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Archive for the doggerel Category

A Crap Rap

All you need is a drum and bass line and somewhere to shout at people in an angry fashion… Brexit means Brexit The will of the nation; The cutting of ties, and with no mitigation. A short eight line missive; A Bill of disaster. It’s almost dismissive

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Nineteen Eighty Four (aka 2017)

There’s a phrase that’s often mooted “Not my monkeys not my circus” When we want to tell each other That it’s nowt to do with us But events are now unfolding With enormous implication In the USA and Britain Truth is killed without a fuss We might laugh

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The memory of elephants

All the Americans cast their votes and put a fool in the White House Not a good time to be girl, black or queer Trump, Trump, Trump.

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Top Trumps

It is unutterably sad to me that our leaders show such disregard for those they purport to lead that they feel able to walk roughshod over the most common of decencies. Once, when politicians were found to be corrupt, in deeds or in life style, they backed

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For National Poetry Day

I’m at best a rubbish poet, but sometimes it overflows the bin of my brain and falls into the ether. Like it did today, just in time for NPD and just after the Tory Party Conference revealed checks for foreigners in your workplace, aligned with school census

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Sexual Initiation

sex is Magick, sex is ace sex can take you to another place and I can too so cum with me just lie down here be neath this tree and don’t be frightened be assured you’ll be Enlightened, on my word I know some folk will tell

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Relativity

Relativity You bewilder me And I don’t know where I stand Over here you see You look fine to me Sky above me, feet upon the land But a small degree of a change in c sends me falling on my ass For the energy spent accordingly

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Deaths Door

What if death is not a door And nothing but our eyes are blind But take a different way to see The place we hide behind the space If touching slightly to the blue If treading to the scent of bells Would cause us all to understand

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Ear ache!

  The fabric of the tent do shake His gob agape and arms wide flinging… Those dulcet tones! The floor do quake. And strangely all our ears are ringing. The cafe bar staff call for help As off their shelves the plates are winging. Atonal torture. Please,

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Happy Annibirthary!

In the darkness of night Mrs flappy bird takes flight Startled out of her nest by a multitude of things. Marking, planning, keeping scores Not to mention menopause hot and cold and tense and tired Mrs flappy bird’s a-flight And beside her in the nest Mr flappy

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NOMBI

So, I drive my car with gentle foot, to eke out precious fuel And the central heating thermostat is turned down as a rule The solar roof is waiting for the Sun to top the hills But I’m more concerned today about the chance of toxic spills

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Doggerel for Bonfire Night

We sing out “Remember the fifth of November” and gather in schools and in parks. With Health and with Safety we coo, point and gasp at the sanitised festival larks. Just as Samhain has softened from what it once was; No more ancestors, just trick and treating,

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Mask

Mask I’m wearing the smile with the mirror-glass eyes, It’s a mask I put on now and then. For now, it’s a fixture; it’s not coming off. If it does I can’t say right now, when. If a year was a bottle, wine filled and cork topped,

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The Moment of the Melt

Lyme Regis Sunset

  The Moment of the Melt… When grey sky gives cautious way to whispering blue. And trees let loose their cloaks and stretch out waking arms. Snow drifts retreat, and icy paths crunch under foot As the unmasked soil offers a wet brown face to the child Sun. This time is

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Christmas Lights (bah humbug)

We don’t like wind turbines, we scream about fracking We protest at nuclear and lobby MPs We tell everybody we’re fighting the warming Each time we email from our humming PCs And every room has a compact fluorescent And all of our heating is down two degrees But just

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Dealing with Drought…

The weather people say to me, on telly and online, We haven’t had sufficient rain; the weather’s been so fine. The south of England’s all in drought – We’re short of water, there’s no doubt. But bear in mind if you go out… It isn’t average all the

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Near Miss

the time for brooding melancholy has gone. see! the furies come, hurling curses; screaming and snarling, rage erupting. how can such wrath hurl itself from scattered books? to hide is futile, to stand likewise; destruction is inevitable. and yet avoided – in the tinkling of a laugh;

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Stonehenge

Oh, how I yearn to be alone. Holding onto the open chalk, standing firm against the bite of wind, rain and Sun, Showing impassive toleration to time. At peace, while waiting for momentary pilgrims If it were only traffic… Roaring, throbbing carriers of men and matter, eating

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