The angel voices sang around the candidate,
like a drug, with harp and violin playing,
they lured the people in, a new electioneering.
The politician beaming, confidence exuding,
and every channel running a regular update
on every single speech, visit and handshake.
He was assured of full coverage in every detail,
nothing left to chance so he should not fail.
Some though couldn't bear to see his face again,
now etched in their memory, deep in their brain,
so pervasive was the brainwashing and manipulating
in the electioneering of this politician now running
for the position of Senator in the State of Wyoming .
The Goddess of the Moon
Her movement was slippery like an eel,
gorgeous to observe, a sight so rarely seen
you had to take a pill to bring you down.
The wording on the review, though, was odd.
Stripped bare, it sought to relay the whole
package, and leaving out all excess baggage,
classifying her act as the Goddess of the Moon
and her totem pole, jointly held in place
between the earth and sky before she climbs
its heights with her body at its peak.
When, before us all, the full moon you seek
is revealed, and still you long for more,
but, like the moon, she reveals but slowly
her full glory so come along each night,
And be prepared for one breathtaking sight.
A steep learning curve they said,
tantamount to blackmail I read
In some reviews, mindless, fixed
rote with all their motives mixed.
I felt isolated, set apart, spending nights
aligning charts in intelligible sound bytes,
likewise with every search, a blank,
until I thought I was thick as a plank.
I could not fathom out the course,
and discovered no amount of force
would make it penetrate my brain
so there was only one solution to the pain,
put the damned thing away,
and make for the pub without delay,
who wants to learn about filming anyway.
Like a drug, the politician's voice droned on,
playing to his audience, the candidate smiled
like an angel, assured one and all, he was on the ball,
ready to take on the other candidates who,
if his memory did not deceive him, could not bear
close scrutiny of their affairs he declared,.
He said he'd keep the channel open from now on,
and update everyone of his intentions with no
pretensions for he was the best man for the job,
and was absolutely sure that, come the election,
his honesty and integrity would shine for all to see
and no hint of corruption would ever come his way.
All they had to do was put their tick by his name
and vote him into office to keep the opposition at bay.
Setting the scene
The accumulated affect was natural,
as opposed to being quite superficial.
The peasant stood outside his cottage
which looked just right with its frontage
covered in roses, a tunnel of them leading
to the front door, and a pile of kindling
to the side. The walls were painted white
and it had a ‘come inside' look all right,
but, while the designers had the scene off pat,
something was wrong from where I sat.
The lock on the door was oversized
and definitely needed to be revised,
the seventh dwarf seemed to be missing,
and the fountain's not tinkling but hissing.
It appears it's hard to fuse fantasy with reality
for it's the little things considered triviality
that the audiences pick up straight away,
so it's back to the drawing board for today.
The Next Craze
Her dialect was softly appealing,
and her appearance stunning,
there were few not celebrating
her winning of the contest.
She really took some beating
and the bar outside was throbbing
With the sounds of others,
not the best but close enough
to know that automating
was the next craze, a vice
to some but to others, the stuff
of dreams, to reform a body
to look like new, and imbue
it with such a life-like hue
that only its maker would know
it was manmade. A quick consult
could guarantee a perfect copy
delivered to your door, and a download
performed with skill of all that is you,
and you have an extension on your life
of a century before the need to renew.
The suggestion of a temple
brought a smile to his face.
The integration of religions
was not an observation
he had sought to activate
but it would be a real godsend.
It could alleviate tension,
bring out the finest of motivation,
and isolate those who were opposed
to the land's usage, purge the acid
from their bias and restore sanity
to a now divided community.
It was almost like the burning bush,
a sign that something good
could be done with just a little
quiet diplomacy and a hefty
kick up the pants from their deity.
The handler pulled the tooth.
It was a deep indented molar,
stuck fast in amber resin,
prehistoric in its origin,
a mystery how it got there.
To be solved soon he hoped.
