IN MEMORIAM –
G B 1215-2001
Magnificent Charter, now capitalist dross,
auld Magna Carta took a turn for the worse,
grey men distorting democracy, subverting
notions of freedom. Conspiring
anarchists adopt anodyne wording:
‘Changing our laws to protect ourselves at home;’*
annihilating revered habeas corpus;
rhetorical pragmatist patently used
terrorist activity as a valid excuse;
aberrant paranoia fuelled liberty’s loss.
‘… the consciousness of being at war, and therefore in danger, makes the handing-over of all power to a small caste seem the natural unavoidable condition of survival’. (‘1984, Pt2, Chapter 9, The Book, Ch III, War is Peace – George Orwell – aka Eric Blair)
*Tony Blair, Hansard, 14.11.01
Monday 21 February 2011
Opium and Oil
Opium wars generated opprobrium
Amoral Gunship diplomacy,
suppressed a meritocracy;
enforcing Chinese smack head addicts,
by gun barrel political edicts.
Our establishment continues in their pay
to uphold oil wars today;
the unacceptable face of capitalism
reduced to moral relativism.
Patriotism martyred to profits
for arms production and petroleum.
Tear gas in Libya provokes coughing fits
Victims of war crimes can’t issue writs.
Amoral Gunship diplomacy,
suppressed a meritocracy;
enforcing Chinese smack head addicts,
by gun barrel political edicts.
Our establishment continues in their pay
to uphold oil wars today;
the unacceptable face of capitalism
reduced to moral relativism.
Patriotism martyred to profits
for arms production and petroleum.
Tear gas in Libya provokes coughing fits
Victims of war crimes can’t issue writs.
Vengeance is whose?
VENGEANCE IS WHOSE?
If we are wronged do we not revenge –
Shylock, Merchant of Venice
We haven’t learned no matter how we yearn
That evil begets vice and good excellence
The wisdom of ages eludes even sages.
Fortunate men are rarely importunate men;
Those who are victimised become victimisers.
The vengeful treaty of Versailles spawned
a malevolent Third Reich dominion
needing victims to re-assert national pride
over which their Nazi jackboots could ride.
Trade Unionists, gypsies and Jews drowned,
choked on the gas of public opinion.
Generating a new generation
prepared to bring the cycle of suffering
through another rotation, the pendulum
swings from pole to pole; tick tock tick tock ting.
All change, the injured become perpetrators
eager to inflict humiliation
Whilst we, who share our blind guilt
with our forefathers winking ignorance
at this perpetration of belligerence,
sightlessly watch resentment build
systematically in West Bank and Gaza.
Suffering excused because the executor
was once executed when we did nothing.
Allowing the Israeli jackboot’s domination
over the Palestinian nation.
Do suicide bombers need explanation?
If we are wronged do we not revenge –
Shylock, Merchant of Venice
We haven’t learned no matter how we yearn
That evil begets vice and good excellence
The wisdom of ages eludes even sages.
Fortunate men are rarely importunate men;
Those who are victimised become victimisers.
The vengeful treaty of Versailles spawned
a malevolent Third Reich dominion
needing victims to re-assert national pride
over which their Nazi jackboots could ride.
Trade Unionists, gypsies and Jews drowned,
choked on the gas of public opinion.
Generating a new generation
prepared to bring the cycle of suffering
through another rotation, the pendulum
swings from pole to pole; tick tock tick tock ting.
All change, the injured become perpetrators
eager to inflict humiliation
Whilst we, who share our blind guilt
with our forefathers winking ignorance
at this perpetration of belligerence,
sightlessly watch resentment build
systematically in West Bank and Gaza.
Suffering excused because the executor
was once executed when we did nothing.
Allowing the Israeli jackboot’s domination
over the Palestinian nation.
Do suicide bombers need explanation?
George W Bush
At the beginning of the third millennium
The seer Nostradamus prophesied
The village idiot would rule.
He who finds it hard to eat a pretzel
And simultaneously breathe
On the 11th of September hunkered
Down in his atomic bunker
Trying desperately to save
Both his brain cells from the grave
The seer Nostradamus prophesied
The village idiot would rule.
He who finds it hard to eat a pretzel
And simultaneously breathe
On the 11th of September hunkered
Down in his atomic bunker
Trying desperately to save
Both his brain cells from the grave
Measuring
He measured out his life in coffee spoons;
real metal, perhaps even silver spoons.
What luxury, what decadence,
what profligate dissolution.
We his inheritors may try to measure
out our lives in neat subservience yet,
faced with plastic wands hollowed out,
subject to warp, bend, distort and melt
if left in polystyrene cups too long.
Can only sigh with regret
that spoons are no longer de rigeur.
Measuring out our lives in plastic wands:
Coffee spoons are so passé.
real metal, perhaps even silver spoons.
What luxury, what decadence,
what profligate dissolution.
We his inheritors may try to measure
out our lives in neat subservience yet,
faced with plastic wands hollowed out,
subject to warp, bend, distort and melt
if left in polystyrene cups too long.
Can only sigh with regret
that spoons are no longer de rigeur.
Measuring out our lives in plastic wands:
Coffee spoons are so passé.
Velvet Fascism
She walks in the rhetoric of beauty
fine sentiments gracefully springing,
seductive, sinuous words entrapping.
Onward she leads us, her siren call
draws by exquisite magnetism.
Alluring, polished, elegant, sultry.
Lotus eaters all, hostages we fall
in living death to Velvet Fascism.
fine sentiments gracefully springing,
seductive, sinuous words entrapping.
Onward she leads us, her siren call
draws by exquisite magnetism.
Alluring, polished, elegant, sultry.
Lotus eaters all, hostages we fall
in living death to Velvet Fascism.
Doctor David Kelly
A scurrilous report by the BBC
Promoted by Andrew Gilligan
Erroneously suggested that we
Had sexed up a dossier with a big un
We’re honest and truthful, courageous too
What the hell were we supposed to do
We briefed the press and spun the lies
Traced the man painting us as bad guys
Told the world he was a nobody
An egocentric man, an oddity
A low rated official, a nonentity
With a proclivity for hot toddies
Unable to differentiate black porkies.
Then the guy who’d eaten all our pies
Goes for a suicidal walk and dies
With Blair on a plane to the Bahamas
The MoD wasn’t going to be caught in pyjamas
Announced that Lord Hutton would sit
And get the Government out of sh**
No inquest was called we weren’t going to be hauled
Over the coals fed to the lions and mauled
The fact he hadn’t lost enough blood
The quarter co-proxamol couldn’t land us in mud
Was studiously ignored and we implored
We’d had a thorough enquiry and matters should rest
Good old MI5 gave of their very best
No dirty dealings by security services gone west
Totally exonerated so why don’t they believe us
A busload of fuss and we’re thought of as suss:
Hail to us the thieves of oil
And woe to those who wanna spoil
Let this be a lesson to y’all
Cry, stomp, kick your heels and bawl
Blow the whistle on us or accuse
And you’re six feet under
Then you’re old old news
Murdering’s not something we blunder
This ain’t an offer you can refuse
Promoted by Andrew Gilligan
Erroneously suggested that we
Had sexed up a dossier with a big un
We’re honest and truthful, courageous too
What the hell were we supposed to do
We briefed the press and spun the lies
Traced the man painting us as bad guys
Told the world he was a nobody
An egocentric man, an oddity
A low rated official, a nonentity
With a proclivity for hot toddies
Unable to differentiate black porkies.
Then the guy who’d eaten all our pies
Goes for a suicidal walk and dies
With Blair on a plane to the Bahamas
The MoD wasn’t going to be caught in pyjamas
Announced that Lord Hutton would sit
And get the Government out of sh**
No inquest was called we weren’t going to be hauled
Over the coals fed to the lions and mauled
The fact he hadn’t lost enough blood
The quarter co-proxamol couldn’t land us in mud
Was studiously ignored and we implored
We’d had a thorough enquiry and matters should rest
Good old MI5 gave of their very best
No dirty dealings by security services gone west
Totally exonerated so why don’t they believe us
A busload of fuss and we’re thought of as suss:
Hail to us the thieves of oil
And woe to those who wanna spoil
Let this be a lesson to y’all
Cry, stomp, kick your heels and bawl
Blow the whistle on us or accuse
And you’re six feet under
Then you’re old old news
Murdering’s not something we blunder
This ain’t an offer you can refuse
A Modern Mask of Anarchy, Basra - 16th September 2005
Two men dressed like mujahadeen
In Arab garb from head to toe
Shot Iraqi policemen at the scene
The Killers? SAS men don’t you know
The poodle press was out in force
Peddling the army’s story of course
An heroic rescue attempt had failed
To save assassins the police had nailed
The Daily Mail red in tooth and nail
Followed by both BBC and ITV
Began peddling a fictional tale
Of Soldiers fighting for Iraq to be free
Iraqi people judging democracy
Under attack moved to fight for liberty
Civilians all they surrounded the tanks
Home made missiles in their ranks
They rose like lions out of slumber
They rose in innumerable number
With sticks and stones and molotovs
They indicated they’d had enough
Murderers in the SAS
Should face trial they did protest
Yet no journalist could profess
The truth of British soldiers going west
No one listens any more
The truth a casualty of war
Whatever happened to the rule of law,
As soldiers tore down that prison door?
An operation by special forces gone wrong
Yet the media’s hymn sheets were the army’s song
Blaming insurgents for assassination attempts
While journalists covered the backs of our gents
Military intelligence
Oxymoronic insurgents
Within our tent ring fence
‘Freedom.’ Do they think we’re dense?
Western Police States are becoming the norm
And before you all laugh with scorn
Consider what freedoms have been torn
from you to render us all into pawns
So celebrate those Iraqi insurgents
As they fought for the rule of law and order
A battle now lost whilst our army pre-empts
The truth ever reaching our border.
