Their Grief
Like leaden weights they hung their grief around their child,
Torn from her world of sunshine and flowers to mouth platitudes
She didn’t understand,
To weep tears she didn’t feel,
To vote with her fist and a small flag for change she couldn’t comprehend.
‘Look at how it’s affected her!’ they said,
And then with glee: ‘Let’s kill the bastards!’
Tickets, please!
No one with brains uses trains:
Far easier to hop there,
And cheaper still if you hire a Roller for the day.
Bring back British Rail!
Privatisation, the fast buck for the fat cat,
The delusion of market forces,
Has been shown to fail -
Don’t travel on the railways!
Buy a camel-train,
Or maybe rent an aeroplane,
Or jab yourself with a hat pin -
A more easily understandable pain.
22/05/2006
We don’t really have a railway system in the UK.
To get from A to B costs approximately 6 months wages and has to be booked 2 years in advance*. If you can’t reserve a seat then you and your kids can expect to sit on the floor for the six hour journey to wherever.
I can remember the days when you fancied going somewhere and simply turned up at the station to buy a cheap ticket.
*May not be 100% accurate.
World Air Corp
Here is a message from World Air Corp. -
Costs have risen,
The Great Infrastructure that blows winds has been updated,
The price of metered air must,
To preserve your air supply,
Go up.
An engineer will shortly call at your home.
Meanwhile, enjoy!
And if you wish to invest in World Air Corp.,
Pick up the phone and give us a call!
We have already successfully installed air supplies
To Bangladesh, Haiti and Somalia.
Remember, no one ever went bust selling air -
Call us now and grab your share!
23/05/06
In the jungle drums will roll
In the jungle drums will roll,
Daddy’s boy’s elected -
His brother bent the voting
(Entirely expected).
In the jungle drums will roll,
It’s Big Chief Pay-Back time -
Line up with your hands outstretched
If you gave a dime.
In the jungle drums will roll,
The Empire’s got a Chief -
No one wants to point out
The man is just a thief!
Kid’s food, crap food
There’s this crappy product
That we’re asking you to buy -
We’re aiming it at your children,
And we’re gonna be quite sly.
We’ll give them little goodies
That will go with their crap meal -
The toys that they take home
Will be the BEST part of the deal.
The cheap and nasty food they eat
Is sold with great panache -
You really should appreciate
How well we sell this trash!
McCrap
Crook
‘You’re just the local handyman,’
The local crook told me:
But my sort of handy’s useful
And people like it when I’m free.
Bearded Wonder
The bearded wonder’s furry face
Is an excellent hiding-place
For the man who cannot cope -
And really hasn’t got a hope.
Nobody in their right mind
Nobody in their right mind
Wants to die for George Bush or Tony Blair;
War is death pointed out by fools
And run at by impoverished heroes.
Thatcher killed,
And our whole litany of Prime Ministers and Presidents
Is a gloss of the debased
Rising to momentary infamy
On the bodies of the brave.
‘Pride!’ ‘Guns!’
Our ‘leaders’ lead themselves to wealth,
Killing – at a distance – by stealth,
For electoral success and tabloid cheers
As they praise the Lord and weep false tears.
Concept Poetry
I commissioned her
To write a poem.
She wrote it,
I sold it:
Concept Poetry.
Junk mail
They must think I’m really sad,
Or maybe just a little mad:
‘Which car would you like to win?’ -
Hey! Welcome to your home, this bin!
The Little Prion
The little prion survived 130 degrees Centrigrade -
No one knew if it lived in milk
And milk was in:
Biscuits
Cake
Bread
Ice cream
Baby foods …
No one knew if it lived in gelatine,
And gelatine was in:
Chocolate
Jelly
Medicine …
No one knew if it lived in meat-extract,
And meat-extract was in:
Crisps
Noodles
Gravy powder …
When the Minister fed his daughter
He knew nothing.
When the Chief Medical Officer made his pronouncements
He knew nothing.
When the teenager died
She knew nothing.
The little prion laughed
And had a fine old time of it,
Because knowing nothing
Is not a barrier.
BSE, or mad cow disease, and a dingbat minister feeding his daughter beefburgers to prove how ‘safe’ meat was.
I was 18 when they married me
I was 18 when they married me,
16 when I died:
15 and my hopes were full,
14, eyes still wide -
And all the time that went before
Was childhood in its dreams:
Their hands were light, they guided me,
Their truths were what they seemed.
Yet though the hours are filled up now
I sometimes see a light,
And kneeling down before my God
I puzzle on their ‘right’;
Their expectations moulded me,
I couldn’t fight their lies,
I struggled for a moment
Then died without surprise.
So what hope is there for my child,
Born to their bounded hell?
Though my eyes are opened now,
Will hers be closed as well?
Meditation
‘I meditate,’ he said,
‘Burn up my energy to flee the world,
Short-circuit the system -
Get a buzz,
Heal myself.’
Sure.
A flat battery’s no use to anyone.
The Minister
The Minister was foolish,
The Minister was wrong,
The Minister’s career
Meant he HAD to appear strong.
Oh, BSE is lovely,
It rots away the brain -
If only he’d had that excuse
Instead of personal gain!
Please, dear pygmy rulers,
Look up these words for me -
There’s ‘rigorous’, ‘analysis’,
And the big ‘Integrity.’
Testosterone Man
Testosterone man lives at high pace,
So big, so strong, it’s such a waste -
Soon dead, soon gone,
Such a shame he won’t last too long.