Could be a find of a life time,
he conjectured, he had a nose
for things like this, the possibility
of making his name was sufficient
to give him a thrill, though
he thought it silly for, in general,
dinosaur teeth were pretty common.
But, this one had caused division
among his peers, for this tooth
had a gold stud on the outside,
which almost made him scream
with shock when he looked
close. Bling in the dinosaur age
was not expected, that would
be the rage in his day, not then.
But it was there in his hand now,
studded, perfectly preserved,
the mystery was, who had put it in?
The static crackled in the old radio,
‘No use worrying,' said the man
partly hidden behind its back
as he stood in the ancient studio
trying to make sense of the program
on the dusty computer, the monitor
blinked erratically then settled with
a ping. The man stared at the diagram,
as he attempted to collate the information
donated by another member of the team.
‘It seems,' he said ‘it's teaching us how
to make a rice dish for our edification.'
A light suddenly flashed brilliantly,
stiff with alarm, the team stared around,
then saw that all was fine, only lightning,
then all heard thunder roll distantly.
‘Nothing much here,' said the leader,
and the ten member team agreed.
The long forgotten space station
shut down as they followed procedure
and departed without further ado.
When they had gone, the radio switched
on, and reported their departure
to a listener, a message long overdue.
A last ditch try
The hotel stood waiting, its revamp done,
now there was ample space for everyone.
The beach was blue flag, the sand all new
and now the tourists were overdue.
The owner stood backing up the bar,
listening for the sound of the first car.
It was unbearable for him, a last ditch try
to get everything in order, it was do or die.
His respective wives had all told him to go,
a loser they said as they gave him the heave ho.
The last one's remark stung him to the core
as she kicked him hard right out of the door,
‘You live in fantasy land, and you're out of cash'.
It brought him down to earth with a crash.
Stress like he'd never known before,
made him rethink a lot now he was poor.
He'd borrowed money to buy the hotel.
It used to be a run down shabby motel,
but now it gleamed and looked real smart,
and he had worn his best to play his part.
Then, music to his ears, he heard the sound
of coach pulling up, and, in one bound,
he was at the door to welcome one and all
to his hotel, the one and only port of call
in the select resort of Clumping-by-the-sea,
the only place able to fulfill your every fantasy.
The crowd was like a swarm
in the warm night air,
full of yearning for learning,
which wasn't wrong I grant,
but the speaker was arrogant
in his stance, and distant.
Only a token notice he gave
to the people trying to behave
when packed so tight,
which wasn't right, but he stood
aloof as if they were aimless
and not worth giving what he could.
That wasn't wise for it was they
who could raise him high.
So I left disappointed to find
one more leader of the same kind,
just in it for money and power.
I heard later on from people there,
he spoke for less than half an hour.
The stage was broad,
the theatre majestic,
the programmes posted,
the roof leaks mended,
and opening night
was ready on time.
Now the heat is rising
as the players listen
while the mime
is jesting and laughter
brings relief all round,
that's the sound
they've been waiting for.
None to chastise anymore,
the audience applaud,
and the nymph appears
on a swing to dance
and prance to loud cheers.
A grand opening night
with everything going right.
It was shaped like a banana,
a totally weird phenomena,
alien in form and not nice.
It slid by as if on ice,
enough to frighten anyone,
a horrid sight for a young one.
Slipping down the corridor,
it came to the last door,
and knocked with tap,
jaunty of tone, a sort of rap.
If you strain then to listen,
you won't be mistaken,
the sound of a kiss
filled the air with a hiss,
a slurp and plop,
when it finally came to a stop.
Then, like the creak of gate,
the shape emerged with its date,
and caused a serious injury
by severing normal reality
as both aliens slid by
with a slurp and a sigh.
The viewer, now in shock,
swore he'd need to take stock.
The pill he'd dropped was for fun
he said as he spotted a great hairy nun.
