In The Peaceful Moments Prior To Sleep

 

In The Peaceful Moments Prior To Sleep

 

In the peaceful moments prior to sleep

I hold you close as consciousness withdraws

And as embracing we each other keep

I long to join my loving soul with yours

And travel birdlike far across the sea

To paradise where suffering’s no more

As one both man and woman we would be

Androgynous like once we were before

And in that paradise the truth we’d know

And understand its mystery complete

Reluctantly away from there we’d go

And separate our souls that once did meet

To waken in forgetfulness of bliss

Yet still embracing you and I would kiss

Festive Memory

 

Festive memory

Christmas 2000, something or other;

The outlaws came over; stayed the whole day;

We exchanged presents with one another,

Eighties festive tunes droned, on repeat play;

I drank too many beers, before eating

A mound of turkey, sprouts and sausage meat,

After which, due to a lack of seating,

I slept on the floor, all through Corrie Street,

EastEnders, Shrek, or some other like guff;

Woke up, played bored games, felt jaded, deadbeat;

And when they’d finally all had enough;

I rolled a few joints, upon their retreat,

Then smoked and drank brandy, all the way through

To the bitter end of The Godfather 2.

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William The 2nd

 

William The 2^nd

 

Mr Shakespeare

From Warwickshire

Put down his quill

And quivered with cheer

 

Am I the first?

He asked of the nurse

She said no Will

This isn’t your verse

 

In spite of the fame

Attached to your name

The number one spot

Is not yours to claim

 

For no real reason

Margaret Keenan

Received the first shot

From Pfizer this season

 

William resigned

To second place lined

Ventured a glance    

At Dickie behind

 

And Dickie I heard

Once given the word 

Jumped at the chance  

To be Richard the 3^rd

Lake Of Blood

 

Lake Of Blood

 

Thoughts of animals, heading to slaughter,

Locked up in trucks in perpetual fear,

Enter my mind, like unbidden water;

Cows, sheep and pigs; all randomly appear;

I see them led to their deaths, every one;

Mere units on a meat production line,

And, upon reaching the slaughterer’s gun,

I hear every scream and terrified whine;

I feel their despair, each sentient being;

Their blood is a lake of tears in my mind,

Yet my eyes stay dry, in spite of seeing

This barbarism on animal-kind,

For if of that lake I released one drop,

I fear I wouldn’t be able to stop.

Atys

 

Atys

 

A philosophy school in Phrygia,

Once had a religious idea:

A god known as Atys,

(Some called him Adonis),

With origins not at all clear,

 

Was born, so the mysteries say,

In December, the 24^th day,

And he was pulled free,

From his mother, a tree;

For the gods, it’s said, turned her that way.

 

I’ve hardly perused, I confess;

Of his life I know little, or less,

If you wish to explore,  

Let a book tell you more,

It’s his death that I here now address.

 

Of accounts of his death there’re two;

The first says a boar gored him through,

In the other, he’s dead;

Self-emasculated,

(Yes indeed, what a strange thing to do).

 

The pine, beneath which he was found,

By Cybele, was pulled from the ground,

Tree and god, she then gave,

To the care of a cave,

But Atys to death wasn’t bound.  

 

For three months, his body lay well,

Decaying not, as when he fell,

Then upwards he rose,

Now Heaven he knows,

Where angels and righteous souls dwell.

 

On leaving, he gave to the tree,

His spirit’s immortality,

The tree, in his name,

Symbolic became,

And passed into our history.

 

And though this short tale may appear,

In clarity, wanting, I fear,

I hope you’ll agree,

Or at least partly see,

There's a Christmas tree link with Phrygia.

COVID Test

 

COVID Test.

 

Prior to an impending operation,

I was required to have a COVID swab;

I went to the drive-through testing station

And there was told by a nurse on the job;

“We’ve run out of kits, I’m sorry to say;

Too many people have taken the test;

We’ll have to test you a different way”.

Then, quite suddenly, a bare arse was pressed

Against my face, and a fart it let blow;

I sat, frozen in a state of surprise;

I didn’t have time to shut the window.

The fart filled the car, brought tears to my eyes,

The nurse said to me; “Can you smell that dear?”

I replied “Yes!”, and she gave the all clear.

