And yet, and yet as daylight fades
Through dusk to dark and further still
The black is trampled by parades
Of memories, I drink my fill
Of childhood games and adult love
Lost once but now returned in spades
Through lens of death to rise above
The darkness as the daylight fades
And yet, and yet as thoughts decay
To dust upon this bed you made
Contentment trumps the mortal grey
Die smiling, as the daylight fades.
Poem number 9
I’ve just been sick
I don’t feel right
I’m off to bed
An early night
To close my eyes
And lie quite still
And hope there’s no more
Poem number 11
Do your stuff Miss Marple
Find the killer, root them out!
Elucidate on motive
And eliminate all doubt,
Gather folk together
With the killer in their midst
Serve up some red herrings
And then cross them off the list
Before finally, The Great Reveal!
The murderer is named!
Confession, then they’re hauled away
Miss Marple wins the game!
Poem number 19
WTF? WTF? WTF!
The world went fucking mad today
I really don’t know what to say
I watched all night and muttered sadly
Watched his speech and giggled madly
Surely, surely it’s a joke
That they have picked this nutty bloke
To hold the nukes and keep the peace
Please wake me up, I need release
But no. It’s not a joke or trick
This total madman was their pick,
Four years now to hide and cower,
What a night. Our darkest hour?
Poem number 20
When it came to voting
The right wing were the choice
But when it comes to shouting
It’s the left who have the voice.
They fill the social media
With a vitriolic ire
Talk of revolutions
Fighting poverty with fire,
They say there’s no democracy
No remnants of free speech
But try to disagree with them
And you’ll be called a leech
A scab, an evil scumbag
An oppressor of the poor,
A selfish right wing fatcat
And a bastard, that’s for sure
Because only their views matter
And to argue is a sin –
If you dare to raise a different view
They’ll simply kick you in,
For their talk of peace and freedom
Is a costume made of words
By their actions shall you know them
And their actions equal turds.
Poem number 37
The Grapes Of Wrath grip tightly
To the Vines Of Total Ire
Growing grimly from the angry soil
Beneath the sun’s hot fire
There’ll be Vengeful Wine aplenty
Apoplectic, hostile too
Choleric caustic Chardonnay
A heated, bitter brew.
Poem number 44
They don’t put bins at stations
‘Cause the I.R.A. were gits
And filled the bins with Semtex
And blew passengers to bits
So now I have a wrapper
That I’d like to throw away
But I can’t. And it’s all sticky.
Double damn you, I.R.A.!
Poem number 80
Antonio Clocks Off
I’ve given of my pound of flesh
And now I’ve had enough
My eyes are tired, my back is sore
My brain is feeling rough
It’s time to end the working day
And wander to the pub
A pint, a fag, a game of pool
Then Nando’s for some grub.
Poem number 83
In the morning
Circle squared once more
The day begins
Put out the bins
And double lock the door
Dinner, telly, bed
And one step nearer dead.
Poem number 112
Shoot The Teaboy
My tea has no sugar, you dolt
It’s too bland, with a taste that revolts
Correct it at once
You incredible dunce
Make some more! Make it perfect! No faults!