Wednesday, 30 November 2016

Toothache Sunrise

From a small point, indefinable, it grows,
Intensity increasing red, then glows
Bright orange through to pale peach light,
Until its centre point is screaming white
That fills the place with nothing but itself
There is no other thing within the space
That is the oblong window which now shows
In contrast to the darkness of the room,
Wherein I lie, in aching agony 
Waiting to resume normality 
As aspirin forms a cloud of dull neutrality.

Tuesday, 29 November 2016

November Cycling

Today has the colour and light and sun slant rays
Of all those past last of November days,
Of Advent carols in the head
Of yellow leaves and all that jazz,
And frosty, crisp, white-powdered grass,
The border's flowers brown and dead,
Demonstrating all decays
And yet stays just the same, always.

Corporate Cronyism

Disgusting system where greed wins.
Satanic spawn of evil twins:
Toryism of the pig trough
With Socialist ideas gets off.
The selfish bully wears his sins
with pride, the hypocrite smiles, spins
his vices into virtues, so begins
this age where egocentrics scoff,
where greed wins
inventing rules and disciplines,
prescribing pois'nous medicines
which kill competitors. It's rough,
but superstates needs must be tough.
See all the good this system brings -
where greed wins.

Sunday, 27 November 2016

Stop Legitimising Hate! A rondeau on left wing hypocrisy on the day after the death of Fidel Castro

It's not legitimate to hate
old left wing leaders who dictate.
Instead you must try worshipping
such brutes, because their murdering
is of the higher sort. The fate
of men who might oppose the great
and good, is to become the late
whoe'er they were. And here's the thing:
It's not legitimate to hate,
so those who question, contemplate
reform, improvement in the state,
needs must be shot. They're vile, right wing,
and all such men need torturing,
They're vermin to exterminate:
It's not legitimate to hate. 

Friday, 25 November 2016

Fake News, Post Truth Rondeau

"Let's listen to the fake news, Dear,
Put Radio Four on, so we'll hear
Post truth, disguised as real fact
These so called experts can't half act.
One falls for each bizarre idea
These scoundrels sound so damned sincere,
That for my sanity I fear,
Until, with rude words and no tact,
The fake news
Gets You shouting back." Don't revere
The News, just question, get things clear.
And when it sounds like balls, react:
Write in, complain, hope they'll be sacked,
These frauds who would bring to your ear
The fake news.

Tuesday, 22 November 2016

Quantum Particles Of Soul

All those quantum bits of soul
That float about within the room,
Seem attracted to my brain,
And I am filled with others' thoughts,
Specks of trouble, doubt and gloom.
When darkness falls I feel old pain.

Perhaps they're really scraps of prayer
Fragments rent from their one whole
Because they were transmitted, sent 
When distress left minds in torment
Flashing signals in despair,
Aware they could not alter doom.

Perhaps I am a good receiver
As I'm not a true believer
Perhaps they settle in my mind
As particles of debris meant
To teach me I must have a care.

And yet I always wish to find
Some means to comfort, though I'm blind
And needs must grope towards the light,
Scraping at each built up layer
To find some truth in dark, black night.

Perhaps absorbing is sufficient
Perhaps once anchored, made secure,
I should not feel I must do more,
Should cease to strive to be efficient
Should be content merely to store
And let these atoms, reminiscent
Of man's sadness through all ages
Rest in peace, my head their tomb.

Thursday, 17 November 2016

A Basket Of Deplorables (A song for Mr Trump to the tune of the Dutch nursery rhyme)

A basket full of nuts I've gathered,
From my aunty's tree,
And now we're going home
And I am taking them all with me.
Fa la la la, fa la la,
Oh what great fun they are,
Fa la la la, fa la la,
Oh what great fun they are,
This dreadful bunch of 'phobes I picked
Who walk along with me.

They seemed quite decent people,
At least they did to me,
Sitting in the country garden, by my aunty's tree,
Fa la la, fa la la,
Oh what great fun they are,
Fa la la, fa la la,
Oh what great fun they are,
This dreadful bunch of 'phobes I picked
Who walk along with me.

Their needs were really not outlandish,
They sat and sipped their tea,
Their needs were clear and simple:
Work, and job security.
Fa la la, fa la la,
Oh what great fun they are,
Fa la la, fa la la,
Oh what great fun they are,
For politics is really simple,
That's how it should be.