Damaged

 

Damaged

 

I lie awake at night in dread

Of thoughts occurring in my head

The older I get the more I find

My thoughts are damaging my mind

 

I on occasion wake from sleep

And nightmares still about me creep

They linger with malicious spite

And on my skin they sting and bite

The older I get the more I find

My thoughts are damaging my mind

 

I wish that I could make it clear

Exactly what it is I fear

It threatens poverty despair

Beneath a sign that says BEWARE

As good and evil truth and lies

All equally catastrophize

The older I get the more I find

My thoughts are damaging my mind

 

Some nights I breathe a final breath

The kind you feel when facing death

I gasp awake before I fall

The heedless world sleeps through it all

With clarity I see no trace

Of hope upon a helpless race

And somehow feeling I’m to blame

For every single human shame

I slumber having lost the fight

Against the terrors of the night

The older I get the more I find

My thoughts are damaging my mind

 

In days gone by I welcomed dawn

And I with every stretch and yawn

Would shed the night-time ghouls away

Embrace the newness of the day

Contemporary monsters burn

Oh how for youthful days I yearn

When I could easily ignore

The demons banging on the door

These days the demons overwhelm

More doubtful I defend my realm

I manage still but only just

To shut out their persistent thrust

And I enfeebled by each doubt

Have barely strength to keep them out

The older I get the more I find

My thoughts are damaging my mind

 

Old Bones

 

Old bones

A skeleton from the closet, jumped out,

Staggered around, by the edge of my bed,

And, juggling beer-cans and bottles about,

He sang a sad song, lamenting the dead:

Buried memories, long since forgotten,

Paralytic phantoms, ghosts from the past;

Tales, drink related, shameful and rotten,

I heard, as I froze and silently gasped,

And when he’d finished his terrible song,

(The lyrics of which I’ll not tell a soul),

With skeletal hands, incredibly strong,

He tugged, twisted, pulled off his grinning skull,

And into my lap the old noggin fell;

Alas, alcoholic; I knew him well.

The chaos residing inside myself,

May soon overwhelm and cause me to fall;

Spiritual, mental and physical health,

Are but an easily, breakable wall:

A man, by a demon, is led to drink;

He fails his friends, his children and his wife;

Helplessly, he watches everything sink;

As if it was somebody else’s life.

Why does he give up his humanity,

To the self-annihilating inner voice,

Urging him on into insanity;

A mere devil’s toy bereft of all choice?

Why or whatever, he can’t now recall;

He’s drunk himself blind, in spite of it all.

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Sore Loser

 

Sore Loser 

Trump, turning a shade of the deepest red;

Tweeted, retweeted, and tweeted again;

The postal votes are fraudulent, he said;

Demanding said votes be counted again.

He sat on the toilet, tweeted some more,

Went to his bedroom, applied orange tan,

QAnonaded Twitter with tweets galore,

Incautiously risking a Twitter ban.

The votes, rising in favour of Biden,

In spite of Trump’s tweets continued to mount,

And as he watched that winning gap widen,

He tweeted, demanding a ballot recount.

But so far it seems, no law’s been broken;

Trump’s still tweeting; the people have spoken.

Cyril and Sid (remembered)

Cyril and Sid (remembered)

 

Today I remembered Cyril and Sid:

Veterans of the Second World War;

They knew what they had to do, and they did.

 

In ‘seventy seven, I was a kid,

And they were kids back in ‘forty four;

Today I remembered Cyril and Sid.

 

Kept in a box, with a tightly bound lid:

Old memories of whatever they saw;

They knew what they had to do, and they did.

 

Feelings connected with battle they hid,

Like guarded oaths, to which they both swore;

Today I remembered Cyril and Sid.

 

On Normandy’s beaches, their lives were bid;

Brothers in arms on a bloodied shore;

They knew what they had to do, and they did.

 

Long ago soldiers, standing amid

Old conscripts, living, or with us no more;

Today I remembered Cyril and Sid;

They knew what they had to do, and they did.  

Private Island

 

 

Private Island

 

Kim Kardashian had a health screen;

Asked everyone to quarantine,

And after two weeks, they took a trip

To an island of private ownership,

And there her inner circle and she,

Imagined a world of normality;

They swam near whales, danced by the shore,

Kayaked, rode bikes and so much more!

