I look at you sleeping

I look at you sleeping

I look at you sleeping; your lovely face;

Your lips, your eyelids, your cheeks and your brow,

And I want to kiss every single place;

Awake as I am at this early hour.

But I know if do you’ll be angry;

Who am I to disturb your peaceful sleep?

My darling; you mean everything to me,

But I know sleep’s bliss and love would be cheap

If I, on a whim, wake you selfishly,

So I turn away, stare at the ceiling,

Consider all the years I’ve shared with you

And conclude: we both share the same feeling;

And that feeling is: I love you so much;

But you’re asleep, so I look, but don’t touch.

Luck of the draw

Luck of the draw (The melting pot)

If all stories were put into a pot

And, as in a raffle, we each picked one,

Then yours is a truly sinister plot;

Full of ambition; of empathy; none.

No compassionate message; no insight;

No conclusion but the sum of all fears;

Humanity in you has taken flight

And left you standing in front of your peers.

Peers! With what group do you identify?

Your policy is simply biding time;

And your politics are a great big lie

That people believe as I write this rhyme.

The truth is; you’ve really nothing to say,

Yet millions heed as you blabber away.

Fifteen hundred piece jigsaw

Fifteen hundred piece jigsaw (in memory of Ivan Cocker)

A jigsaw put away, uncompleted,

A small bare table, a missing wheel chair,

A flat screen TV, old people seated;

I asked and they told me why you weren’t there.

I went to your room, and I stood outside;

Saw an “Oxygen” sign on the closed door;

The last time I came, it was open wide,

And we talked about the Second World War,

Then I said I’d help complete the jigsaw

Of New York’s skyline, and we both agreed;

Whilst it was a challenge, almost a chore;

The last piece would be rewarding indeed.

Now the rooms vacant, I’m missing your face,

And Welshwood Manor feels less of a place. 

Idle I

Idle I

Sometimes, I feel that life’s barely begun,

And yet, as I sit idly pondering;

Considering things that I haven’t done,

And the precious time that I’m squandering;

In my mind’s eye, Charlotte Bronte I see,

Marilyn Monroe, William Shakespeare,

Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Elvis Presley;

None of whom reached old age; some nowhere near.

George Orwell died when he was forty six;

Forty birthdays were all John Lennon knew;

Only twenty seven; Jimi Hendrix;

Keith Moon and Brian Epstein; a mere thirty two.

Older than them all; with much to achieve,

I procrastinate, as I live and breathe. 

Tory boy

Tory boy

He’s a fart in a lift

A fly in the ointment

A joker in the pack

A dreadful appointment

A fox in the shed

A plague’s dispatch

A stone through your window

A blot on your patch

He’s a spanner in the works

A racist profanity

A crack in the mirror

A lord of vanity

He breaks down doors

Takes vision from sight

He’s a fool’s dream

He’s a sleepless night

He’s a capitalist

A cruel activist

A scourge of the poor

A faux pacifist

A skull breaking hammer

A nurturer of lies

He’s a false promise

An imp in disguise

He’s a scheming warlock

He’ll twist your view

His myths appear facts

You’ll doubt things you knew

He’ll prick your dark nature

Brand squalor as joy

He’s not on your side

He’s a Tory boy

Rose tinted lenses

Rose tinted lenses

If life to you now seems worse than before,

You’re seeing through childish nostalgic eyes;

Maybe, during childhood, you never saw

Things hidden by those with loving disguise.

In much the same way, as you do with yours,

(And if you don’t, you should be corrected),

They too kept troubles and fears behind doors,

And your innocence was hence protected.

How easy it is for young girls and boys;

Perceiving things without comprehending

(Distracted perhaps with games or new toys)

Anything beyond a happy ending;

Children will mostly choose sweet over sour;

Life then, was no better, or worse than now.

Brand new blue passport

Brand new blue passport

I’ve got a brand new blue passport;
Police and fire stations are closing down;

Burglars burgle without getting caught.

Nurses' pay rises amount to nought;

One doctor’s surgery left in town.

I’ve got a brand new blue passport.

Nine years of cuts, yet those at fault

Still point the finger at Gordon Brown.

