NINBY

NINBY

House the homeless,

Feed the poor,

Open up

A foodbank store,

Shelters

For the hard core,

The injured

And the scarred.

Kids to dealers

Fallen prey,

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 kip

Outside all day,

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,

Run along and play,

Greta doesn’t speak for him,

He needs a holiday.

School kids slating

Cars and planes,

Get shown his red card

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 cleaner place,

But not in Nigel’s yard.

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 woke arse ache

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 woke arse ache

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 woke arse ache

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 woke arse ache

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 WOKE ARSE ACHE

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 woke arse ache

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 WOKE ARSE ACHE

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 WOKE ARSE ACHE

AND A SNOWFLAKE

He called me a fake

A soy boy snake

A woke arse ache

And a snowflake

And I bit and dangled

On his thread

When I should’ve ignored

And blocked instead

Shit and sugar

Shit and sugar

 

August 1971

In jumpers and beachwear

With a spade each

On a windy beach

Near Weston Super Mare

My brother Ian and I

In front of mum’s deckchair

Filled and emptied pails of sand

Made castles here and there

 

What’ve we got to eat mum?

I asked her hungrily

As the wind blew

Rain clouds drew

And spray came off the sea

Shit and sugar she replied

And laughing gleefully

I grabbed a sandy sandwich  

And scoffed it eagerly

 

The last day on the pier

We went on every ride

Paid a call

To the mirrored hall

The helter skelter slide

The ghost train the dodgems

And Ian puked beside

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

Licked sea salt off chapped 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 

 

Next morning in the chalet

I awoke in sorrow

Two weeks had passed

They went too fast

And long before tomorrow

We’d be back in Chadwell Heath

With school too soon to follow

Leaving Pontins was to me

A bitter pill to swallow

 

We got home the same day

And eventually

That holiday

Was faraway

A distant memory

Of shit sugar buckets spades

Deckchairs by the sea

Rides slides doughnuts chips

Mum dad Ian and me

 

It was a rainy fortnight

Grey windy not much sun

Yet I still laugh

At the photograph

Of us two having fun

And the rain didn’t matter

When all’s said and done

We were happy kids indeed

In August ‘71

 

 

 

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.

Mr Dives

Mr Dives

Mr Dives sat drinking liberal tears

Joked with the wealthy and laughed at the poor,

In the company of Conservative peers,

And an atmosphere of Eton haw haw.

He gave a grand speech, his goodfellows cheered;

All raised a glass, in a toast to the queen,

And Thatcher; but especially revered,

Were hedge fund tycoons and riches obscene.

A log fire alight gave plenteous heat,

The Champagne (liberal tears) freely flowed,

And the victuals only the richest may eat,

Were consumed by all, with honours bestowed,

As temperatures fell in the street outside,

Children went hungry and Lazarus died.

November 30th

November 30^th

There’s a bed

Of leaves underneath

The canopy

Of a willow tree

That weeps as if in dread

Of winter’s teeth

And soon to be

Barren scenery

The sun shines

Mingling with rain

And doesn’t fail

To warm the air

Though divers signs

In the main

Mark the trail

To colder fayre

Leaving November

Bereft yet majestic

August poplars

Overlook scenes

Of pre December

Shades of fantastic

Yellows coppers

Browns evergreens

A blinding light

By the river reflected

As children run

Squirrels race up trees

Dogs bark in delight

Seemingly affected

By a welcoming sun

An absence of breeze

All because of Corbyn

All because of Corbyn

A&E departments, GP surgeries,

Health and day-care centres, public libraries,

Pensioner and youth clubs, childcare centres too;

They’re all disappearing; replaced with nothing new.

And all because of Corbyn; he’s the one to blame

For the callous cancellation of every sickness claim.

If you’re suffering an illness, he’ll make you feel it more;

He’s the bane of the disabled; a killer of the poor.

Back in 1912, as the Titanic sank,

Captain Edward John Smith knew just who to thank

For the shortfall of the lifeboats, the passengers in distress,

And the failure of rescue ships to heed the SOS;

Jeremy bloody Corbyn; he schemed and exploited

And the ship hit the iceberg that could have been avoided.

It was Corbyn who insisted on the need for speed;

He’s the scourge of the workers; the epitome of greed;

Chernobyl 1986; a cloud of radiation

Dispersed into the air, leaving widespread devastation.

What caused the overheating, the meltdown of the core

And the consequent explosion at reactor number four?

Fucking Jeremy Corbyn; his incompetence made it fail

You can search for it on Google, or read it in the Mail.

Corbyn was responsible for messing up the test;

He’s a liability; an enemy of the west.

The Rosetta stone was made nigh 200 years BC

And on it is a warning; a frightful prophecy;

Hieroglyphics telling of the coming of a man;

A demon in disguise with a devastating plan.

Beware of Jeremy Corbyn (the ancient writing said);

With his white shirt, hair and beard and tie of deepest red;

He’ll bring the world to ruin and make you lose your mind;

He’s the future king of ISIS; the nemesis of mankind.

And so it’s come to pass, barely fifty years from now,

The protective ozone layer will be bereft of power.

Scientists say we’re poisoning the planet’s atmosphere,

But should it be pollution from fossil fuels we fear?

No, it’s Jeremy Corbyn; it’s all down to him;

Out there on his allotment, he’s growing something grim.

Don’t listen to the experts; they haven’t got a clue;

Corbyn’s homemade jams will be the death of me and you!

There’s no limitation, the list goes on and on,

His ruthlessness is boundless, he’s an evil mafia don,

He’s the end of freedom; he’s every child’s nightmare,

He’s the wickedest of the wicked; he’s a man who doesn’t care.

That nasty Jeremy Corbyn; he’ll bring you to your knees,

With his call for lesser working hours, free prescription fees,

Well-funded public services, equality of pay;

There’ll be untold misery, if Corbyn gets his way!