Yes, a great time they had on the beach,

One for most people, far out of reach,

Humbly reminded Kim tweeted this:

“How privileged”, she said, “My life is”.

 

Her tweet rankled with me, I admit;

Made me fair jealous, more than a bit,

And then I recalled a holiday

I had with my wife in Akumal Bay:

We lounged in paradise, she and I,

Where turtles swim, pelicans fly,

Humming birds hover, iguanas creep

And crickets chirp while the jet lagged sleep.

We ate in restaurants, drank in bars,

In our resort, awarded five stars,

And for two weeks we frolicked in style;

Lived like a king and queen for a while.

 

Not far away, there was poverty;

A lowly, shanty town by the sea;

The families living there were nice;

Gave us tequila, chili and rice,

And in comparison to their need,

I felt rich and “Privileged” indeed,

But did I feel humbled? Maybe I did;

Then again, who am I trying to kid?

If I were a Kardashian peer;

A part of her closest, inner sphere;

Given an invitation to go

To paradise, I wouldn’t say no.

Feed Now Ask Questions Later

 

Feed now ask questions later

 

Millions of poor children in the UK

(One of the world’s richest economies),

Will soon have a food source taken away;

The vote of more than three hundred MPs

(Who, incidentally seemed happy to raise

No objection to a rise of three grand),

Ended free meals during school holidays

For children below the poverty band.

Conservatives, seeking to justify,

Boast of a generous welfare state,

Others, questioning and reasoning why,

Endlessly procrastinate and debate.

Why can’t the causes be explored later?

Kids need to eat, whatever the data.

Oven Ready

 

Oven ready

 

As widely predicted, there isn’t a deal;

The one Boris bragged was oven ready,

Turned out to be a non-existent meal;

Now we’ll be like “Australia”, said he;

The Canadian style relationship,

(So-labelled) based on, “Friendship and free trade”,

Was rejected, and, shooting from the hip,

Ignoring the doubts of opponents dismayed,

Boris declared: “With high hearts and complete

Confidence, we will prepare to embrace

The alternative”, and all the conceit,

And deception showed plainly on his face;

Does he really believe no one can see

He’s full of bullshit? Or is it just me?

Corporate Girl

 

Corporate girl

 

Fatima the ballerina

Hardly anybody’s seen her

Pointe shoes traded for stilettoes

All the theatres being ghettos 

There’s a mural on the wall

The Barbican Royal Albert Hall

Holding bays for Amazon now

Since they gave a final bow

 

Fatima fell through the ice

Took some government advice

To rethink and then reboot

Spent a few months picking fruit

Wound up in security

Cos as anyone can see

Pirouetting doesn’t pay

Now the theatre’s gone away

Past Acquaintance

 

Past acquaintance

 

Past acquaintance, wherever you may be,

If you’re reading this, allow me to say,

Profusely and with all sincerity:

Sorry for causing you, back in the day,

Physical and psychological pain;

I was an ignorant boy, immature,

And if I could have my youth back again,

In light of the grief I made you endure,

I’d treat you now with compassion in mind,

Not be a bully who preys on the weak,

And now the bulk of my years are behind,

I’m far more inclined to offer my cheek,

Aspiring to be the kindest of men;

I’m not the same person I was back then.

 

I read of a German boy; seventeen,

When Nazi lies were regarded as truth;

If all teenagers are equally green,

Can we forgive him the crimes of his youth?

There’s no comparison, many protest,

But when you look at it, can you be sure?

Certainly, defiance would have been best,

When persecution was passed into law,

But who’d be a martyr, when a mere child?

Let alone a brainwashed brutalised one;

Now ninety four, arrested and reviled,

The past atrocities can’t be undone;

Should then recipients of his abuse

Consider his youth a valid excuse?

