SOCIAL COMMENT

15 minutes more

fifteen minutes , Andy said
so, full of it and gladly
did she join those seen on screen
and pseudo-sickness blandly

displayed; shock-horror to all -
what a contorted grimace
showed as the invertebrate
passed her Harvey Nick's chemise

on its way to oblivion;
six-legged pawn in a sick game,
played to be seen - for seeing's 
sake-is this the price of fame?

and others, with their boxes watch
the box and squirm  at fantasy,
but just too little of disgust
to put them off their KFC

elsewhere, not on screen, a small
child, deep in concentration
seeks  sustenance in the dark
earth to avoid starvation

that is else his fate; he grubs
for grubs , but can he dig one
out? And then his face alight 
with glee, he finds a big one

and quickly eaten, looks again - 
how should this make us all feel?
this is no game that he plays-
It's fact! His life! It's fucking real!!!

A different fifteen minutes

Would Andy be proud
As the unthinking crowd
Gathers; with their boxes
Around the box

To see whoever she be-
Whatever her name was-
I forgot - it matters not-
As with a contorted grimace
In a Harvey Nicks chemise

She almost retches
As she fetches upwards
To ingest
A crawling struggling insect

Writhing watchers squirm to see-
It almost puts them off their KFC
But only almost, they eat it just the same
It's the price she must pay for another fifteen minutes of fame
And, sadly,
She pays it gladly

Would Andy be proud
As the small head, bowed
Scrapes feverishly in the barren ground
Maybe another grub can be found?
He knows nothing of fame
He's never played a game

He eats insects to stay alive
To survive
And - with sickening glee-
Discovers a delicacy
And swallows eagerly
Now, that WOULD put you off your KFC!

This is no play, it's his life-and he's in it!
And - Glory Be!!! He's just found another fifteen minutes!!!

L'inconnu

Deep in the Earth, deep in the soil
Oblivion now life's new toil;
Kick of ball, then kick of gun -
Before life's quarter-first was done
Song of wrath then song of calling,
Heaven's bells toll for the fallen;
The hands that push-the hearts that bled-
Men turned to hate, green turned to red;
The hands that push, the hearts that reach
The words that learn, the books that teach;
A mother's grief-a stranger's sigh -
Who will know whereat you lie?
And-'ere this final act of War-
Did you find out the final score?

Where is He?

As silence stares, the only token
For future yet unspoken
The frame exists, but has no glass
So through it every doubt can pass
Are dreams of time to come
Lies-
Hid deep within uncertainties?

So build a wall that can't be breached
So the pinnacle is never reached
And spending all the light of light
Silent
Figures in the night
Stark, dark
Do not care-they just take all
Rejoicing as the shadows fall

Take arms! Take fight! And shut them out!
Should they just whisper, you must shout!
And shout! And shout! With all your might!
You have the day! Reclaim the night!

But ask - should purile denseness take -
Where's the Lord-for Heaven's sake???

Jungus fever

A celeb (just a "C") in the jungus
Eats an insect-is her brain made of fungus?-
In full view, at her leisure
With apparent displeasure-
And a fee some consider humungus!

A child also eats an insectus,
But here endeth any connectus-
He eats to survive,
Not for fame but for life!
How could this not but greatly affect us? 

Does anyone know the score?

Blue but pale Spring morn
And the burden borne
By the man in grey up the Summerhill
Still touches him deep
And the hill is steep

He knows her well, knows them all,
They're kind
But the invitation for tea, 
 and breakfast,
Is declined

And he leaves, slowly,
His meditation less holy,
He abandoned his hope
With the brown envelope
He left. And before

He takes more,
Stops for a cigarette-
He hasn't finished yet-
More souls to shiver
With the rest to deliver

Inside Summerhill, the sad surmise
Is greeted with crying, knowing eyes,
This handsome man, their second son
Is it really true? Has he really gone
On some foreign field; believed  killed?
Is home's blood spilled?

Now words unspoken fill the air-
Will you ever know the where
Of the very spot in the hostile ground
Where he can be found?
And-should he be- in this mad war game

He'll be known forever by another name,
A borrowed birthright from first-born
To be the one whose oath was sworn.
What is this mad and pointless game
That robbed him of his name?

Has he lost it in vain?
Will he find it again?
Whose spirit will remain?
Has his life has turned to dust-
Why in his God did he place his trust?