Anytime, Everywhere
Baa, baa, safe sheep,
I am not a fool -
Conform, conform’s
Def’nitely best of all:
Once for my culture,
Just to be the same,
And once ‘cos there’s nothing
Going on in my brain.
Cultural conformity is an extremely powerful force.
Web awards
An award of 5, I am impressed!
It seems your site’s among the best -
Oh! Let me check, oh, let me see,
How you’ve done so brilliantly!
Ah, you give awards and ….. wait – that’s it ?
But otherwise your site is shit?
It seems you haven’t much to say,
An echo of the world today,
Empty, vacant, void and bare,
There’s nothing here that you can share.
Why don’t you save us all some strife,
And go and get yourself a life!
Mrs. Flippin’
She was doing her job too well,
That’s why she had to go:
Her standards were too high,
The M.P’s were too low.
Mrs. Flippin’
Got a whippin’ from the dodgy boys -
They made an awful lot of fuss,
They made a lot of noise.
They whispered high, they whispered low,
They made it clear she had to go:
Mrs. Flippin’ got a whippin’
From the dodgy boys.
Oh! Vaseline, Mendacious,
Bobby’s son and Bleed -
Mrs. Flippin’ got a whippin’
Checkin’ out their greed.
In the land of the free
‘It’s War!’ shouted the papers.
‘It’s War!’ bellowed the T.V.
‘YEEES!’ screamed the people.
‘Excuse me,’ said one little voice, ‘but surely -’
‘SHUT UP!’ they all shouted in unison.
‘Excuse me,’ said another little voice, ‘but perhaps -’
‘N)!’ they all shrieked, sounding even more ferocious.
‘It’s WAR!’ hurrahed the radio,
‘But really,’ said another little voice, ‘shouldn’t we -?’
‘GO AWAY!’ they all yelled, ‘WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW!’
And they made him – and him – and her – apologise
For daring to question their world view,
In this -apparently -
The Land of the Free.
Variety
We’re so blind we cannot see
The beauty in variety:
It has to be explained away
As something that will one day pay.
Oh! If only we had brains
Not trapped in narrow, winding lanes,
And spirits that could touch the sky -
Oh, if only we could fly!
Lonely
I’m lost and lonely,
You’re my friend:
I’ve found my clique -
Now that’s the end.
Wife
I’m not really mindless but my husband is a fool -
To keep him sweet I shut my face, don’t talk to men at all.
I have a little trophy wife
I have a little trophy-wife,
The latest in a line:
She’s only just turned 20,
I’m sure she’ll do just fine.
I have a little trophy wife,
She sold her soul for gold:
We’re mercenaries, hearts of ice,
A deal between the cold.
I have a little trophy wife,
Picked to my high ideals:
She’s got loads of contacts
And will help to grease the wheels.
I have a little trophy wife,
We’ll sort the love bit out:
I’ll paint some false emotions
On the face of this old trout.
An ancient millionaire.
Aberration of morality
‘Stuff happens.’ as a bomb falls,
‘Stuff happens,’ as the wind blows,
Stuff your ‘stuff.’
Minds fold,
Brains close,
The world reduced to a power-mad
Aberration of morality.
I imagine, one day, a race of humans with:
Insight
Wisdom
Morality
Compassion
Vision
Imagination
Creativity.
Until then we live by the Old School’s Rules
Oil
Wealth
Power
Guns
Greed
Cunning,
Death glinting off cold spectacles,
Clean, mean, clear-cut simple minds
And their simple certainties.
‘Stuff happens.’
Death happens.
9/05
Dedicated to Donald, who’s contributed so many positives to the world and who continues to inspire us all.
People Who Are Skilled At Bending The Law
People who are skilled at bending the law earn oodles of money
And we call them barristers.
People who are skilled at breaking the law earn nothing
And we call them crooks.
People who are skilled at observing people who are skilled
Laugh behind their backs
And quite honestly can see no difference.
Umbrella Song
My umbrella is protection
From all sorts of frightening things :
I shield my face from your harsh gaze
And all the woes life brings.
People accidentally-on-purpose hiding their faces behind their umbrellas
Doggy
For every dog upon the road,
Doggy leaves a little load:
Yet every manic doggy owner
Claims a perfect little Rover.
Seems every doggy turd I step in
Is a figment of my imagination;
And every mess upon my carpet
Is some other little doggy’s shit.
So give us DNA testing,
Microchip the dog’s intestine,
Give us decent doggy owners,
Or better still shoot England’s Rovers.
But nothing ever will be done,
Since no government wants the fun
Of being voted out of office
For sake of Rover’s unstopped orifice.
Things are getting better now – doggy owners are more responsible (at last).
Milk
Mummy cows have baby cows,
Their babies are taken away;
The Mummy’s milk is fed to you
So your bones will break one day
Book
Their Book was truth,
Their book was Told -
Not only that
Their book was Old.
Us And Them
We don’t mind possessing you
But you’re not possessing US -
We still think they’re OUR property
So we’ll kick up quite a fuss……!
Cross-cultural marriages are often one-way, with one race refusing to allow its women to be married.
Car Boy
This is my car, I like it a lot -
It’s meaning you see, my existence is not,
My friends like my car, they like what they see,
They see my car and they see me.
F*ckedBritain.com
The trains don’t run on time
(The trains don’t run at all!),
They’ve privatised our breathing -
They say our Britain’s ‘Cool’.
Our letters come at tea-time,
Some Fat Cat’s on the make -
If you meet our Deare Leader
Give him a little shake.
Privatised insanely,
Our Britain’s nearly dead -
I wish someone would privatise
This anger in my head.