Vague News

 

 

Vague news

 

The egoist without a peer

Blindingly with violent light

Infects the boys with boundless fear

Beguiles the angels of delight 

Falls lustfully on partial sight

Keeps demons hidden in the rear

 

And in the corner of my eye

As windows crack and shatter near

In tandem with the Russian spy

‘Midst plastic spoons and bottled beer

(There’s nothing to recycle here)

I watch the politicians lie

 

The host of demons overdue

With magic dust materialise

As saints are beaten black and blue

And maggots match your eyes to flies

Like fading martyrs in disguise

News presenters hide from view

 

And meanwhile on the seven seas

Aboard the hood ship lolly strop

The pirates hand to refugees

Pangolins from the butcher’s shop

Fill heads with Chinese fantasies

And wait for viruses to drop

 

And here he is our fateful doom

(We wondered where you were my friend)

The elephant is in the room

The angels gradually ascend

The demons easily offend

And doctor’s living stones presume

 

Behold the fateful doom declares

A gift from God I have no less

As spectres walk away in pairs

Two hundred thousand (more or less)

And news presenters second guess

The motives of the billionaires

 

Now you and I await our fate

Like autumn leaves in wind and rain

Susceptible to love and hate

And algorithms of the brain

As imps decidedly insane

Construct a wall around our state

Black Shirts

 

Black Shirts

 

Donald Trump, demonstrating on a stage,

How wisdom really doesn’t come with age,

Shouted insults, debated not at all,

Made America look daft and uncool,

Refused to condemn white supremacists,

All but condoned the actions of racists,

Blamed the Democrats for the country’s hurts,

And halted the sale of the Proud Boy’s shirts.

 

Stand back and standby, but I tell you what;

If Biden’s all the opposition’s got,

Then the only hope, come Election Day,

Is the income tax, that Trump didn’t pay;

Impoverished fence-sitters taking note,

Biden consequently winning the vote,

Taking office, deciding to retire,

Then giving the reins to someone less dire.

Subsidence

 

Subsidence

 

Due to house subsidence

And following compliance

The board of powers-that-be

Condemned an old oak tree

 

Hence all the oak tree’s subjects

Squirrels birds and insects

From nests and hollows poured

As chainsaws buzzed and roared

 

And upon it being felled  

All the occupants expelled

I counted many rings

Autumns winters summers springs

 

And came to the conclusion

We’re under an illusion

If in our complexity

To the insects gods are we

 

Then to gods we’re surely too

Under microscopic view

Being viewed as nothing worth

On our dwelling planet Earth

 

And the gods then for their sake

May be given cause to break

By the ruling of a board

Of superior accord

 

If the lower powers-that-be

Condemn an old oak tree

Higher cause is justified

Should the universe subside

 

Fodder

 Fodder

 

Looking back, secondary school was cruel;

Many a sensitive soul was battered;

Fight to survive, seemed to be the main rule,

Or at least the only one that mattered,

Once primary innocence was shattered,

Upon being punched and kicked in the head

In the playground, by the bicycle shed.

 

School finished for him on reaching sixteen,

When he, (after learning not much apart

From how to pretend to be brutal, mean,

Not at all cowardly, should a fight start,

And how to suppress the cries of a heart),

Left with an average lower than D,

And started a job in a factory.

 

On the morning train to Liverpool Street,

He stood in the midst of a smoky haze,

With other commuters, bereft of a seat,

Crammed like the cigarette butts in ashtrays,

(You could still smoke on the train in those days),

With a morning rag (The Sun, or some shit)

Unread and tucked underneath his armpit.

 

He rode each day in those carriages brown,

And things stayed the same for nigh on two years,

Till work relocated to another town,

And he, after saying goodbye over beers,

Moved to new pastures, along with his peers:

Colleagues and friends on the factory floor,

Who followed the firm to avoid being poor.

 

They left for a new town, reluctantly,

To follow the carrot that dangled there,

In front of their faces, persuasively;

Offering hope and a future quite fair:

A salaried pension beyond compare,

For which, after years of service they’d be

Thankful to those at the top of the tree.

 

And so after years of service there came

A salaried pension? No not at all;

Job cuts were announced, and our hero’s name

Was under the axe that was bound to fall;

The final package was terribly small,

And the management’s long-since sailed away;

Gone to wherever the billionaires stay.

 

Looking back, secondary school, was grim

A test of his endurance, nothing more;

Was that then the plan for many like him?

The law of the jungle’s hard to ignore;

It’s too easy to be fodder for sure;

Destined for the scrap heap, labelled unskilled,

Unwritten prophesies being fulfilled.  

The Magnificent Seven

 

The Magnificent Seven

Led by a man of heroic renown

With visages set in expressions grave,

The black-clad gunslingers rode into town,

Fearless, determined and tirelessly brave.