They rose like lions out of slumber
They rose in innumerable number
With sticks and stones and molotovs
They indicated they’d had enough
As nonchalantly we sup our tea
While NGO’s like Amnesty
and Liberty do all agree
To blindly watch while freedom’s tree
Is raped and not one MP
Speaks out of the impropriety
Perpetrated by soldiers of the ‘free’.
Iraqi citizens know our hypocrisy
In Arab garb from head to toe
Shot Iraqi policemen at the scene
The Killers? SAS men don’t you know
The poodle press was out in force
Peddling the army’s story of course
An heroic rescue attempt had failed
To save assassins the police had nailed
The Daily Mail red in tooth and nail
Followed by both BBC and ITV
Began peddling a fictional tale
Of Soldiers fighting for Iraq to be free
Iraqi people judging democracy
Under attack moved to fight for liberty
Civilians all they surrounded the tanks
Home made missiles in their ranks
They rose like lions out of slumber
They rose in innumerable number
With sticks and stones and molotovs
They indicated they’d had enough
Murderers in the SAS
Should face trial they did protest
Yet no journalist could profess
The truth of British soldiers going west
No one listens any more
The truth a casualty of war
Whatever happened to the rule of law,
As soldiers tore down that prison door?
An operation by special forces gone wrong
Yet the media’s hymn sheets were the army’s song
Blaming insurgents for assassination attempts
While journalists covered the backs of our gents
Military intelligence
Oxymoronic insurgents
Within our tent ring fence
‘Freedom.’ Do they think we’re dense?
Western Police States are becoming the norm
And before you all laugh with scorn
Consider what freedoms have been torn
from you to render us all into pawns
So celebrate those Iraqi insurgents
As they fought for the rule of law and order
A battle now lost whilst our army pre-empts
The truth ever reaching our border.
They rose like lions out of slumber
They rose in innumerable number
With sticks and stones and molotovs
They indicated they’d had enough
As nonchalantly we sup our tea
While NGO’s like Amnesty
and Liberty do all agree
To blindly watch while freedom’s tree
Is raped and not one MP
Speaks out of the impropriety
Perpetrated by soldiers of the ‘free’.
Iraqi citizens know our hypocrisy
Sonnet for Superior Man
I am king, he said, of all I survey
minions bow at my feet and do as I say.
I was born to be a superior man
granted ascendancy by my secret clan,
I’ll always have plans set to go my way
never be relegated to an also ran.
A self made man worships his creator
In the play of life he’s his biggest fan
Worshipping in egocentric idolatry
His principles panned in favour of pay
He’ll wrest back his soul at a later day.
Often death creeps up, I’m sure you’ll agree,
Surprising men early, yet too late to see,
Heaven’s door locked and they haven’t the key.
minions bow at my feet and do as I say.
I was born to be a superior man
granted ascendancy by my secret clan,
I’ll always have plans set to go my way
never be relegated to an also ran.
A self made man worships his creator
In the play of life he’s his biggest fan
Worshipping in egocentric idolatry
His principles panned in favour of pay
He’ll wrest back his soul at a later day.
Often death creeps up, I’m sure you’ll agree,
Surprising men early, yet too late to see,
Heaven’s door locked and they haven’t the key.
Our green and pleasant land
Our green and pleasant land
where sheep may safely graze
Filled with lazy Summer days
of sun and sea and sand
squishing between bare toes
A land where milk and honey flows
from Emerald Isle to Devon vale
from sea to shining sea
through verdant Derbyshire dale
to craggy Highland hill
where honey’s still for tea.
A land of pride in hearts of gold
a land of domestic bliss
Where mortgages and credit cards
And University fees
Enslave us all in debt.
But the beast must eat its fill
The farmer pay his bill
And abattoir have its kill.
And poesy from our bards
Serves to camouflage the net
Where human sheep within the fold
Embrace slavery with a kiss.
where sheep may safely graze
Filled with lazy Summer days
of sun and sea and sand
squishing between bare toes
A land where milk and honey flows
from Emerald Isle to Devon vale
from sea to shining sea
through verdant Derbyshire dale
to craggy Highland hill
where honey’s still for tea.
A land of pride in hearts of gold
a land of domestic bliss
Where mortgages and credit cards
And University fees
Enslave us all in debt.
But the beast must eat its fill
The farmer pay his bill
And abattoir have its kill.
And poesy from our bards
Serves to camouflage the net
Where human sheep within the fold
Embrace slavery with a kiss.
WWII - 60 years on - 2005
Why are they marching mother,
these men in uniforms, why bother?
They died for you and me my dear,
they died for you and me;
they died so we could be free my dear
they died so you could be free.
Free to live in a country
with real liberty.
Why do they put men in prison mother
under the Anti-terrorism Act?
Why deny them access mother
to the reasons for this fact?
We die my son from lack of liberty,
terrorised by political men
marching with impunity,
to deny our hard fought rights.
So they died in vain did they mother,
these men so long ago?
They died for a cause which vied mother
in a battle for political supremacy?
They died so we might be free son,
they died for you and me.
Their wasted lives a shame son,
mere fantasy, a pyrrhic victory
What happened to Ronnie Maddison mother
and the soldiers at Deepcut?
Maddison was stationed at Porton Down,
His genes biological platicene.
No one knows or cares son,
what happened at Deepcut.
Young lives just a number son
to whom anything could be done.
We’re enslaved to the State now son
a State both rotten and bad,
a State which perpetrates crime in our name.
A State which lies and spins son
to justify its criminality.
Don’t join up as a soldier son,
don’t waste your life in vain.
Son there’s nothing to gain.
these men in uniforms, why bother?
They died for you and me my dear,
they died for you and me;
they died so we could be free my dear
they died so you could be free.
Free to live in a country
with real liberty.
Why do they put men in prison mother
under the Anti-terrorism Act?
Why deny them access mother
to the reasons for this fact?
We die my son from lack of liberty,
terrorised by political men
marching with impunity,
to deny our hard fought rights.
So they died in vain did they mother,
these men so long ago?
They died for a cause which vied mother
in a battle for political supremacy?
They died so we might be free son,
they died for you and me.
Their wasted lives a shame son,
mere fantasy, a pyrrhic victory
What happened to Ronnie Maddison mother
and the soldiers at Deepcut?
Maddison was stationed at Porton Down,
His genes biological platicene.
No one knows or cares son,
what happened at Deepcut.
Young lives just a number son
to whom anything could be done.
We’re enslaved to the State now son
a State both rotten and bad,
a State which perpetrates crime in our name.
A State which lies and spins son
to justify its criminality.
Don’t join up as a soldier son,
don’t waste your life in vain.
Son there’s nothing to gain.
For the Enron man who committed suicide
Business was booming since he’d ridden the goat
He’d got all his competitors by the throat
A breast bared to show a nice hairy chest
Trousers rolled up completed the test
Ostensibly now he worshipped Osiris
A god who’d see him through every crisis
The circle and star of his eminent lodge
Encouraged his access to every dodge
Secure at last as the master of craft
It had become so much easier to shaft
Those who thought to get by with honest graft
The detractors who sneered and said he was daft
Mentally challenged and ethically corrupt
By fair means or foul their lives he’d disrupt
Not realising the orders which came from above
Emanated not from brotherly love
He’d just become a cog in the wheel
A foot soldier to bring others to heel
The price he would pay in this game of life
Would eventually bring him nothing but strife
Sworn to the secrecy of his brothers code
He’d be sucked all the way down the road
Until one day he saw with great clarity
The evil he’d done with thoughtless enmity
As his presence became an embarrassment
His murder was deemed a suicidal event.
He’d got all his competitors by the throat
A breast bared to show a nice hairy chest
Trousers rolled up completed the test
Ostensibly now he worshipped Osiris
A god who’d see him through every crisis
The circle and star of his eminent lodge
Encouraged his access to every dodge
Secure at last as the master of craft
It had become so much easier to shaft
Those who thought to get by with honest graft
The detractors who sneered and said he was daft
Mentally challenged and ethically corrupt
By fair means or foul their lives he’d disrupt
Not realising the orders which came from above
Emanated not from brotherly love
He’d just become a cog in the wheel
A foot soldier to bring others to heel
The price he would pay in this game of life
Would eventually bring him nothing but strife
Sworn to the secrecy of his brothers code
He’d be sucked all the way down the road
Until one day he saw with great clarity
The evil he’d done with thoughtless enmity
As his presence became an embarrassment
His murder was deemed a suicidal event.
R.I.P. Habeas Corpus
The Gulag Archipelago gave conscious thought
as a plaything of government strategy,
a toy to amuse and simulate tragedy.
The human psyche neatly caught
bound, gagged and anaesthetised we sought
to subvert and manipulate innocents
into solemn quietitude and deference;
happy to give up rights hard fought.
Century old lessons expensively bought
left in the forgotten sandpit’s corner
exchanged for a tele or a sauna
the visual opiate conveys our thoughts
from that which should be taught
and reduces sobriety to nought.
The golden idol driving our lives
has lost all principle and vies
to make us slaves to commercial servitude;
hardening hearts against moral rectitude.
The State which if no longer just and good
reduces all men to puppets, hewn of wood.
as a plaything of government strategy,
a toy to amuse and simulate tragedy.
The human psyche neatly caught
bound, gagged and anaesthetised we sought
to subvert and manipulate innocents
into solemn quietitude and deference;
happy to give up rights hard fought.
Century old lessons expensively bought
left in the forgotten sandpit’s corner
exchanged for a tele or a sauna
the visual opiate conveys our thoughts
from that which should be taught
and reduces sobriety to nought.
The golden idol driving our lives
has lost all principle and vies
to make us slaves to commercial servitude;
hardening hearts against moral rectitude.
The State which if no longer just and good
reduces all men to puppets, hewn of wood.
2020 Vision
Ninety eighty four is reality
Eurasia and Eastasia translated
Into ‘our fight against terrorism.’
Divide and rule a new crusade
Can only succeed and dissuade
Voices of reason being raised
Against governments who terrorise
In the name of democratic power.
Eurasia and Eastasia translated
Into ‘our fight against terrorism.’
