Plastic

 

Plastic

 

To the beat one toe

Said the Brummie DJ

And deluded minders

Of a fictional show

Posed in the manner

Of the Peaky Blinders

Shanty Town

 

Shantytown

 

The poorest village in our land

Is Jaywick by the sea

And every year it’s in the band  

Of least prosperity

 

Hey ho the potholes grow

All the shacks need pulling down

But the bar is low

And there’s no cash-flow

In a seaside shantytown

 

There’s sewage in the kitchen sinks

And rats are everywhere

I wonder what the landlord thinks

Alas he’s never there

A profit he is making

With the minimum expense

Five hundred pounds a month he’s paid

For every shack he rents

 

Hey ho the cold winds blow

There’s no warmth to be found

Cos it’s too much dough

And they’ve got zero

In a seaside shanty town

 

By Daily Mail and Sun despised

Now filmed by Channel five

They’re demonised and stigmatised

And many say they skive

Anxiety and poverty

Regarded with disdain 

Their tragedy’s made comedy

And so they entertain

 

Hey ho the seas of whoa

You can watch the poor folk drown

In the undertow

On a TV show

While you’re warm and safe and sound

Hey ho the MPs crow

And the welfare workers frown

Not a one they know

Ever funds skid-row

In a seaside shanty town

Brad Pitt

 

Brad Pitt

 

Nigel, one night, while lain in bed,

Patted Laure on the shoulder and said:

“Darling, I love you with all of my soul;

Please would you lower your flag on my pole?”

“Nigel” she said, I’m too tired tonight;

My sovereign banner’s folded up tight”,

So saying, she drifted off into sleep,

Leaving poor Nigel awake counting sheep,

And as she slumbered, content with a snore,

He tossed and turned, till his pole was no more.

 

This scene was replayed all week and the next,

The weeks became months and Nigel was vexed;

His petite amie had lost her desire;

What would it take to re-kindle the fire?

He picked up the Mail, smiled at the news,

(Filled as it was with pro-Brexit views),

Then noticed an ad that took him aback:

An item he needed, delivered fast-track.

Without hesitation, an order he made,

And he, being Nigel, was offered free-trade.

 

Two nights later, he said to his beau:

“Open you eyes, I’ve something to show”,

“What is it Nigel?” She asked in surprise,

For he had placed glasses over her eyes,

On opening which, she near had a fit;

Nigel was gone; in his place was Brad Pitt!

“Darling, don’t fear, it’s really just me;

Nigel’s still here, though it’s Brad Pitt you see,

The glasses you’re wearing are making it so,

Now unfurl your flag and watch my pole grow”.

 

Oh what a glorious time Laure had;

So much the better, now Nigel was Brad.

Her flag was hoisted to wondrous heights

And lowered again with equal delights.

Nigel lay back, most pleased with himself,

Fearing no more his place on the shelf,

As for the glasses; he’d donned his own pair,

Presently, Laure was no longer there,

And flying the Jack, on top of his stump,

Was lovely Ivanka, daughter of Trump.

The Devil

 

The Devil 

In an indeterminate equation,

He is the x that forever will be

A source of half-truths, blame, accusation,

A herald of doubt and conspiracy.

His is the envy of emerald green,

The need to acquire material things,

The shadowy veil, obscuring obscene

Grand puppet masters who pull on heart-strings,

And rally with cries to a prideful cause,

Backed by theories malicious and vague;

Opponents besmirched to boundless applause;

The more so in times of turmoil and plague,

Denying which, tyrants fall on the meek,

And who but a saint would offer their cheek?

Lost For Words

 

Lost for words

 

My Muse has gone, and my frustration

Is found wanting, in terms of expression.

And, looking at the state of the nation,

I can only convey the depression,

Sadness and angst I’m presently feeling,

In a rhyme (or rant) of limited scope;

As a poem, this isn’t appealing;

It conjures up anger; offers no hope.

When I see lies masquerading as truth

And liars being followed and revered;

When I see denial refuting proof

And free will into stupidity steered,

All I can do is look on in dismay

And silent despair, with nothing to say.

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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