The dormouse lay soundly sleeping
deep in his little home hibernating.
Outside the world was frozen,
the sun not yet risen
so all was hard as rocks with ice,
where no shelter would suffice
to shield those caught outside
when Winter takes the earth as bride
and, in his icy clasp, she tries to keep
on an even keel when his passion so deep
is a challenge for her to celebrate,
an assault without being irate.
He embraces all with frosty kiss,
making sure none he'll miss,
while all around listen for the sound
of melting ice on and under ground,
and know that soon he'll yield
to Spring for their pact is sealed.
The earth, beloved of them all,
is shared between them, every Fall,
Winter, Summer, Spring, the seasons,
countless numbers of reasons
why Life continues with exultation
to dance with its lovers in jubilation,
but, for now, the dormouse lies sleeping
deep in his little home, hibernating.
An urgent call from the mill
raised the certainty of something ill.
The thrust of the message
wasn't complaining but challenging,
though opinions were somewhat varying.
Should extra hands be called,
or were those on duty now sufficient?
They were, after all, proficient,
used to handling any emergency.
It was decided in the end,
that there was added stimulation to send
a couple more experts to hang around,
and, so, forecasting the need in lieu,
saved the mill from burning down in situ,
thus preventing the owners
having to pay a gargantuan fee
in compensation and insurance indemnity.
Not her day
The basket sat on the doormat
as a frog began to croak.
The crone sat on the bench,
her broom it was a broke.
She sighed and gave a groan
as the wind whistled loud,
it was a different sound
like banshees in a crowd.
The grass was wet with drizzle,
as she pulled the rabbit skin,
it came of whole and dry
so she hung it on a pin,
then went back inside
to have her toast and tea,
but found the fire was out,
and shouted ‘Oh, woe is me.
It really isn't fair,' she moaned,
‘I should have stayed in bed',
as her mood began to wilt,
while she munched dry bread instead.
The climber licked lips finding brine
carried on the keen wind from the sea,
and lightning flashed, and thunder pealed
as a mighty storm raged across the mountain.
The lock upon the cabin door creaked
in protest as he waited for it to abate,
and his climb he could continue.
Good fortune found him a shelter
ensuring he would be all right for few
could survive a storm outside like this,
and, in the flickering firelight inside,
he saw comets shoot across the sky,
caught by his roving eye as he stood
gazing through the window, no passage
now up the mountain, washed away.
Tomorrow, he would find another route
or else leave his climb for another day.
The runner passed the baton on
with delicate aplomb, the effect
gave him time to reflect
that, being second to last,
there was a need to improve
and find a better groove.
From his perspective, the sight
of all the runners going by him
was making his chances slim
of winning anything. The section
of his training needed its content
updating, because at present,
his speed was poor, his tempo
off, and he was very surprised,
when he finally realized,
he probably should have chosen
the javelin or the shot put
because his chances were kaput
of winning at running, so, in the end,
he hung up his gear, bid his team
farewell and set off after another dream.
‘It's just a song at twilight,' the jester sang
with such panache, he cut quite a dash,
and really was quite droll in his new role.
Mimicking a parson, the incoming junior
taking over from the old, who, finding
the task too much, was reluctantly resigning.
The villagers nearby found him very moody
so were pleased to see him go, but felt low
when they saw the new, he was thin and mean,
at a pinch, miserly in his apparel, and drear.
As he drew near, the jester pranced about
to quench their fear, free to mock and scorn,
his to operate with aplomb when the parson
did appear, but he turned out to be the deacon.
The new man followed on behind, round
and jolly, with a beaming smile, he rode
into the village, and set all their fears to rest,
and the jester joked and laughed while
the deacon simmered in the background,
smarting at the jester's scorn, biding his time,
for he would have the last laugh he swore,
and ensure the jester would mock him nevermore.