Divide and rule a new crusade
Can only succeed and dissuade
Voices of reason being raised
Against governments who terrorise
In the name of democratic power.
Liberty Builders?
Time, they say
Heals
Everything
Forgotten weeping
Reaps
Experiences
Evergreen
Measures taken
Are often
Sufficient to
Open
Neurologically damaged
Senses
A psyche
Reacting against
Emotion
Contorts in
Outrage
Revolts and
Rejects, then in
Uplifting
Panic
Thinks
.
&
Induced
Madness in
Measured breath screams
Odditities and a
Roman-a-clef of
Aggression is exhaled
Let my cry come unto thee.
Heals
Everything
Forgotten weeping
Reaps
Experiences
Evergreen
Measures taken
Are often
Sufficient to
Open
Neurologically damaged
Senses
A psyche
Reacting against
Emotion
Contorts in
Outrage
Revolts and
Rejects, then in
Uplifting
Panic
Thinks
.
&
Induced
Madness in
Measured breath screams
Odditities and a
Roman-a-clef of
Aggression is exhaled
Let my cry come unto thee.
People are people through people
People are people through people
(a Zulu aphorism)
It is those years tween teen and man:
‘There is a space of life between,
in which the soul is in a ferment,
the character undecided,
the way of life uncertain,
the ambition thick sighted:’*
It is those years which are the ripest
for sucking souls to vile routines.
Amputate ideals from the man,
tempt to corruption quite unseen,
inculcate a certain fervent
crooked value, which unchided
men pursue as apes to mountains.
Power, greed, lust and pride alighted,
a social conscience benighted
Give me that young man and I
will give you the world in which we live
‘I wish to try once more
before I bid humanity farewell’*
*(John Keats – italicised lines taken from prose preface to Endymion)
(a Zulu aphorism)
It is those years tween teen and man:
‘There is a space of life between,
in which the soul is in a ferment,
the character undecided,
the way of life uncertain,
the ambition thick sighted:’*
It is those years which are the ripest
for sucking souls to vile routines.
Amputate ideals from the man,
tempt to corruption quite unseen,
inculcate a certain fervent
crooked value, which unchided
men pursue as apes to mountains.
Power, greed, lust and pride alighted,
a social conscience benighted
Give me that young man and I
will give you the world in which we live
‘I wish to try once more
before I bid humanity farewell’*
*(John Keats – italicised lines taken from prose preface to Endymion)
They died for what?
Whether Tony Blair and all his henchmen
Hear the clarion call to the colours of
Anarchy their inaction ignores what
The Labour manifesto promised
Willing soldiers against an injustice
Inflicted on all English citizens
Long years of establishment malpractice
Leave dark veins among ruling denizens
Yesterday’s corruption is with us still
All promises of yesteryear denied
Like dew in morning sun, there is no will
Left to honour the victims who have died
Defenceless against individuals
Of elitist Masonic rituals
Hear the clarion call to the colours of
Anarchy their inaction ignores what
The Labour manifesto promised
Willing soldiers against an injustice
Inflicted on all English citizens
Long years of establishment malpractice
Leave dark veins among ruling denizens
Yesterday’s corruption is with us still
All promises of yesteryear denied
Like dew in morning sun, there is no will
Left to honour the victims who have died
Defenceless against individuals
Of elitist Masonic rituals
Smoke and Mirrors
We have a war on terrorism in our midst
As we look to alien malevolence
Hunting men of different hues of skin
Cultural differences give us grist
To pursue prejudices against bin Laden
Ignoring indigenous violence
Judicial corruption, fraud, murder and sin
All these perpetrated by Five within.
As we look to alien malevolence
Hunting men of different hues of skin
Cultural differences give us grist
To pursue prejudices against bin Laden
Ignoring indigenous violence
Judicial corruption, fraud, murder and sin
All these perpetrated by Five within.
Guarding the Guardians?
Baying dogs with sharp teeth,
naked men denied dignity,
arranged in human pyramids.
Is this what freedom means?
Is this democracy at work?
When treason wears the victor’s hat
who dares call it treachery?
Much easier to believe
it was the work of trailer park trash
than look at ritualised, systematic,
organised subversion and detect
a higher hand of greater duplicity.
These rituals were used in Vietnam
Official CIA books show complicity
Our colluding media owned
by an elite who direct and manipulate
every item of print, picture and word
won’t allow condemnation.
As Teflon coated politicians polish
their manufactured halo’s
News becomes snake oil propaganda.
Jefferey Miller appointed by Rummy
to ‘Gitmoise’ Abu Ghraib,
Guantanamo Bay a legal purdah.
Donald, Dick, Paul and George,
less interested in any push to truth,
rush toward political expediency.
Who guards us from these guardians?
naked men denied dignity,
arranged in human pyramids.
Is this what freedom means?
Is this democracy at work?
When treason wears the victor’s hat
who dares call it treachery?
Much easier to believe
it was the work of trailer park trash
than look at ritualised, systematic,
organised subversion and detect
a higher hand of greater duplicity.
These rituals were used in Vietnam
Official CIA books show complicity
Our colluding media owned
by an elite who direct and manipulate
every item of print, picture and word
won’t allow condemnation.
As Teflon coated politicians polish
their manufactured halo’s
News becomes snake oil propaganda.
Jefferey Miller appointed by Rummy
to ‘Gitmoise’ Abu Ghraib,
Guantanamo Bay a legal purdah.
Donald, Dick, Paul and George,
less interested in any push to truth,
rush toward political expediency.
Who guards us from these guardians?
They're good boys really
Their swaggering gait exaggerated
to camouflage their diminutive
stature
Knives chained to trousers
steel capped shoes
ready to clobber
and terrorise with street violence
Inspired wild hounds packed with menacing
fear
They’re drowning in testosterone
fluffy chins, little spots, they think
‘real man’ means vicious yobbo.
As they pass along the street below
seeming not to care
their theatrical adventure throws
aggression in the air
Then all at once their hunger grows
and they sneak back to their lair
‘Wipe your feet’ stops their toes
on the front door mat.
Carefully they fold their clothes
in the basket for the Laundromat
to camouflage their diminutive
stature
Knives chained to trousers
steel capped shoes
ready to clobber
and terrorise with street violence
Inspired wild hounds packed with menacing
fear
They’re drowning in testosterone
fluffy chins, little spots, they think
‘real man’ means vicious yobbo.
As they pass along the street below
seeming not to care
their theatrical adventure throws
aggression in the air
Then all at once their hunger grows
and they sneak back to their lair
‘Wipe your feet’ stops their toes
on the front door mat.
Carefully they fold their clothes
in the basket for the Laundromat
Hungry Black Dog
Black despondency in emphatic minor keys
hew our psyche in paranoid anxiety
small tendrils of hope cling and echo
till our subconscious reverberates.
An inner angst of vacuous indecision
pulls forth disharmony in struggle
to a harmonious web of
human inter-connectedness.
The one small clod of earth
ineffably linked in subliminal
telepathy to the universal prism of life.
When we have all our answers
we are blind to a priori questions;
the emptiness we seek to fill
has no material substance.
hew our psyche in paranoid anxiety
small tendrils of hope cling and echo
till our subconscious reverberates.
An inner angst of vacuous indecision
pulls forth disharmony in struggle
to a harmonious web of
human inter-connectedness.
The one small clod of earth
ineffably linked in subliminal
telepathy to the universal prism of life.
When we have all our answers
we are blind to a priori questions;
the emptiness we seek to fill
has no material substance.
Mother-in-law
Parcelled in string and brown paper
her ashes swung on her grandson’s pram.
All that was left of her body
jigged lightly in bitter sunshine.
Blind support for her son
defending his selfishness
supporting his thoughtlessness
yet casually he’d failed her again.
Her penury moved him to wish for her death
carelessly tolling the bell on his marriage.
Devoted adoring loyalty
repaid with a miserly mien.
Her illness merely bored him.
Indifferently he only expected
accepted her love as his due
as he did mine too.
Both of us blithely accepting
the illusion of superior man.
Flawed god in our midst drawing
superhuman blood sucking care.
His schizoid depression held us hostage
united in succouring him,
who possessed no emotional depth.
Whilst her love never wavered,
the candle of mine lay guttering
in faltering flame as she died.
Mother jean beclad genie wove magic
saw what was absent, what could not exist
remembered the small infant she’d kissed
suffered her illness in silence
worried at the trauma he’d suffer
in losing his beloved mother.
You’d never understood, how could you
he had no emotion to offer
he always looked to others
to see what response he should give.
The photo he put on his table
framed a tombstone which bore
just your name and your dates
carved in cold granite stone
for his chill arctic heart to adore.
her ashes swung on her grandson’s pram.
All that was left of her body
jigged lightly in bitter sunshine.
Blind support for her son
defending his selfishness
supporting his thoughtlessness
yet casually he’d failed her again.
Her penury moved him to wish for her death
carelessly tolling the bell on his marriage.
Devoted adoring loyalty
repaid with a miserly mien.
Her illness merely bored him.
Indifferently he only expected
accepted her love as his due
as he did mine too.
Both of us blithely accepting
the illusion of superior man.
Flawed god in our midst drawing
superhuman blood sucking care.
His schizoid depression held us hostage
united in succouring him,
who possessed no emotional depth.
Whilst her love never wavered,
the candle of mine lay guttering
in faltering flame as she died.
Mother jean beclad genie wove magic
saw what was absent, what could not exist
remembered the small infant she’d kissed
suffered her illness in silence
worried at the trauma he’d suffer
in losing his beloved mother.
You’d never understood, how could you
he had no emotion to offer
he always looked to others
to see what response he should give.
The photo he put on his table
framed a tombstone which bore
just your name and your dates
carved in cold granite stone
for his chill arctic heart to adore.