Silent, they ambled along the high street,

And many a peasant, joyfully cried;

“The seven are here!” as hopeful hearts beat

In anticipation, tension and pride.

The seven samurai came to the green,

And there awaited the terrible foe,

But those they sought were nowhere to be seen,

As mask-wearing marshals entered the show,

And, at a distance of two metre span,

The seven were herded into a van.

After the marshals had driven away,

The bandits' leader appeared and declared;

“You’ll all be paying me double today,

If you want your homes and lives to be spared”.

The hapless peasants then went back inside;

Waited with dread in self-isolation;

The help they’d sought was abruptly denied,

And what was the cause of their frustration?

The “Rule of six”, of which had been spoken

By the prime minister four nights before;

Unfortunately, that rule was broken,

By the magnificent, being one more,

And, in accordance with Boris’s speech,

The seven were fined a hundred pounds each.

Cashless Society

 

Cashless society 

Internet banking’s not for me

I don’t want to live in a world cash-free

I’m not equipped for banking online

My phone’s not smart

It’s a burner design

Complete with a crack

On its smeary screen

(The druggies and dealers

Know what I mean)

So all you hackers

Out for a sting

You can phish all you like

You won’t catch a thing

Don't Blame The Parents

 

Don’t blame the parents

 

Is it your view

That world war two

Is on the tyrant’s dad

Who daily flew

With beatings blue

Upon his sickly lad?

 

And could it be

Your soul is free

And innocent of blame

For any crimes

In present times

For which you feel no shame?

 

Your mum and dad

Both drove you mad

And hence in consequence  

You as a child

Alas ran wild

Bereft of innocence

 

Now blame each takes

For your mistakes

Inducing me to beg

One question more

What comes before?

The chicken or the egg?

 

For you today

Still make them pay

And here’s a bitter pill

The past abuse

Seems poor excuse

For grown-ups of free will

Gone to seed

Gone to seed

Exercise for him, was always a wrench;

For gyms, he never really felt the need;

Neither having pressed nor pushed from a bench;

He rarely walked beyond minimum speed,

But in spite of all that, he looked okay;

Overweight and obese, he’d never been;

Pot-belly and moobs were kept well at bay,

With five-a-day veg and meat very lean.

Then one day he, for some reason acquired

An appetite much larger than before;

The alcohol, meat and sweets he desired,

Became temptations he couldn’t ignore;

In short, he succumbed to middle-age greed,

And it has to be said: he’s gone to seed.

BBB

BBB

Bellowing Brexit bollocks

Beefy Bold blatantly blue

British biker brigades

Backing baseball bat

Brandishing bouncers

Boozed bottled beverages

Before badly battering  

BLM boys brazenly branded

Balmy Bolsheviks

By Boris bootlickers

In His Wife's Shoes

In his wife’s shoes

Trump in a pair of stilettos

Canvassed the poorest of ghettos

He danced in the street

To a nationalist beat

And wished he was wearing Repettos  

Second Wave

Second wave

Soaking sun like leeches

Screaming in delight  

Crowding Britain’s beaches

With not a mask in sight

People are defying

Instinctively they bathe

Unknowingly each trying

To catch the second wave

Life's a Test

Life’s a test

Looking down

From the edge

Of despair

A man cries

Life’s a test

Or else

What’s the point

Of all the pain?

People below

One foot dangling

Over their heads

Conducting them

Gazes transfixed

Silence spreads

I’m a performer

Tight rope walking

Between buildings tall

I wonder

How many are hoping

To see me fall?

Silence prevails

Resigned to fate

A deep breath

He gets ready to jump

WAIT!

Frozen unsure

The ground below

The time

Between here

And there

Quickly?

Slow?

Falling

Thoughts arise

What will they be?

Hitting the ground

Will his soul be

Free?

Whatever you believe

Or fear

What’s last

Is a testament

That led you here

When time ceases

Thoughts

Are no more

Your last

Is the key

To eternity’s door

In an ambulance

Rescued by

Words

Entering his head

Can you repeat

What you said?

Nothing

Says a policeman

A seed  sown

The voice

Was none other

Than his own?

Back from the brink

No longer

Distressed

Seeing differently

Still

Life’s a test

Paths lead to

Sorrow wars

Others

Peace

Which one’s yours?