20/7/69

20/7/69

July twentieth, nineteen sixty nine;

In Essex, a boy, nearly eight years old,

Wearing a pair of shoes of Clarks design,

Sat watching the first moon-landing unfold.

As he gazed at the moon’s surface he saw,

It actually matched the soles of his shoes,

And as Armstrong’s foot came down on that floor,

He pictured himself making headline news;

A man in a spacesuit jumping around

Sending greetings to Earth from outer space;

A hero, (shortly to be homeward bound),

With a glass bowl around his cheerful face;

He was an astronaut, and in his mind,

He made his own giant leap for mankind.

Read the small print

Read the small print

Signing now would be a mistake;

Many a mug’s been done before;

Read the small print, for fucks sake.

This trepidation isn’t fake;

It’s a premonition of what’s in store;

Signing now would be a mistake.

Don’t be taken for a piece of cake,

By a glutton with his foot in the door;

Read the small print, for fucks sake.

Deals are not good things to make,

If being hasty makes you poor;

Signing now would be a mistake.

He’ll offer you his hand to shake,

But it’s a bad deal, that’s for sure;

Read the small print, for fucks sake.

Don’t put your name down; it’s opaque,

Take some time out, and then withdraw;

Signing now would be a mistake;

Read the small print, for fucks sake.

Ignore them all my darling

Ignore them all my darling

If you think that business moving overseas,

Is an indication of a country on its knees;

And those you voice concern to, answer with a sneer,

Ignore them all my darling, as reality draws near.

Sixty thousand EU workers

In our hospitals,

And vacancies aren’t filled, as that number vastly falls;

When Brexit-backers tell you, it’s only project fear,

Ignore them all my darling, as reality draws near.

The USA has promised, a so called great escape;

New deals on the table, with no EU red-tape,

Were you reassured, after Donald Trump’s address?

Will there be no option, to sell the NHS?

Before we’re through with Europe, there’ll be a deal they say,

But if it stays unsettled, we’re leaving come what may;

And if there's recession, and grave financial pain;

Apparently, it’s worth it if it makes us great again.

And if there are shortages, like many years before,

When rationing on food was imposed in times of war,

If more expensive tariffs cripple industry,

Is that a price worth paying, for being EU-free?

When, as we keep being told, sovereignty’s returned,

And EU legislation has effectively been burned,

Will there be a boon for every public service here?

Will being out of Europe put an end to project fear?

Did you hear Ann Widdecombe; that mad speech she gave,

When she likened Brexit to the freeing of a slave?

Did she speak for all of those, who don’t wish to remain?

If she did, we’re fucked, and the country’s gone insane.

Sixty thousand EU workers

In our hospitals,

And vacancies aren’t filled, as that number vastly falls;

When Brexit-backers tell you, it’s only project fear,

Ignore them all my darling, as reality draws near.

Scarred world

A scarred World

 

Animals and insects are in decline;

It’s not a good time to be a porcupine,

A lion, an orangutan, a colobus monkey,

An eagle or bumble bee.

Habitation disappearing everywhere;

If animals were people there would be despair;

Will there be a tiger, a gorilla,

Or a polar bear

When there’s nothing there?

 

Oh baby baby it’s a scarred world

(Fossil fuels and palm oil)

Deforestation; It ought to be a crime

(Pesticides in the soil)

Oh baby baby it’s a scarred world

(Plastic floating in the sea)

Oceans and corals are running out of time

(Polyester industry)

 

Schoolchildren protesting in the street,

Conservationists with politicians meet,

Climate change is devastating; it’s clearly

A global emergency

And then an orange man in the USA

Say’s that it was bound to happen anyway;

Business is guiltless, in spite of what

The bleeding hearts say;

It’s here to stay

 

Oh baby baby it’s a scarred world

(Children breathing poisoned air)

The floods and the forest fires are pretty vile

(Powerful people made aware)

Oh baby baby it’s a scarred world

(But even if they really care)

The toxic waste is an ever growing pile

(It’s getting now beyond repair)

 

Oh baby baby it’s a scarred world

(Climate change deniers now)

Trails of carbon are all we leave behind

(Walk the corridors of power)

Oh baby baby it’s a scarred world

(To big business they bow)

There’s always an option of choosing to be blind

(And make the world a cash-cow)

 

 

 

The Trump's prayer

                                                               The Trump’s prayer 

  

Our master which art in the White House

Donald be thy name

Our Kingdom come

Thy deals be done in Chequers

As they art in the White house

Purchase this day our NHS

And sell us insurances

Against any illnesses that come against us

And we will bow and grovel to your nation

Upon deliverance from Europe

For ours is thy Kingdom

Republican Tory

Forever and ever

American

Quill and ink

Quill and ink (Writer’s block)

If your drive to be creative

Won’t get past second gear

And your need to be inventive

Lacks a new idea

Turn off your word processer

And think about Shakespeare

All he had was his quill and ink

For his entire career

People say we'll never see

Another Stratford Bard

And To be or not to be

Many still regard

As Shakespeare’s magnum opus

His genius trump card

And all he had was his quill and ink

To go that extra yard

He wrote a piece on suicide

Along with the suggestion

That life’s not an easy ride

And death requires reflection

How many drafts rewritten 

Before he reached perfection

Did he get tired of his quill and ink?