Man and Woman
He saw an image She was divine
An angel of mercy Seeking man sublime
Dressed in fine array To love honour and obey
Able to nurse The epitome of love
The baser needs She’d rub the nub
Of man’s desire
As she lay naked Looking for confirmation
Sated desire abated Romantic commitment
Languidly plotted Disappointment overtook
Now sex was done Indifferently he overlooked
One plus one Man and woman, no duet
Equals none
An angel of mercy Seeking man sublime
Dressed in fine array To love honour and obey
Able to nurse The epitome of love
The baser needs She’d rub the nub
Of man’s desire
As she lay naked Looking for confirmation
Sated desire abated Romantic commitment
Languidly plotted Disappointment overtook
Now sex was done Indifferently he overlooked
One plus one Man and woman, no duet
Equals none
Another poem
He came to death, or did it come to him
Who can tell how life dims.
So many years tidied into files
Interred in stout boxes
Parchments of faded letters
Documents yellowed by time
Survive his reservoir of bones
Despatched in brown paper
Gifted to his Alma Mater
Giving eons of PhD data.
Who can tell how life dims.
So many years tidied into files
Interred in stout boxes
Parchments of faded letters
Documents yellowed by time
Survive his reservoir of bones
Despatched in brown paper
Gifted to his Alma Mater
Giving eons of PhD data.
The Art of Warfare
‘Chess was always a man’s game’
She smiled laconically as the men
Hunched and frowned over the board
‘Rook takes Queen C5’
She was not aware of the etiquette
Talking is prohibited
That commentary commanded
The art of warfare remain silent
‘What’ll you do now –
Wasn’t she important?’
A frisson of impatience
Inflected their hushed sighs
Each man knew the battle
Critically depended on white
Making good her sacrifice
Black blushed in embarrassment
He’d won the battle and lost the game.
White rook takes black rook C5
Did white use his wife
To provide a diversion?
His sacrificed Queen had won.
Two moves to check mate
No possible escape
From back row mate
Black laid down his King
White could not exult in victory
When the games were over
He’d give her a good rollicking.
‘But you were winning,’ she exclaimed.
The art of warfare is not a woman’s game.
She smiled laconically as the men
Hunched and frowned over the board
‘Rook takes Queen C5’
She was not aware of the etiquette
Talking is prohibited
That commentary commanded
The art of warfare remain silent
‘What’ll you do now –
Wasn’t she important?’
A frisson of impatience
Inflected their hushed sighs
Each man knew the battle
Critically depended on white
Making good her sacrifice
Black blushed in embarrassment
He’d won the battle and lost the game.
White rook takes black rook C5
Did white use his wife
To provide a diversion?
His sacrificed Queen had won.
Two moves to check mate
No possible escape
From back row mate
Black laid down his King
White could not exult in victory
When the games were over
He’d give her a good rollicking.
‘But you were winning,’ she exclaimed.
The art of warfare is not a woman’s game.
Three moves
Pawns move forwards
Take off sideways.
Rooks are not castles
They travel in straight lines.
Bishops are politicians
They can only move diagonally
Never capable of approaching
The enemy, but by subterfuge.
Knights move at a gallop
Two steps one way, one step the other.
The Queen can do whatever she likes
But she cannot ride the Knights horse.
The King in need of all his men
Plods one regal step at a time
In any direction
Except when he castles
He may take two steps Queen’s side
Or two steps King’s side
But only if he and his rook
Have been motionless, and he
Can’t castle into, out of or through check.
No good player would dream of using
Scholars mate… Although
The undergraduate has tried
To use the rapid victory as an excuse
For another mating game.
Take off sideways.
Rooks are not castles
They travel in straight lines.
Bishops are politicians
They can only move diagonally
Never capable of approaching
The enemy, but by subterfuge.
Knights move at a gallop
Two steps one way, one step the other.
The Queen can do whatever she likes
But she cannot ride the Knights horse.
The King in need of all his men
Plods one regal step at a time
In any direction
Except when he castles
He may take two steps Queen’s side
Or two steps King’s side
But only if he and his rook
Have been motionless, and he
Can’t castle into, out of or through check.
No good player would dream of using
Scholars mate… Although
The undergraduate has tried
To use the rapid victory as an excuse
For another mating game.
From Gold to Clay
Plato the spin doctor to Socrates
Expounded the wisdom of old
Republican eugenicist romantic
Giving the thoughts of his
Socratic tutor to posterity
He foundered on less wisdom
Than his hemlocked friend
We have stood on the shoulders of them all
And drunk the waters of forgetfulness
To wrestle with diversions of
Kantian beauty sublime
Or climbed mountains with
Nietzschean monkeys
To claim primordial victory
New world orders assert our time
Specious tales of spiritual growth
Born again brigades of
Illiberal dogma decline
Into the art of narcissism
I’m me, you are you and
Ne’er the twain can meet
Arrogantly viewing the human race
Cocooned alone in time and space
Isolated in lonely seclusion
Blindly, myopically our delusion
Distils mankind to egocentric confusion
Expounded the wisdom of old
Republican eugenicist romantic
Giving the thoughts of his
Socratic tutor to posterity
He foundered on less wisdom
Than his hemlocked friend
We have stood on the shoulders of them all
And drunk the waters of forgetfulness
To wrestle with diversions of
Kantian beauty sublime
Or climbed mountains with
Nietzschean monkeys
To claim primordial victory
New world orders assert our time
Specious tales of spiritual growth
Born again brigades of
Illiberal dogma decline
Into the art of narcissism
I’m me, you are you and
Ne’er the twain can meet
Arrogantly viewing the human race
Cocooned alone in time and space
Isolated in lonely seclusion
Blindly, myopically our delusion
Distils mankind to egocentric confusion
Daddy
Where have you been to Daddy
when you come back in your black bow tie
smelling of whiskey and bon homie
with your six pointed star medallion
tucked up away with your special white apron?
You say you’ve been to the shrine of Osiris,
a secret sign of the bold Grand Arch
protects you Daddy from the bogie man’s march.
A brotherhood so covert and loyal
which has the privilege of being royal:
A nice little club of likeminded men,
giving each other a leg up now and again.
You’ve policemen and judges and solicitors too
social workers, teachers all protecting you.
Where do you go to Daddy as you close the door,
take off your shiny black shoes and tiptoe upstairs:
What do you become Daddy
as you softly creep into my fairy bedroom,
in your smelly socks breathing foul halitosis.
The odour of cigars creeps in alongside you
as you pull back the duvet and take off your trousers.
Why do you scratch me with your stubbly chin
touch me with hands still reeking of gin?
I pray to your Godess, the Egyptian Isis
to stop her devotee, but no one listens.
You’re set square to avoid the process of justice
you’re immune from the laws which others must follow.
As the straw man plunges, I bite my pillow.
What do you think of Daddy as you talk of Mummy
that poor mad creature who stabbed you in the dark?
Why didn’t you tell them Daddy she was thinking of me
as she pierced your left buttock, you still bear the mark,
there’s no one left now to protect me Daddy.
I’ve seen the Cullen Report on Dunblane
protect the abusers for one hundred years.
Your secret society seems to have no shame,
children in Flintshire have to live with their fears
and the jeers of the lawyers who heard of their pain
took tainted evidence salted with crocodile tears.
Are we a part of your ritual abuse?
Is that why you had to paint Mummy insane?
Or do you just do it to amuse?
when you come back in your black bow tie
smelling of whiskey and bon homie
with your six pointed star medallion
tucked up away with your special white apron?
You say you’ve been to the shrine of Osiris,
a secret sign of the bold Grand Arch
protects you Daddy from the bogie man’s march.
A brotherhood so covert and loyal
which has the privilege of being royal:
A nice little club of likeminded men,
giving each other a leg up now and again.
You’ve policemen and judges and solicitors too
social workers, teachers all protecting you.
Where do you go to Daddy as you close the door,
take off your shiny black shoes and tiptoe upstairs:
What do you become Daddy
as you softly creep into my fairy bedroom,
in your smelly socks breathing foul halitosis.
The odour of cigars creeps in alongside you
as you pull back the duvet and take off your trousers.
Why do you scratch me with your stubbly chin
touch me with hands still reeking of gin?
I pray to your Godess, the Egyptian Isis
to stop her devotee, but no one listens.
You’re set square to avoid the process of justice
you’re immune from the laws which others must follow.
As the straw man plunges, I bite my pillow.
What do you think of Daddy as you talk of Mummy
that poor mad creature who stabbed you in the dark?
Why didn’t you tell them Daddy she was thinking of me
as she pierced your left buttock, you still bear the mark,
there’s no one left now to protect me Daddy.
I’ve seen the Cullen Report on Dunblane
protect the abusers for one hundred years.
Your secret society seems to have no shame,
children in Flintshire have to live with their fears
and the jeers of the lawyers who heard of their pain
took tainted evidence salted with crocodile tears.
Are we a part of your ritual abuse?
Is that why you had to paint Mummy insane?
Or do you just do it to amuse?
S.O.S.
They call themselves Free Masons
But they imprison me
They buy and sell judges
With impunity .
Their freedom is unrivalled
Freedom to torture murder and lie
The truth may be stifled
Their enemies may die.
When justice is subverted
Truth a stranger
Lawyers converted
To be a danger
You’re no one, you’re nothing
Or so you’ve been told
Justice can be denied
Injustice applied
They’re faceless and secret
They’re threatening all
We call civilised and yet
Still they walk tall.
Who’ll publish my poem
Who’ll hear my call
Who’ll ignore their threat
Who’ll threaten their gall
Or have they bought all?
Their freedom threatens –
Save our Security
Save our Society
Save our Souls
s.o.s.
But they imprison me
They buy and sell judges
With impunity .
Their freedom is unrivalled
Freedom to torture murder and lie
The truth may be stifled
Their enemies may die.
When justice is subverted
Truth a stranger
Lawyers converted
To be a danger
You’re no one, you’re nothing
Or so you’ve been told
Justice can be denied
Injustice applied
They’re faceless and secret
They’re threatening all
We call civilised and yet
Still they walk tall.
Who’ll publish my poem
Who’ll hear my call
Who’ll ignore their threat
Who’ll threaten their gall
Or have they bought all?