TOGETHER APART

Answering the call of new dreams, born
Of grime and clustered chimneys, many
Sailed the shadowed ocean giving
Birth to others nightmares.

Safe, with space, and room for
Roaming, private in their pristine
Dwellings, who could overcome their
Freedom?  Save for those they had

Imprisoned.  Cursed, confined within
The townships. In development
Divided. Ravenous rage would once
Spill over. Threatening those who’d

Come to conquer.  Brothers came and
Took the black men.  Some bound for
Defenestration.  Swinging rope and
Stinging whiplash.  Others left to tell

The story.  Told to fear and schooled in
Hatred,  those who might have healed the
Wounded, soon grew used to target
Practice - be it guns or worn-out tyres.

Struggling whispers strained through
Darkness, rose above the cruel
Injustice.  Joined to make one mighty
Voice heard, worked together to
Accomplish.  Will was strong

And Hope undying, will to give
tomorrow’s nation Peace:  And Hope
for more tomorrows free from
Yesterday’s destruction, small
Beginnings, yet to flourish.

lay me not beneath the earth,
with soil and clay upon my breast,
for I will find eternal rest
if granted my rebirth.

lay no stone cross at my head,
but once my life has turned to dust
remember where I placed my trust
and take me there instead.

let no tears of darkness fall,
let not the air be filled with sadness,
instead let there be joy, and gladness,
I am down, but did not fall.

remember me with a happy heart,
the times we shared, the love, the laughter,
together always, now and after,
for you know we never part.

and come with me across the sea,
when once the journey’s time’s apace,
at solstice, to my meeting place
where captive minds can still be free.

let my soul be free to roam,
and feel that whispering wind again
across the Catalonian plain,
take me to my final home.

whose dreams shall they shatter,
whose hopes take away,
they shoot horses, don't they?
today!

who are they to decide
who'll sink and who'll swim,
they shoot horses, don't they
it's grim!

divide and rule triumphs,
with man against man,
they shoot horses, don't they?
they can!

obliterate Salford!
no more trouble at t'mill!,
they shoot horses, don't they?
they will!

keep down all the scousers!,
and fuck Moss Side too!,
they shoot horses don't they?
for glue!

keep all you old bomb sites!
your broken down slum!,
they shoot horses, don't they?
they're dumb!

our urban sores fester,
and STILL they ignore!,
they shoot horses, don't they?,
what for?!

so damn all the have-nots!
they're not worth a fuck!
they shoot horses, don't they?
bad luck!

you're sacrificed, Salford,
there'll be no help for you!
they shoot horses, don't they?
THEY DO!

In the area of Great Britain, North of Watford,
do we exist?
Or are we ignorant Northerners in braces
and flat caps,and constantly pissed?

Unlike refined Southerners
with their pureed petits pois,
do we eat mushy peas?
Wear knotted 'ankies on our 'eads in Summer
and flash our knobbly knees?

Instead of savouring Eastbourne's demure comforts,
do we  gnaw Rhyl rock?
And visit Bingo Halls, have fish and chip shops
on every block?

Are leafy - lined and gentile thatched - roof villages -
handy for motorway -
replaced by rows of terraced, brick - built houses
where clog - shod children play?

In Surbiton, whilst Bistros are frequented,
do we drink in pubs?
Instead of badminton and squash, is it snooker and darts
we play in our clubs?

Do the affluent, hard - working Southerners pay
for us all to stay on the dole?
And is that big white tub in our bathrooms
where we keep our coal?

Are ferrets down our trouser, and pigeons in lofts,
out in't backyard?
Unlike those scrawny wimps from down London way
are we all dead 'ard?

When said and done, such tales belong to folklore,
in Boulevard or Street,
so is North North, and is South South,
and shall the twain e'er meet?

high above my world, I find shelter
for a time,
in a kind stranger's home that can
never be mine.
I long for the day when
I won't have to fight,
but for now my needs must and
I will do what's right.

I've seen devastation, seen man
murder man,
and should I need to face it, I don't
know I can.
My heart's been on fire now, though I'm
feeling so cold,
though I've but twenty summers,
I've so quickly grown old.

See the sun's right above me, in the
middle of night,
and though my brothers love me, they
may die in the fight.
So why are we here now?,
what is it we do?,
why must you fight me, I
don't want to kill you!

The War!
To End All Wars!
No More Bloodshed Ever!
Live In Peace For Ever After!
They Lied!

Cinquaine written by my eleven year old daughter, in 1989

Return to the index page