89- Cut Off Point

Poem Number 89
Cut Off Point
Farewell then, dear toenails
My oldest of friends
You tore holes in clothes
With your raggedy ends
You gouged my achilles
And blood stained my socks
You snapped like a biscuit
When I kicked a rock
Farewell, dearest toenails
So long, it’s been swell
Now here come the clippers
To send you to Hell.


90 – Road Rage

Poem number 90
Road Rage

The sun was very very bright
It made me squint and gurn
I didn’t see the taxi
As it stopped to make a turn.
Crash! I hit his bumper
It fell off, and broke in two
The driver came and punched me
‘Til my face was black and blue.
He went to jail for ABH
And that’s the story done
Except to say be sure to wear
Dark glasses in the sun.
If you don’t you may get blinded
And then hit the car in front
And end up being assaulted
By a total utter cunt.

92 – Punishment Park Prison

Poem number 92
Punishment Park Prison
The criminals came in two by two, huzzah! Huzzah!
The robbers and rapists and burglars too, huzzah! Huzzah!
The murderous killers, assassins and thugs
The fences and fraudsters, the men who sold drugs
And they all came into the Park
They never saw freedom again.
The Warden told them “There’s no escape,” huzzah! Huzzah!
“We’ll teach you not to kill and rape,” huzzah! Huzzah!
“We’ll black your eyes and break your thumbs
Put pens up your nostrils and sticks up your bums
And you’ll all stay here in the Park
And never see freedom again.”
Outside of the walls the world was saved, huzzah! Huzzah!
The criminals gone as the public craved, huzzah! Huzzah!
But inside the prison the Warden was dead
They’d burgled his office and cut off his head
And the Kingpins ruled their own realm
And didn’t want freedom again.
The government sent in the National Guard, huzzah! Huzzah!
The fighting was tough and the fighting was hard, huzzah! Huzzah!
The criminals lost, they were slain to a man
Their bodies removed in an old transit van
And some cleaners scrubbed out the Park
Ready for using again.
The criminals came in two by two, huzzah! Huzzah!
The poets and beatniks and thinkers too, huzzah! Huzzah!
When crime is defeated it leaves a big void
The public need scapegoats when they get annoyed
So they’ll always fill up the Park
To save their own freedom again.

93 – Breakfast Bollocks

Poem number 93
Breakfast Bollocks
Bollocks to your sausages!
Bollocks to your beans!
Bollocks to your mushrooms!
I’ll just stick with healthy greens.
Bollocks to your buttered toast!
Bollocks to your tea!
Bollocks to black pudding!
It’s a lettuce life for me.
Bollocks. You’ve got bacon.
Bollocks bollocks! Oh that smell!
Bollocks! You’ve got kidneys
And some gammon there as well!
Bollocks to temptation!
Bollocks bollocks – bite my fist!
Bollocks to my weakness
How could mortal man resist?
Bollocks! Bugger bollocks!
Bollocks bugger! Bugger that!
Bollocks to the lettuce!
Give me breakfast! Give me fat!

95 – A Summer Parting

Poem number 95
A Summer Parting
I was born in sight of Christmas
On November’s dying breath
With the lunchtime rain forgotten.
Time has passed.
When I die it will be summer
With the sky a cobalt blue
And the butterflies alighting
On the grass.
My eyes will fade through blues and greens
To settle on your gentle gaze
And then close in the warmth of our sun
Your tears like glass.

97 – The Festival Is Coming

Poem number 97
The Festival Is Coming!
The Festival is coming!
All the campers will invade
The middle classes slumming
With their hair in careful braids.
The Festival is coming!
Taking Caversham away
A mile of queues in Waitrose
And in Iceland, sad to say.
The Festival is coming!
All the pavements choc-a-block
Wristbands, wellies, silly hats
And thigh-high stripy socks.
The Festival is coming!
We can’t feed the duckies bread
By the river, so we’ll feed some
Up in Emmer Green instead.
The Festival is coming!
Quash those xenophobic fears
They’ll be gone again on Monday
And it’s only once a year.

98 – Day Watch Below!

Poem number 98
Day Watch Below!
Autumn is rising, his feet out of bed
Shaking the cobwebs and dreams from his head
Before him a season of effort and toil
Scouring the treetops and mulching the soil
But he’s willing and eager, ready to start
Refreshed and renewed with a song in his heart
He peers through the window, gauging the morn
There’s time yet for breakfast, he’ll clock on at dawn
To take on the baton from Summer, to say
“I hereby relieve you, now be on your way”
And settle his boots firmly into the reins
The thrill of beginning will run through his veins
His season, his nature, his banner unfurled
The Autumn begins. It’s his time. It’s his world.