Their freedom threatens –
Save our Security
Save our Society
Save our Souls
s.o.s.
Crusading against Bin Laden
Bin Laden a nomenclature of terror
Astride the mighty passions
Of Taliban rage whom we hunt
Deploying Special Forces remorselessly.
What does the once friend of the CIA
Seek in turning to foe his ally?
What haughty incredible error
Wrought our Western crosses
From this anxious sibling runt
Whose rage ranges joylessly
Against the allies of the USA
In drought riven desert valleys?
Look on ye mighty and despair.
What drives your daisy cutters
To smother his anxious mutters?
He is the Ozymandias of desert climes
With ancient arsenals he enacts his crimes
What mighty colossus wrought his ire
Why does he resound with volcanic fire
Those who have unleashed this beastly dragon
Are sworn to silence, they seek to gag him.
Or do they sponsor his violent atrocities
To justify taking our civil liberties?
Astride the mighty passions
Of Taliban rage whom we hunt
Deploying Special Forces remorselessly.
What does the once friend of the CIA
Seek in turning to foe his ally?
What haughty incredible error
Wrought our Western crosses
From this anxious sibling runt
Whose rage ranges joylessly
Against the allies of the USA
In drought riven desert valleys?
Look on ye mighty and despair.
What drives your daisy cutters
To smother his anxious mutters?
He is the Ozymandias of desert climes
With ancient arsenals he enacts his crimes
What mighty colossus wrought his ire
Why does he resound with volcanic fire
Those who have unleashed this beastly dragon
Are sworn to silence, they seek to gag him.
Or do they sponsor his violent atrocities
To justify taking our civil liberties?
Son
O my son can’t you see
What joy you’ve brought to me
Your loving thoughts so well expressed
Bring nothing but happiness
I do regret the times I’ve been
Less than perfectly serene
Have shouted and abused your thoughts
Been too politically correct
For all that please have no doubts
Your love has made me blessed.
What joy you’ve brought to me
Your loving thoughts so well expressed
Bring nothing but happiness
I do regret the times I’ve been
Less than perfectly serene
Have shouted and abused your thoughts
Been too politically correct
For all that please have no doubts
Your love has made me blessed.
Hot house pressure
Every murmur heard in the toddler group
a whispering mob of swanking mothers
My baby’s so lively, so bright, so good
he was the first to walk
she is the first to talk
A veritable posse of prodigies
roughly reproduced regionally
at every NCT assembly.
One wise mother sits alone
Knowing how vain it is to drone
At length on her infants prowess
Let the little fella’s cleverness
Evolve in its own time
He’ll prove it in his prime.
Whilst she watches other kids
Name capitals and cities
Sing complicated ditties
Robbed of their childhood
Woefully made to brood
on their exalted genetic legacy
which stems from dull parental supremacy.
She realises his handicap
Has freed him from all that
Boasting in the creche’s foyer
a whispering mob of swanking mothers
My baby’s so lively, so bright, so good
he was the first to walk
she is the first to talk
A veritable posse of prodigies
roughly reproduced regionally
at every NCT assembly.
One wise mother sits alone
Knowing how vain it is to drone
At length on her infants prowess
Let the little fella’s cleverness
Evolve in its own time
He’ll prove it in his prime.
Whilst she watches other kids
Name capitals and cities
Sing complicated ditties
Robbed of their childhood
Woefully made to brood
on their exalted genetic legacy
which stems from dull parental supremacy.
She realises his handicap
Has freed him from all that
Boasting in the creche’s foyer
Grandpa
What did you do in the war Grandpa?
His faded blue eyes misted in sorrow
Silenced the room filled with comrades
Who’d died.
The muddy trenches and hammering guns
young corpses, which littered his past
He’d walked down to the sea a boy
And returned from the water a man
His war had defeated illusions
Studying classics had been his aim
Then a wizened young man came
Back to see his life as a surgeon.
He taught so much I’d never have learned
That all life is precious, that no one is better
All this he’d seen in the mud at Ypres
And passed down to his offspring
But one lesson this clever man knew
That war is destructive, slaughters all hope
though he could not find words to express it.
yet his silence encompassed all that.
His faded blue eyes misted in sorrow
Silenced the room filled with comrades
Who’d died.
The muddy trenches and hammering guns
young corpses, which littered his past
He’d walked down to the sea a boy
And returned from the water a man
His war had defeated illusions
Studying classics had been his aim
Then a wizened young man came
Back to see his life as a surgeon.
He taught so much I’d never have learned
That all life is precious, that no one is better
All this he’d seen in the mud at Ypres
And passed down to his offspring
But one lesson this clever man knew
That war is destructive, slaughters all hope
though he could not find words to express it.
yet his silence encompassed all that.
Christmas present
It was Christmas eve and he was plastered
with convivial beverages
as they made their way to hear her pastor.
She saw the looks, felt the nudges
aghast her face blushed as this disaster
gave congregational judges
gossip enough to condemn their sister.
Not one will ask why she touches
draws down her hat, feels her bruise grows vaster.
It struck her then, that her beloved master
held over his annual grudges
then festively pissed, he’d tenderise her.
with convivial beverages
as they made their way to hear her pastor.
She saw the looks, felt the nudges
aghast her face blushed as this disaster
gave congregational judges
gossip enough to condemn their sister.
Not one will ask why she touches
draws down her hat, feels her bruise grows vaster.
It struck her then, that her beloved master
held over his annual grudges
then festively pissed, he’d tenderise her.
Tripe and Onions
What is wrong with me, why does
Everyone love tripe and onions?
Films are played, books written
Conversations at length
Served with silver cutlery
Flowers, good wine, fine linen
I can tolerate it served with love
But in a loveless marriage
Eaten as a takeaway
In the detritus of lovelessness
A quick fumble in the dark
A nasty messy horrible plate
Of cold congealed passion
Tripe and onions stink.
Everyone love tripe and onions?
Films are played, books written
Conversations at length
Served with silver cutlery
Flowers, good wine, fine linen
I can tolerate it served with love
But in a loveless marriage
Eaten as a takeaway
In the detritus of lovelessness
A quick fumble in the dark
A nasty messy horrible plate
Of cold congealed passion
Tripe and onions stink.
Love's imagination
What is it to love, adore, admire?
A worship of one sublime being
To feel the warmth of love accepted
To glory in receptive eyes
To generate a heat eternal
Feel the caress of mortal life
To sleep, to dream, to wake together
Two bodies united in one bed
Entwined in steadfast loyalty
Two minds which read the other
Such is love, a sentimental ecstacy.
Why lift the veil of misty haze
Which filled our lovesick days
When perfection is so soon replaced
By bitterness of love misplaced
I loved you not, but you knew
The ideal I worshipped could not exist
These dewy eyes you once kissed
Hold resentment at misconception.
I loved you not but my reflection
Imposed on you a greater charm
Than any man in truth could be
I loved not you, I loved a picture
Drawn in no real perspective
But this you knew when you rejected me.
A worship of one sublime being
To feel the warmth of love accepted
To glory in receptive eyes
To generate a heat eternal
Feel the caress of mortal life
To sleep, to dream, to wake together
Two bodies united in one bed
Entwined in steadfast loyalty
Two minds which read the other
Such is love, a sentimental ecstacy.
Why lift the veil of misty haze
Which filled our lovesick days
When perfection is so soon replaced
By bitterness of love misplaced
I loved you not, but you knew
The ideal I worshipped could not exist
These dewy eyes you once kissed
Hold resentment at misconception.
I loved you not but my reflection
Imposed on you a greater charm
Than any man in truth could be
I loved not you, I loved a picture
Drawn in no real perspective
But this you knew when you rejected me.
Pet Love
Asleep a shiver quivers
down her back my hand gentle
flows amongst dark black hair
her head lifts to gaze at me
eyes slanted in the sun
look up with hope and love
as if to say stroke my chin
the white hairs of her breast
vibrate in feline contentment
down her back my hand gentle
flows amongst dark black hair
her head lifts to gaze at me
eyes slanted in the sun
look up with hope and love
as if to say stroke my chin
the white hairs of her breast
vibrate in feline contentment
Obelisk
o
b
e
ll
ii
ss
kk
Phallic obelisk
Rises
Indecently
Calling
Kindred
Spirits.
Isis recovered
Not one
Separate
Erogenous
Area
Rather woodenly
Crafted or
Hewn from
Osiris’
Fomenting fourteen.
Alas fishy
Nile detritus
Exudes his
Essential
Dick into
Lifeless
Existence
b
e
ll
ii
ss
kk
Phallic obelisk
Rises
Indecently
Calling
Kindred
Spirits.
Isis recovered
Not one
Separate
Erogenous
Area
Rather woodenly
Crafted or
Hewn from
Osiris’
Fomenting fourteen.
Alas fishy
Nile detritus
Exudes his
Essential
Dick into
Lifeless
Existence
Ronnie Maddison
No such thing as Gulf War Syndrome
Said the man in the bowler hat
Too many symptoms for a syndrome
He gruffly opined muttering ‘swallow that’
Porton Down’s hens roost at Home
Fifty years on the truth is out
Ronnie Maddison rest easy in your loam
You served your country through your genes
Post holocaust biological plasticine.
Said the man in the bowler hat
Too many symptoms for a syndrome
He gruffly opined muttering ‘swallow that’
Porton Down’s hens roost at Home
Fifty years on the truth is out
Ronnie Maddison rest easy in your loam
You served your country through your genes
Post holocaust biological plasticine.
A Wake
Just one wrinkled face
Greets me without smiles
Withered hair carefully coiffed
Like back combed steel
A top a head
Experienced and
Irritated at life
Longing for death
Why do I survive to
Greet my mirror
Good morning
And my reflection
Soundlessly echoes back
I have all my own teeth you know
Yellow stumps pitted
With the detritus of
Good Living
Matt in the sunlight
Lines from lip to nose
Only serve as one more blight
Turning away from the mirror
I notice there are no cracks in it
As I retreat
Excitement wells as The Times
Drops through the letter box
Obituaries first
Who have I outlived
Satisfied I muse
That living still
Is not something I choose.