That is indeed the question

You might spend a fruitless hour

Staring at a screen

Feeling it’s beyond your power

To write down what you mean

But if you feel despondent

Think how it must have been

For Shakespeare with his quill and ink

Struggling with a scene 

If your imagination

Feels like a dead end street

And writing bears relation

To a dead horse being beat

Think of Shakespeare striving

As you press delete

Putting down his quill and ink

And tearing up a sheet

If a phase of writer’s block

Is making you depressed

And you’re churning out a crock

And getting more obsessed

Not knowing when to quit things

You’ll never be your best

Even he with his quill and ink

Sometimes had to rest

If you want to be successful

And shine amongst your peers

But what you write looks dreadful

Compared against Shakespeare’s

Turn off your word processer

It can only end in tears

They’ve marvelled at his quill and ink

For the last four hundred years

But we all get frustrated

No doubt he struggled too

And he must have felt elated

The way most people do

When they finally achieve

Whatever goal’s in view

Even he with his quill and ink

Was human just like you

Cuckoo

Cuckoo

Coming to a town near you

Heading out to pastures new

City dwellers looking to

Find a place to cuckoo cuckoo

They found one quite recently

Just across the road to me

A den of vulnerability

Housing temporarily

Someone with a vein to feed

A twenty year old gone to seed

A sad looking boy indeed

Previously a child in need

They recruited him to be

A runner for their company

Operating endlessly

Where there’s no CCTV

In the street outside my door

Seems an easy place to score

Their antics the police ignore

Due to cuts response is poor

So they get away with it

We put up with all the shit

That goes with living opposite

A house of people desperate

Burglaries in broad day light

Not a police patrol in spite

Of dealers dealing in plain sight

Operating day and night

I try to keep an open view

I’ve made small talk with a few

Once I shared a word or two

With a young offender who

Sounded like a needy bloke

Hanging out for smack or coke

He wanted money for a smoke

I told him that I was broke

He told me he’d been inside

I felt paranoid he’d spied

Window s I’d left open wide

Locks to break an easy ride

Two days later he was dead

An overdose a neighbour said

Now a new ones’ in his stead

Another by addiction led

Coming to a town near you

Heading out to pastures new

City dwellers looking to

Find a place to cuckoo cuckoo

Don't make it true

Don’t make it true

Walking in the woods

I look at a tree

And In my mind

Myself I see

Hanging from a branch

In front of me

Strolling past a river

Or a stream

I as if I’m in a dream

See my body

Float face down

Having caused

Myself to drown

Inside a garage

I see a van

Inside the van

A sleeping man

The engine running

Constantly

The fumes

Slowly killing

Me

A hundred

Paracetamol

And

In my mind

I take them all

I see a pump

At a petrol station

And

In my imagination

I can feel

The hot sensation

Of dying

By self-immolation

I think of a tower

And a rushing sound

I hear as I head

Toward the ground

Freefalling

Deathward bound

More thoughts

Following behind

Manifesting

In my mind

And

In my mind

Each one I try

And

In my mind

Each time I die

And

In my mind

I have a view

Of your wish

To follow through

And

In my mind

I beg of you

Dear friend

Don’t make it true

Snakes

Open letter (Snakes)

On behalf of my country, I would like to apologise;

The people who you see before you now

Are really vipers in human disguise,

Each voted into positions of power

By those they fool and to whom they lie to.

But unfortunately, they are many

And their opponents are now but a few;

Brexit MPs being two a penny.

And as for the people who put them here,

Some of them are my friends and family;

I hope that one day, when things become clear,

They’ll see their mistake and vote differently.

Until then, these snakes with their backs to you,

Sadly represent their misguided view.

Killing Hitler

Killing Hitler

Seeing Hitler as a child newly born;

Knowing what he, as an adult would do;

Imagine that you were like Robert Thorn,

Who wanted to stop The Omen Part Two.

If you were willing to commit the act,

And, in his crib, baby Adolf you killed,

Would war be prevented before the fact?

Would world peace reign and aggression be stilled?

Ultimately, would goodness fare greater

If his death created a vacancy?

The chances are, another dictator

Would lead to a similar agency

And future generations still would say,

“Never again”, and repeat anyway.