Thursday, 20 July 2017

A Time And A Place For Everything



There is one, which implies
That it is also true
That some things, said, at certain times,
In certain places,
Are bound to take us by surprise.
Surprise often differs from thrill.

Therefore you have no brief
To impose your restricted
Point of view,
In the sadly mistaken belief,
You're voicing a universal truth
A sweeping panorama.

For if we came to hear a concert,
Or came to watch a drama,
Then how ever much you may wish 
To do something different and new,
And know yourself not in the first flush of youth
And think yourself, therefore, wise,
Still we came to admire your professional skill,
And this kind of admiration differs, 
From an admiration of you.



Sunday, 4 June 2017

June

June is the woodworm month
When the b*st*rds hatch and fly,
Having taken their fill of the sapwood
They crawl out as adults to mate and die.

They eat nothing at all in this season,
Having taken their fill in their youth,
Though they seem to need wetness to thrive,
In such liberal doses we wonder why
We provided such conditions,
Nurtured, kept them alive,
Turned a blind eye to the truth,
And when challenged, disavowed.

Were we devoid of all reason
That we kindly hosted them
Allowed them to live among us,
Turn inherited beauty to dust?

Why did we not protect ourselves,
From the damp and the mould and the must?
Too late to call the Rentokill man
Too late to keep safe and dry,
Yet too late, simply to trust.
We just watch in tears, 
Crumble, perish.
And fear of killing our silly dreams
Keeps the poison in the can.

Why did we love what was modern, 
The untried and worthless cr*p,
Why did we scorn, and not prize what we had?
Why did we embrace and cherish 
Weak, back of the f*g pack ideas?
And why did we keep our best things hidden,
Questioning the existence 
Of innate good or bad?
Why did we really not care,
As the maggots grew strong on our sap?





Tuesday, 30 May 2017

The Time Before And The Time Afterwards



In the time before, there was May, in bloom,
Parts of April, parts of June, 
As if a wand had been waved over a canvas, 
Seventeenth century, Flemish, 
Turning burnt umber background to lapis lazuli sky,
Tulips, lilacs, roses in suburban gardens,
Lawns with daisies strewn.
In the time before there was love and irritation,
There was 'do your homework, tidy your room'.
There were your clothes folded neatly,
Which you would wear again,
Little worries about your education.
There were photographs that did not make me cry,
Of you, in blue checked romper suit,
Golden curls, apple cheeks, laughing eyes, not camera shy.
In the time afterwards there is May,
Whose beauty I will never love again.
There will be June and the thought of your not seeing it,
Other people's children pouring out of school,
And your not being amongst them,
And the great tight pain in my chest as I try
And fail to stop this sob becoming this great primeval wail.



Wednesday, 10 May 2017

2 am

The cat has no conception
Of the crime 'cultural appropriation',
He's howling and shouting as if he's Siamese.
Stalking the long corridor,
In my direction,
Testing acoustics he has tested before,
Caring nothing for my disapprobation,
His worms need feeding and he can't cope with his fleas.

Tuesday, 2 May 2017

The Loved One

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/05/01/rise-live-stream-funeral-half-venues-can-now-broadcast-services/

Nearly 50% of Funeral Venues have the capacity to live stream ceremonies via the internet:

"Mr Joyboy has fixed up the camera in the corner,
Your loved one looks, so beautiful,
We've given him the beatific smile,
I'm sure every mourner,
Here, and those who can't attend, but dutiful
To the idea of "paying their last respects",
Watching online, will agree.

Some of Mr Joyboy's special effects:
Eg. the "scream" as the coffin enters the furnace, you'll see
Go down particularly well,
With our more youthful clientele.
While older mourners, the ones who still insist
On being an "in person attendee"  
Find it a bit upsetting,  who can resist
The temptation to turn a funeral into a scene
From a horror movie,
Especially when it's going to be seen, on screen?

For an extra fee
Mr Joyboy can arrange knocking
To come from the coffin, 
And one of the undertakers to rush up with a key
To try unlocking it
And letting your loved one free,
Only to be defeated,
As the coffin rushes towards the fire.
The inevitable end, can be filmed in slow motion
Then repeated,
To drive home the memory.


Of course we all aspire
To show our devotion 
To our loved one in ways that are dignified,
We don't want our relatives and friends to be mortified,
But movies are best with some kind of action.
Take advice from Mr Joyboy,
An expert in both film and funeral direction."


Monday, 1 May 2017

A Little Ditty For Mr Farron (to the well known hymn tune)

Jesus shall reign, where the sun don't shine,
For acts of buggery are quite divine,
If you want votes, forget your soul,
Declare you'd put your Roger into any old hole.

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Not The Mail Online Sleb Sidebar



Middle aged woman leaves everything to the imagination
In frumpy tweed skirt, old cardigan and blouse,
As she admits being too tired to frolic on the beach
And will go instead for a quick dog walk between the wind turbine and electricity pylon.
But says she finds a certain kind of consolation
In accepting that she looks much better naked,
In someone else's minds eye, than she does in reality,
And that it's much more comfortable to wear clothes which could comfortably house
One or two illegal stow aways if she so chose
Than a tini wini bikini.  And if you ignore the moth holes and bleach
Spills, and screw your eyes up and squint a bit,
Her outfit has a certain je ne sais quoi.  And anyway, this infatuation
With youth and beauty is a bit old hat.
Old hats worn by old biddys are more interesting than firm young flesh,
And big breasts, because they spend their time squashed on to wise heads,
Not wobbling up and down barely contained in bits of brightly coloured nylon.