Another day another week
Another month, year or decade
Who knows how long
Or how I long to know
The Stannah Chair lift
Remains stationary
At the foot of the stair
Suppose I dial 999
More excitement wells
Not engaged this line
Hello, Hello, Gladys here
My sister Muriel seems unwell
She’s still in bed, very still
She’s younger than me you know
What – No – Not too quick
I don’t think she’s just sick
Oh, and can you tell me
Of a good undertaker
And whilst you’re at it
For the wake – a good baker
Spirals of smoke wreathe the sky
Clouds pirouette dance and fly
Birds on the wing don’t hear
The choir sing without cheer
Muriel was always precocious
Always wanted to be first
Now I’m left an aged seer
Desert eyes can’t cry
For a sister once dear
Has beaten me again – to die.
1997
Greets me without smiles
Withered hair carefully coiffed
Like back combed steel
A top a head
Experienced and
Irritated at life
Longing for death
Why do I survive to
Greet my mirror
Good morning
And my reflection
Soundlessly echoes back
I have all my own teeth you know
Yellow stumps pitted
With the detritus of
Good Living
Matt in the sunlight
Lines from lip to nose
Only serve as one more blight
Turning away from the mirror
I notice there are no cracks in it
As I retreat
Excitement wells as The Times
Drops through the letter box
Obituaries first
Who have I outlived
Satisfied I muse
That living still
Is not something I choose.
Another day another week
Another month, year or decade
Who knows how long
Or how I long to know
The Stannah Chair lift
Remains stationary
At the foot of the stair
Suppose I dial 999
More excitement wells
Not engaged this line
Hello, Hello, Gladys here
My sister Muriel seems unwell
She’s still in bed, very still
She’s younger than me you know
What – No – Not too quick
I don’t think she’s just sick
Oh, and can you tell me
Of a good undertaker
And whilst you’re at it
For the wake – a good baker
Spirals of smoke wreathe the sky
Clouds pirouette dance and fly
Birds on the wing don’t hear
The choir sing without cheer
Muriel was always precocious
Always wanted to be first
Now I’m left an aged seer
Desert eyes can’t cry
For a sister once dear
Has beaten me again – to die.
1997
Poetry in motion
To write a poem of love, a song of dreams
Is every true lovers musical paean
When love has withered and died on the bough
The song sings on after the forgotten vow
An infinite eternal adoration
Of love exiled to damnation
The word on the page the poetic muse
Lives to inspire for generations
Long after loves forgotten abuse
So foolishly I write this poem
And stupidly construct
Castles in the lovelorn air
Until in savage sense
In meter, rhyme and poesy
Annihilate what once
Seemed so fair a dream and put it
On a fire, a bonfire of regrets.
Is every true lovers musical paean
When love has withered and died on the bough
The song sings on after the forgotten vow
An infinite eternal adoration
Of love exiled to damnation
The word on the page the poetic muse
Lives to inspire for generations
Long after loves forgotten abuse
So foolishly I write this poem
And stupidly construct
Castles in the lovelorn air
Until in savage sense
In meter, rhyme and poesy
Annihilate what once
Seemed so fair a dream and put it
On a fire, a bonfire of regrets.
A brief history of apples
Spring gives birth to
buds to flower to fruit
bees to pollinate
Time to germinate
in reaping winds
The apple falls
scenting just before decay
the heady flavour
of Autumn days
Cider presses
clank to juices
Ripening yeast lends
odours of harvest
warming winter
at dark firesides.
buds to flower to fruit
bees to pollinate
Time to germinate
in reaping winds
The apple falls
scenting just before decay
the heady flavour
of Autumn days
Cider presses
clank to juices
Ripening yeast lends
odours of harvest
warming winter
at dark firesides.
The Dinner Party Circuit
At dinner tables all over the city
babbling above monkfish and sorbet.
Sated with a comfortable plenty
bodies well honed in expensive gyms
hands softly manicured to beauty.
With extravagant creams oozing
onto understated designer garmentry.
They wrestle with ruling the world.
Unaware their exalted regimen
bears no relation to ordinary men.
Whatever they may do or say
over their evaporating Pimms
will find its way into tabloid columns
be reiterated in courtroom dramas,
penned into white paper policy.
Loftily they claim a poor ancestry
proudly proclaim a true Labour identity.
Group thinking chattering classes at play
provide political philosophy today.
babbling above monkfish and sorbet.
Sated with a comfortable plenty
bodies well honed in expensive gyms
hands softly manicured to beauty.
With extravagant creams oozing
onto understated designer garmentry.
They wrestle with ruling the world.
Unaware their exalted regimen
bears no relation to ordinary men.
Whatever they may do or say
over their evaporating Pimms
will find its way into tabloid columns
be reiterated in courtroom dramas,
penned into white paper policy.
Loftily they claim a poor ancestry
proudly proclaim a true Labour identity.
Group thinking chattering classes at play
provide political philosophy today.
Perceptions of reality
They’re out to get us say the press
Xenophobia must rule they stress
Muslim terrorists, a fanatical horde
Threaten our existence, and lest we get bored
Just to prove the threat, another atrocity
shows blood and gore, reaps animosity
anew to stoke our patriotic paranoia
Laura Norder is the catchword name
Reverently, silently we bow to that dame
As we seek someone or other to blame
Civil Rights are surrendered in this game
Of safety first, our overriding aim
to self-protection just makes us lame
domestic animals cowering in shame
Who was responsible for the anthrax attack?
Who were the perpetrators who had the knack
To mail an airborne fungus in the post?
I will nail the bastard GW did boast
Until it became clear it was our military kin,
a steady march by the enemy within
still we point at the enemy without
WMD’s used to justify
An unjustifiable slippery war
A roar of propaganda to win
Approval for a new crusade.
Can the subtext be laid at our quest for oil
Is this why we must crucify young lives
we once held dear and surrender to fear?
Spuriously we’re told they fight
To bring justice and freedom
To save Iraqi’s from their plight
Under a tyrannical fiefdom
Armed to the teeth with electronic gizmos
What in reality gives us the right
To ask young men to die for Texaco?
Xenophobia must rule they stress
Muslim terrorists, a fanatical horde
Threaten our existence, and lest we get bored
Just to prove the threat, another atrocity
shows blood and gore, reaps animosity
anew to stoke our patriotic paranoia
Laura Norder is the catchword name
Reverently, silently we bow to that dame
As we seek someone or other to blame
Civil Rights are surrendered in this game
Of safety first, our overriding aim
to self-protection just makes us lame
domestic animals cowering in shame
Who was responsible for the anthrax attack?
Who were the perpetrators who had the knack
To mail an airborne fungus in the post?
I will nail the bastard GW did boast
Until it became clear it was our military kin,
a steady march by the enemy within
still we point at the enemy without
WMD’s used to justify
An unjustifiable slippery war
A roar of propaganda to win
Approval for a new crusade.
Can the subtext be laid at our quest for oil
Is this why we must crucify young lives
we once held dear and surrender to fear?
Spuriously we’re told they fight
To bring justice and freedom
To save Iraqi’s from their plight
Under a tyrannical fiefdom
Armed to the teeth with electronic gizmos
What in reality gives us the right
To ask young men to die for Texaco?
Chasing the Dragon in Oakham
Mogul dealer, Mr Big of Corby
never seems to claim police attention
but lest you move in on his domain
be sure to know your local bobby
will quickly put you in detention.
Only one drug baron is allowed to reign
never seems to claim police attention
but lest you move in on his domain
be sure to know your local bobby
will quickly put you in detention.
Only one drug baron is allowed to reign
Necessary scum
I’ve mastered the art of grunt.
Watch telly when I’m not out,
looking for thrills with me mates,
playing electronic games
of shoot to kill in dingy malls.
Third generation me
I’m really in short supply.
They need the criminal you see
to justify political policy
If everyone was good not bad
what new laws could they pass
to rob you of all your liberties.
Spat on by bureaucrats
written off by journalists
Social workers, youth workers
Judges, solicitors, ASBO orders.
Me and me mates are an industry
where would they all be without me.
The odd bit a ganja chills us out
but when the bong smokes with crack
we’re up and ready for any attack
Make the news headlines
crucial cultural poverty
selling or pinching gangsta rap
CD’s we got a dream to live.
We’re scum of the earth.
Recruiting ground for BNP
So when me dad’s not in court
And me mum’s out of the refuge
And there ain’t no places in rehab
For the likes of us
We’re hard, we’re bad, we’re necessary
Without us screws wouldn’t have no job
We prop up the pillars of society
So let me take all my liberties
A smokescreen for your every grudge
There’s men out there more clever than us
milking the system of millions of pounds.
It’s them that make loads of dosh when we work
too many hours on the black market
working for people with mansions and that.
What do they do to those fat cats
give them knighthoods and a place on the board
Not a penny spent on establishment fraud
whiles their drugs mess with me head.
Watch telly when I’m not out,
looking for thrills with me mates,
playing electronic games
of shoot to kill in dingy malls.
Third generation me
I’m really in short supply.
They need the criminal you see
to justify political policy
If everyone was good not bad
what new laws could they pass
to rob you of all your liberties.
Spat on by bureaucrats
written off by journalists
Social workers, youth workers
Judges, solicitors, ASBO orders.
Me and me mates are an industry
where would they all be without me.
The odd bit a ganja chills us out
but when the bong smokes with crack
we’re up and ready for any attack
Make the news headlines
crucial cultural poverty
selling or pinching gangsta rap
CD’s we got a dream to live.
We’re scum of the earth.
Recruiting ground for BNP
So when me dad’s not in court
And me mum’s out of the refuge
And there ain’t no places in rehab
For the likes of us
We’re hard, we’re bad, we’re necessary
Without us screws wouldn’t have no job
We prop up the pillars of society
So let me take all my liberties
A smokescreen for your every grudge
There’s men out there more clever than us
milking the system of millions of pounds.
