A GREEN CROSS CODE FOR THE COLD BLOODED

Said the lamprey to the toad,

When en route to your abode,

And trying to cross the road,

Always remember The Green Cross Code,

Look right, look left, look right again,

Then crawl like hell,

And pray you don’t explode.

A Kind Of Mantra For An Old Friend To Recite When She Feels The Urge To Join In With Her 'Close Knit' Community

All men are islands, other folk are hell!

Leave me be, I do not like mankind.

I only wish in solitude to dwell

Alone with my own intelligent mind.

Don't try and involve me, or you might find

I'm better than you at doing things which you do well

And you wouldn't want to feel you were getting left behind.

All men are islands, other folk are hell!

And you are just a shit, I've not lost my sense of smell!

This clod has washed away, it is not inclined

To be part of the main; it was when you put the boot in that it fell.

Leave me alone, I do not like mankind.

I have no desire to be mingled, intertwined.

I am Sufficient of myself and my reasoned thoughts can quell

Any efforts of yours to leave me feeling undermined.

I only wish in solitude to dwell.

And nothing you can say or do will ever impel

Me to join your crowd of carping fools, all blind

To faults of their own. I intend to spend a spell

Alone with my own intelligent mind.

You don' belong to me, there are no ties that bind.

I owe you absolutely nothing, I shall stay inside my shell.

I am a bitter lemon, so do not remove my rind,

And do not venture near me lest I yell

"All men are islands!"

(rondeau redouble)

Thought Occurring While Listening To The Curlew By Peter Warlock And Remembering He Was Brian Sewell's Father, Then Remembering Brian Sewell Is Dead.

Did he become
Tins of Pedigree Chum?

Paranoia: Something Went Wrong With This Page

Something went wrong with this page

So we decided to reload it.

You were reading something right wing, 

Some populist thing in a tabloid.

Something went wrong, you felt rage,

You thought criminal thoughts and imploded.

So we snatched away the cause,

Gave you a chance to avoid it,

Gave you a moment to pause,

Just to take a breath, count up to ten,

Collect your thoughts and remember 

There's no place for hate this September

Of 2016, on the web.

We gave you time to consider 

And to stop thinking like a pleb.

Something went wrong with this page,

Well not with this page per se,

But with your choice, your wanting to read it.

We think you were lead astray.

But you won't let it happen again.

A Response To A Report Into Electoral Fraud in Ethnic Communities.

Don't judge!  It was the atmosphere that did it.

The Electoral Commission's not a racist institution.

I am not a racist, and that's to my credit.

We are only really guilty of a kind of abdication.

Ethnic communities don't need re-education, 

Respecting democracy's not a thing you can inherit,

So we decided there'd be no investigation.

Don't judge! It was the atmosphere that did it.

Cultural Marxism has much theoretical merit.

We only wanted reality to fit the dream, we used imagination.

Never the stick, only ever the carrot,

The Electoral Commission's not a racist institution.

It can't be helped that cheating's a temptation.

"All shall seem well", as someone once put it.

We only turned a blind eye, that's our mitigation.

I'm not a racist and that's to my credit.

There was no paper evidence, and I didn't shred it.

If we'd come down hard we'd have caused riot, revolution.

We weren't corrupt ourselves, where corruption occurred, we simply hid it.

We are only guilty of a kind of abdication,

All in the interests of harmonisation.

We always meant well, people often said it,

Everything we did was with the best intention.

There are cultural differences in the places crooks inhabit.

Don't judge.

A Prayer In Memory of Father Jacques Hamel, murdered by IS While Saying Mass.

May the peace of the Lord be with you;

May the calm warmth of a July morning in church remain 

Always this sense of love, the love of an old priest for his fellow men. Let it renew,

A thousand fold, the stock of love, so we regain

Our sense of trust in each other, and the pain

And suffering and loss shall not obscure our view

Of hope.  Let us mark each hour in our minds with the refrain:

May the peace of the Lord be with you!

And give thanks for it in all the quiet moments of our lives. Let true

Wisdom and mercy govern our reactions, let us remember each grain

Of love produces a miraculous yield. The bad are but the few.

May the calm warmth of a July morning in church remain

In your heart and mind as the scent of a sweet flower when strain

And fear seem to overwhelm, may you find the clear, blue

Light of a summer day beyond the clouds and may it contain

Always this sense of love, the love of an old priest for his fellow men. Let it renew

Your spirit so that you go forth into the world with that tranquility he knew,

Born of faith and trust.  Let not contempt, disdain,

For those who dwell in blackness guide. For we must increase, in all that we do

A thousand fold, the stock of love, so we regain

Our sense of trust in each other: let him not have died in vain.

Let the pastoral peace of psalms and hymns be the warmth that lifts the settled dew

Of sorrow from your saddened soul, may the path of life be a summer lane
Ending in a quiet church wherein that balm of stillness is, which shall violence subdue:

The peace of the Lord.

The Women

They came from shortlists, well designed,

To fill the House with just their kind,

The lesbians with butch, cropped hair,

The Tory ladies dressed with care,

The deeply spoken, and the squeaky,

They came from Ramsgate and Auld Reekie,

Harridans and cold, hard bores,

With steely eyes, pugnacious jaws.

Their politics were much the same

They thought alike, shared every aim,

They crowded round the centre ground

And dished out dull, bland bites of sound,

Their minds were empty, speeches hollow,

Ambition led, ideas could follow,

And yet they rarely ever did.

And they would never make a bid

In favour of less government

Because they were a regiment

Of bossy sisters who loved rules

And took the demos for dumb fools.

They spat at liberty and swore 

To do away with common law,

Because they did not understand

The history of our ancient land

And thought a web of regulation

Would much enhance this once great nation.

They didn't know that less was more

And mould grows from a single spore.