Burglars burgle without getting caught.

To foodbanks millions now resort;

In oceans of debt, our fellows drown.

I’ve got a brand new blue passport.

Misery’s met with a witty retort,

Voiced by a tyrant, acting the clown.

Burglars burgle without getting caught.

Children in poverty, parents distraught;

If MPs were royals, a beast wears a crown.

I’ve got a brand new blue passport;

Burglars burgle without getting caught.

Cold cadavers

Cold cadavers

Cold cadavers we’re bound to be;

Life will end and you’ll breathe no more;

Death for us all is a certainty.

I ponder the end unwittingly;

It sometimes terrifies me for sure;

Cold cadavers we’re bound to be.

In the shadow of mortality,

I rarely acknowledge what’s in store;

Death for us all is a certainty.

I saw a man die suddenly;

He was laughing mere seconds before;

Cold cadavers we’re bound to be.

Life seems a pointless futility;  

We eat, drink and shit, but what’s it all for?

Death for us all is a certainty.

We each of us face eternity;

If death came now, I’d clutch at a straw;

Cold cadavers we’re bound to be;

Death for us all is a certainty. 

The man in the street

The man in the street

A missile killed the man in the street;

In the blink of an eye he was blown away;

It fell to the ground in front of his feet.

A Tomahawk fired from a faraway fleet,

Ended the life of a parent today;

A missile killed the man in the street.

A father, with brothers and friends to meet,

A worker, going to the mosque to pray;

It fell to the ground in front of his feet.

Bringing destruction in a heartbeat;

A flash of bewilderment and dismay;

A missile killed the man in the street.

Exploding with unbearable heat;

Landing near to where children play;

It fell to the ground in front of his feet.

Deemed not fit for a president’s tweet;

His widow and children have no say.

A missile killed the man in the street;

It fell to the ground in front of his feet.

Presidential visit

Presidential visit

As Conservatives attempt to forge plans

With Trump in view of material things,

Street cleaners sweep needles, bottles and cans,

Busking beggars are relieved of their strings,

Emergency staff from the NHS,

Consider a job in Australia,

A young fascist gives a public address,

On milkshakes and socialist failure,

An orange balloon’s floating in the sky,

As the president of the USA,

Looks Her Majesty direct in the eye,

And she alone hears what he has to say.

Children with flowers are ushered away;

There’ll be no climate protesting today.

The Conservatives are out in the street,

Ignoring the mocking protester’s jeers;

They’ve far more important people to meet:

Presidential flunkies, royals and peers.

The orange balloon is high overhead;

An Australia-bound plane, higher still;

The fascist has gone, and there, in his stead,

Is a socialist, with a happy-meal.

The president, and queen, with her dragoon,

Are joined by the grovelling entourage;

They glance as one at the orange balloon

Then off to the palace banquet they charge;

Where apparently, an NHS deal

Is chewed and swallowed, in want of a seal.

The president’s visit went very well;

So said the following day’s front pages;

Those with a different story to tell,

Were deemed loony left, snowflake outrages;

As indeed was the orange balloon too;

“Fake news!” said the president, and as such,

Everyone agreed, except for a few

Protesters, reputedly, out of touch.

As for me; I was nowhere to be seen;

What’s been recited came out of my head;

But I imagine, if I was the Queen,

Giving reply to whatever Trump said,

My cutting remark to Donald would be……

…………………………………………………………..???

I’d rather keep that, between him and me.

Let's move away

Let’s move away

This town’s a dump, let’s move away;

There must be more to life than this;

It’s time for a change; what do you say?

I’m tired of keeping the wolves at bay;

Retirement at sixty five would be bliss;

This town’s a dump, let’s move away.

There’s nothing left; no reason to stay;

The governing party’s being remiss,

It’s time for a change, what do you say?

Life passes by; there’ll be no replay;

Why wait here for mortality’s kiss?

This towns’ a dump let’s move away.

I want to leave now without delay;

The cuts and closures are taking the piss,

It’s time for a change, what do you say?

Future prospects are dismal and grey;

A life of struggle before the abyss;

This town’s a dump, let’s move away;

It’s time for a change; what do you say?