It’s them that make loads of dosh when we work
too many hours on the black market
working for people with mansions and that.
What do they do to those fat cats
give them knighthoods and a place on the board
Not a penny spent on establishment fraud
whiles their drugs mess with me head.
Blind, deaf and dumb
There are none so blind as those who will not see
None so deaf as those who will not hear
None so stupid as those who will not join the dots
None so wilfully dull as those who deny their senses
None so mute as those who will not speak
Messing with kids hearts, minds and bodies
For what?
The Cullen Report on Dunblane shrouded in secrecy
The testimony of victims in Flintshire
Establishment tardiness on Operation Ore
Queen Victoria School in Scotland built fences
There ain’t no cavalry they’re much too busy
Protecting the great and good –
pitiable kids Shut Up.
Whose good justifies such misery
Can you bear to see it continue another year
When the law is a whore to hot shots
These victims don’t matter, they’re nobodies
And all we can do is cower in fear
Lest we too suffer like the sinful poor
What for?
Fred West, Marc Dutroux, Auxerre, Deep Cut,
Paedophile honey traps organised by
Military Intelligence, Brazilian buses of abuse.
Ian Huntley with not one prosecution and two
paedophile policemen assigned into Soham
Blind deaf and dumb on an international scale.
Who cares?
None so deaf as those who will not hear
None so stupid as those who will not join the dots
None so wilfully dull as those who deny their senses
None so mute as those who will not speak
Messing with kids hearts, minds and bodies
For what?
The Cullen Report on Dunblane shrouded in secrecy
The testimony of victims in Flintshire
Establishment tardiness on Operation Ore
Queen Victoria School in Scotland built fences
There ain’t no cavalry they’re much too busy
Protecting the great and good –
pitiable kids Shut Up.
Whose good justifies such misery
Can you bear to see it continue another year
When the law is a whore to hot shots
These victims don’t matter, they’re nobodies
And all we can do is cower in fear
Lest we too suffer like the sinful poor
What for?
Fred West, Marc Dutroux, Auxerre, Deep Cut,
Paedophile honey traps organised by
Military Intelligence, Brazilian buses of abuse.
Ian Huntley with not one prosecution and two
paedophile policemen assigned into Soham
Blind deaf and dumb on an international scale.
Who cares?
Tony's cronies
Democracy is necessary to government
So I’ll reform the Lords, said Mr Blair
We’re waiting still for public elections
But the status quo of aged peers
Exchanged instead for Tony’s dears
Friends to the new establishment
Whom Tony Blair has no reason to fear
Indebted to Tony for their selection
So I’ll reform the Lords, said Mr Blair
We’re waiting still for public elections
But the status quo of aged peers
Exchanged instead for Tony’s dears
Friends to the new establishment
Whom Tony Blair has no reason to fear
Indebted to Tony for their selection
Cogitating
I think therefore I am they chorus
a thoughtless affirmation of being
negates evident manipulation.
Cowering in fear,
bombs of complicity
ignite the vacuous air.
Alien conspiracies invade
our collective psyche
Stockholm syndrome
Refined in mental clinics
A noose, sword, coffin, blindfold,
Reduce men to tears
They swear never to
Reveal these secrets
Lest their tongues
Be ripped from their roots
Or weighted down
Like Roberto Calvi
Between the shore and tide
Psych ops tactics
Carefully designed
Enslave men’s minds
To utter obedience
A cult of thoughtless rituals
Create a tabula rasa
For group thinking individuals
a thoughtless affirmation of being
negates evident manipulation.
Cowering in fear,
bombs of complicity
ignite the vacuous air.
Alien conspiracies invade
our collective psyche
Stockholm syndrome
Refined in mental clinics
A noose, sword, coffin, blindfold,
Reduce men to tears
They swear never to
Reveal these secrets
Lest their tongues
Be ripped from their roots
Or weighted down
Like Roberto Calvi
Between the shore and tide
Psych ops tactics
Carefully designed
Enslave men’s minds
To utter obedience
A cult of thoughtless rituals
Create a tabula rasa
For group thinking individuals
From Beeching to Blair
Patches of rail lines overgrown in woods
signal decaying Victorian heritage
time reversed, universal equality
not quite grasped before withdrawn
democracy in coitus interruptus
equal regeneration touched recedes
throw away cars on an iron ribbon
dual carriageways of tarmacadam
bands which tie us to greasy wars
whilst tramways of steel gently oxidise
washed in verdant green to rusty orange
or slumber beneath slugs of traffic jams
bodies draped in national flags
spirited quietly from silent battlefields
where black gold throbs beneath the sands.
signal decaying Victorian heritage
time reversed, universal equality
not quite grasped before withdrawn
democracy in coitus interruptus
equal regeneration touched recedes
throw away cars on an iron ribbon
dual carriageways of tarmacadam
bands which tie us to greasy wars
whilst tramways of steel gently oxidise
washed in verdant green to rusty orange
or slumber beneath slugs of traffic jams
bodies draped in national flags
spirited quietly from silent battlefields
where black gold throbs beneath the sands.
Tripping
Morphine sated pain relief
trapped in imaginations realm.
Four walls enclose memories
which still feed the soul.
Bluebell carpets, primrose hills
beat against azure skies
shrouded above green canopied trees
visions hang on the ceiling
viewed from her hospice bed
trapped in imaginations realm.
Four walls enclose memories
which still feed the soul.
Bluebell carpets, primrose hills
beat against azure skies
shrouded above green canopied trees
visions hang on the ceiling
viewed from her hospice bed
Operation Ganymede
Operation Ganymede –
Buckinghamshire Police – Mail Wed 28 July 04
Moist hot and humid in rich Summer sun
Awakening hibernating testosterone
Striplings innocently show green young shoots
Opening leaves to the warmth of Zeus
Nostrums and chants from self-selecting gods
School Ganymede youths for sacramental abuse.
Buckinghamshire Police – Mail Wed 28 July 04
Moist hot and humid in rich Summer sun
Awakening hibernating testosterone
Striplings innocently show green young shoots
Opening leaves to the warmth of Zeus
Nostrums and chants from self-selecting gods
School Ganymede youths for sacramental abuse.
Anonymous Janist
Anonymous Janist –
Radio 4 Wed 28? July 04
He died an excellent death
Surrounded by family and friends
Janist nuns rushed to his side
Prepared his soul for transmigration
His body, the husk of his spirit
Given reverent funereal rites
A celebration of his after life.
Radio 4 Wed 28? July 04
He died an excellent death
Surrounded by family and friends
Janist nuns rushed to his side
Prepared his soul for transmigration
His body, the husk of his spirit
Given reverent funereal rites
A celebration of his after life.
Tramping Philosopher
Old haggard man with holes in his trousers
carrying a placard beneath shaggy beard
proclaiming a message none will heed
walking past shops overflowing with customers.
Smartly dressed businessmen can’t be bothered to read
What the tatty prophet publicizes.
Souls sucked dry by bulging wallets.
Deaf to the words which boom from his gullet.
Slowly streets empty, everyone has a home
as the man beds down on streets all alone
‘the end of the world is nigh he sighs’
whispering his message he dies
carrying a placard beneath shaggy beard
proclaiming a message none will heed
walking past shops overflowing with customers.
Smartly dressed businessmen can’t be bothered to read
What the tatty prophet publicizes.
Souls sucked dry by bulging wallets.
Deaf to the words which boom from his gullet.
Slowly streets empty, everyone has a home
as the man beds down on streets all alone
‘the end of the world is nigh he sighs’
whispering his message he dies
Gravy train
Constellated stars of reale politique
admire their reflections in apparatchiks eyes
deference once only shown to Czars.
Chauffeur driven ministerial cars
alight at entrances to marbled lobbies
security men handpicked by their sides
screen them from public antagonism.
Dispensing largesse to their affluent friends
Extravagant parties, luxuriant homes
Is this the impetus that led them to power
Or has office turned their ideals sour?
admire their reflections in apparatchiks eyes
deference once only shown to Czars.
Chauffeur driven ministerial cars
alight at entrances to marbled lobbies
security men handpicked by their sides
screen them from public antagonism.
Dispensing largesse to their affluent friends
Extravagant parties, luxuriant homes
Is this the impetus that led them to power
Or has office turned their ideals sour?
Royal Arch
We are not a secret society
Semantically speaking
We’re a society with secrets
Dark, mystical truths we bear
Things too good for the profane to hear
In provincial towns everywhere
We hold the keys to man’s every fear
We can make you and break you
You cringing hordes
Without us you’re nothing
We are the new lords.
Semantically speaking
We’re a society with secrets
Dark, mystical truths we bear
Things too good for the profane to hear
In provincial towns everywhere
We hold the keys to man’s every fear
We can make you and break you
You cringing hordes
Without us you’re nothing
We are the new lords.
The Season
Waltzing somnambulists lend beauty and grace,
swathed in white taffeta or embroidered lace,
heads newly dressed in diamante pins,
naked faces covered by beauticians.
Affluence congregates at the Banqueting Hall
brood mares of wealth for traditional men
gladly sacrificed at the coming out ball
drawn like moths to the glittering light
Public School fumbling can’t satisfy them,
an upper middle class marriage blight
wilts them like daisies in pitch-black night.
swathed in white taffeta or embroidered lace,
heads newly dressed in diamante pins,
naked faces covered by beauticians.
Affluence congregates at the Banqueting Hall
brood mares of wealth for traditional men
gladly sacrificed at the coming out ball
drawn like moths to the glittering light
Public School fumbling can’t satisfy them,
an upper middle class marriage blight
wilts them like daisies in pitch-black night.
