
Way to go

Futureshock

Looking through my folder containing my old poems: Here's one I wrote around 1990. I think it's rather prophetic in its way.

Where did that building go?
You know the one I mean
It used to be a chip shop
Now it's nowhere to be seen
It just took off in the night
Disappeared to outer space
And a two-storey office block's
Been put there in it's place

And is it my imagination?
I really cannot say
If that car park standing opposite
Was there before today
It's so big and domineering
Cars are parked on every floor
And I wonder why I've never even noticed it before

Where did all the shops go?
You know the ones I mean
The Butchers and the Greengrocers
Are nowhere to be seen
And the Bakeries, the Market stalls,
The sweet shops, all have gone;
No Off-licence, no Tobacconist
There must be something wrong
The Cinema, The swimming pool
The cafe and the bar
The Bike shop and the Clothes shop
And the shop that sells guitars
And the record shop, The Furniture shop
All much to my dismay
Have packed their cases over-night
And simply moved away

Where did that precinct come from?
You know the one I mean
With its endless special offers
And its shops so new and clean
And that great big Supermarket
That wasn't there yesterday
And neither was that Jewelers
Or that Fast-food take-away

Strange new buildings everywhere
As if by magic they appear
And when I come back tomorrow I wonder,
Will they still be here?
Or will they, too, be replaced
By different buildings large and small
Knocked down without a trace
Like they were never there at all