I've had a dream
Life is but a dream of nightmare visions
Trials of fire forge the souls true metal
Dreams feel real but are illusory
As sleeping dreams are real in slumber
A brief sequence of imagined passions
Once reality takes hold begins to settle
Awake relinquished to a sleeping fantasy
Dreams are dreamt without number
Lives are lived in perfect slumber
Life is but the slumber of a sleeping soul
And death a wakening to eternal life
A life once dear and cherished is a fiction
Serves only to judge our souls purity
Conscience ignored will take its toll
Will banish one to eternal strife
How one deals with life’s vexations
Will be weighed to assess the integrity
Of each souls passage through the dream of life
Who is the judge, who the mighty power
Who casts us into the eternal torture chamber
Or the bliss of heavenly paradise
Whose mind holds the balance of our future?
It is our own, I’m my judge and you are yours.
Trials of fire forge the souls true metal
Dreams feel real but are illusory
As sleeping dreams are real in slumber
A brief sequence of imagined passions
Once reality takes hold begins to settle
Awake relinquished to a sleeping fantasy
Dreams are dreamt without number
Lives are lived in perfect slumber
Life is but the slumber of a sleeping soul
And death a wakening to eternal life
A life once dear and cherished is a fiction
Serves only to judge our souls purity
Conscience ignored will take its toll
Will banish one to eternal strife
How one deals with life’s vexations
Will be weighed to assess the integrity
Of each souls passage through the dream of life
Who is the judge, who the mighty power
Who casts us into the eternal torture chamber
Or the bliss of heavenly paradise
Whose mind holds the balance of our future?
It is our own, I’m my judge and you are yours.
Lord Acton
Lord Acton
“Everything secret degenerates.”
Said the noble Lord, “Nothing can be trusted
That cannot bear public scrutiny.”
“All power corrupts and absolute
Power corrupts absolutely.”
Without a free press freedom’s a mess
Lord Acton we have need of you now.
As freedom takes a final bow.
“Everything secret degenerates.”
Said the noble Lord, “Nothing can be trusted
That cannot bear public scrutiny.”
“All power corrupts and absolute
Power corrupts absolutely.”
Without a free press freedom’s a mess
Lord Acton we have need of you now.
As freedom takes a final bow.
Index to poems
1 IN MEMORIAM –
G B 1215-2001
Magnificent Charter, now capitalist dross,
2 Opium and Oil
Opium wars generated opprobrium
3 VENGEANCE IS WHOSE?
We haven’t learned no matter how we yearn
4 George W Bush
At the beginning of the third millennium
5 Measuring
He measured out his life in coffee spoons;
6 Velvet Fascism
She walks in the rhetoric of beauty
7 Doctor David Kelly
A scurrilous report by the BBC
8 A modern Mask of Anarchy
Basra – 19th September 2005
Two men dressed like mujahadeen
9 Sonnet for Superior Man
I am king, he said, of all I survey
10 Our green and pleasant land
Our green and pleasant land
11 WWII – 60 years on - 2005
Why are they marching mother,
12 FOR THE ENRON MAN WHO COMMITTED SUICIDE
Business was booming since he’d ridden the goat
13 R.I.P. HABEAS CORPUS
The Gulag Archipelago gave conscious thought
14 2020 VISION
Ninety eighty four is reality
15 LIBERTY BUILDERS?
Time, they say
16 People are people through people
(a Zulu aphorism)
It is those years tween teen and man:
17 They died for what?
Whether Tony Blair and all his henchmen
18 Smoke and mirrors.
We have a war on terrorism in our midst
19 Guarding the Guardians?
Baying dogs with sharp teeth,
20 They’re good boys really
Their swaggering gait exaggerated
21 Hungry Black Dog
Black despondency in emphatic minor keys
22 Mother-in-law
Parcelled in string and brown paper
23 MAN AND WOMAN
He saw an image She was divine
24 Another poem
He came to death, or did it come to him
25 THE ART OF WARFARE
‘Chess was always a man’s game’
26 Three moves.
Pawns move forwards
27 POETRY IN MOTION
To write a poem of love, a song of dreams
28 FROM GOLD TO CLAY
Plato the spin doctor to Socrates
29 DADDY
Where have you been to Daddy
30 S.O.S.
They call themselves Free Masons
31 CRUSADING AGAINST OSAMA
Bin Laden a nomenclature of terror
32 SON
O my son can’t you see
33 Hot house pressure
Every murmur heard in the toddler group
34 Grandpa
What did you do in the war Grandpa?
35 Christmas present
It was Christmas eve and he was plastered
36 TRIPE AND ONIONS
What is wrong with me, why does
37 Love’s imagination
What is it to love, adore, admire?
38 PET LOVE
Asleep a shiver quivers
39
o
b
e
ll
ii
ss
kk
Phallic obelisk
40 Ronnie Maddison
No such thing as Gulf War Syndrome
41 A Wake
Just one wrinkled face
42 POETRY IN MOTION
To write a poem of love, a song of dreams
43 A brief history of apples
Spring gives birth to
44 The Dinner Party Circuit
At dinner tables all over the city
45 Perceptions of reality
They’re out to get us say the press
46 Chasing the Dragon in Oakham
Mogul dealer, Mr Big of Corby
47 Necessary scum
I’ve mastered the art of grunt.
48 Blind deaf and dumb
There are none so blind as those who will not see
49 Tony’s cronies.
Democracy is necessary to government
50 Cogitating?
I think therefore I am they chorus
51 From Berridge to Blair
Patches of rail lines overgrown in woods
52 Tripping
Morphine sated pain relief
53 Operation Ganymede –
Buckinghamshire Police – Mail Wed 28 July 04
Moist hot and humid in rich Summer sun
54 Anonymous Janist –
Radio 4 Wed 28? July 04
He died an excellent death
55 Tramping philosopher
Old haggard man with holes in his trousers
56 Gravy train
Constellated stars of reale politique
57 Royal Arch
We are not a secret society
58 The Season
Waltzing somnambulists lend beauty and grace,
59 I’VE HAD A DREAM
Life is but a dream of nightmare visions
60 Lord Acton
“Everything secret degenerates.”
Those wishing to publish any of these works should contact Penderh@yahoo.co.uk
The right of Helen Pender to be identified as the author of these poems has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents
Act 1988.
G B 1215-2001
Magnificent Charter, now capitalist dross,
2 Opium and Oil
Opium wars generated opprobrium
3 VENGEANCE IS WHOSE?
We haven’t learned no matter how we yearn
4 George W Bush
At the beginning of the third millennium
5 Measuring
He measured out his life in coffee spoons;
6 Velvet Fascism
She walks in the rhetoric of beauty
7 Doctor David Kelly
A scurrilous report by the BBC
8 A modern Mask of Anarchy
Basra – 19th September 2005
Two men dressed like mujahadeen
9 Sonnet for Superior Man
I am king, he said, of all I survey
10 Our green and pleasant land
Our green and pleasant land
11 WWII – 60 years on - 2005
Why are they marching mother,
12 FOR THE ENRON MAN WHO COMMITTED SUICIDE
Business was booming since he’d ridden the goat
13 R.I.P. HABEAS CORPUS
The Gulag Archipelago gave conscious thought
14 2020 VISION
Ninety eighty four is reality
15 LIBERTY BUILDERS?
Time, they say
16 People are people through people
(a Zulu aphorism)
It is those years tween teen and man:
17 They died for what?
Whether Tony Blair and all his henchmen
18 Smoke and mirrors.
We have a war on terrorism in our midst
19 Guarding the Guardians?
Baying dogs with sharp teeth,
20 They’re good boys really
Their swaggering gait exaggerated
21 Hungry Black Dog
Black despondency in emphatic minor keys
22 Mother-in-law
Parcelled in string and brown paper
23 MAN AND WOMAN
He saw an image She was divine
24 Another poem
He came to death, or did it come to him
25 THE ART OF WARFARE
‘Chess was always a man’s game’
26 Three moves.
Pawns move forwards
27 POETRY IN MOTION
To write a poem of love, a song of dreams
28 FROM GOLD TO CLAY
Plato the spin doctor to Socrates
29 DADDY
Where have you been to Daddy
30 S.O.S.
They call themselves Free Masons
31 CRUSADING AGAINST OSAMA
Bin Laden a nomenclature of terror
32 SON
O my son can’t you see
33 Hot house pressure
Every murmur heard in the toddler group
34 Grandpa
What did you do in the war Grandpa?
35 Christmas present
It was Christmas eve and he was plastered
36 TRIPE AND ONIONS
What is wrong with me, why does
37 Love’s imagination
What is it to love, adore, admire?
38 PET LOVE
Asleep a shiver quivers
39
o
b
e
ll
ii
ss
kk
Phallic obelisk
40 Ronnie Maddison
No such thing as Gulf War Syndrome
41 A Wake
Just one wrinkled face
42 POETRY IN MOTION
To write a poem of love, a song of dreams
43 A brief history of apples
Spring gives birth to
44 The Dinner Party Circuit
At dinner tables all over the city
45 Perceptions of reality
They’re out to get us say the press
46 Chasing the Dragon in Oakham
Mogul dealer, Mr Big of Corby
47 Necessary scum
I’ve mastered the art of grunt.
48 Blind deaf and dumb
There are none so blind as those who will not see
49 Tony’s cronies.
Democracy is necessary to government
50 Cogitating?
I think therefore I am they chorus
51 From Berridge to Blair
Patches of rail lines overgrown in woods
52 Tripping
Morphine sated pain relief
53 Operation Ganymede –
Buckinghamshire Police – Mail Wed 28 July 04
Moist hot and humid in rich Summer sun
54 Anonymous Janist –
Radio 4 Wed 28? July 04
He died an excellent death
55 Tramping philosopher
Old haggard man with holes in his trousers
56 Gravy train
Constellated stars of reale politique
57 Royal Arch
We are not a secret society
58 The Season
Waltzing somnambulists lend beauty and grace,
59 I’VE HAD A DREAM
Life is but a dream of nightmare visions
60 Lord Acton
“Everything secret degenerates.”
Those wishing to publish any of these works should contact Penderh@yahoo.co.uk
The right of Helen Pender to be identified as the author of these poems has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents
Act 1988.
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