The ghostly halls were iced
as skaters, surfing with sliced
steel boots, whistle sad tunes,
regretting their lost fortunes
as they recall ancient times
more benign than now, and rhymes
of heroes striding forth to fight
for what they thought was right.
But trust was lost eventually,
and, now, a boss, contemptuously
takes to dining with the bad,
the corrupt and even the mad.
All honour discarded as the skaters
surf with sliced steel boots, takers
now not givers, in a world ghostly
viewed through dead eyes coldly.
The fish was a token of his love,
but she took flight and jilted
him like so much litter, discarded
with no second thought, he wept,
gutted at being treated thus,
his sworn oath he had surely kept
to be faithful to her all his life,
spoken from the heart and no lie,
no wild passing infatuation,
he swore to love her forever or die
if he told a lie. Now, like a castaway,
so keen was his anguish at her loss,
he took to pining the live long day,
while she trotted off to find another,
one to whom she could plight her troth,
for she saw her ex as more like a brother.
She regretted leaving him to hang out
and dry, but better to break off now,
she thought, when she was full of doubt.
A good male was he, but so very dull,
she was sure he'd find one day,
another who was equally dull,
it just wasn't her, and, with that,
she put him from her mind,
and set off to find a new bad tomcat.
A giggle broke the silence in the hallway,
it brought a frown to Nanny's face,
knowing how wilful her charge could be,
she stood quiet as a mouse, in order to see
where the little blighter had hidden today.
Suddenly, a handful of frozen ice struck her.
Nanny stayed calm as it ran down her back,
when she spotted the miscreant eagerly lean
from his hidey hole to view the scene.
Grabbing him she hauled him up by his collar.
He struggled and squirmed but being paltry
in size was no match for his adult Nanny.
In the distance, she saw his father approach,
so brought the boy to him for a reproach,
instead he laughed and wasn't at all angry.
Nanny stood there her back chilled now
said, if that was the case, she was leaving
for the boy was out of control and wilful,
and letting him behave like that was sinful.
The father replied she'd not fitted in anyhow.
There was no heated exchange for she needed
her wage, and, packing her bags, with borrowed
umbrella from the butler, she left that abode
in pouring rain, and, setting off down the road,
rued the day she'd met a family so wretched.
The cabinet was old. Worm riddled holes
revealed a history of neglect as it sat
in rain, sun, ice and gales , warping slowly
as time passed. Its surface scored by hands
holding penknives gouging japes or ardent
declarations of love in initials and hearts,
all blinded to the care taken to create it
long ago, no nails, dowels held it together,
but inclement weather kills craftsmanship.
Now it stayed intact more by will power
than through any other factor, dumb
in its misery, waiting to be found , maybe
loved enough to be restored before
it falls apart, yearning for the arrival
of a craftsman of today, or antiques'
hounds searching for a project or a prize.
For, once, this cabinet sat in the rooms
of kings, of queens, and noblemen
of old. The marquetry of baskets , fruits,
twirls and twists still faintly visible
in this old cabinet with worm riddled
holes warping slowly as time passed.
‘Let's go down to the brine
now that the sun's begun to shine'
The partygoers yelled high on wine .
After a night of jazz , swing and rock,
one handsome guy, his arm in a lock
round the neck of his girl in a frock
led the way, and the lemmings came
ready and willing to play the game
of laugh and tickle or some such name.
Donning on suntan cream in dollops,
the men had the gall to give the girls wallops,
and shouted aloud that they were trollops.
Now the girls got mad, not all being dim ,
and, together, lured them with shapely limb
to where sand became mud which was grim.
Running up to them laughing with glee,
the girls sidestepped before the men could see
they were heading for a total catastrophe .
And that's how the beach became known
as Siren's Call, and was now a banned zone,
a lesson to all with too much testosterone.
The peacock screeched raucous and clear,
the noise could be heard from far and near.
The racket aroused the minister 's interest
caught up in a mood that was his bleakest.
He was going to leave and go off on his own
for he had lost his faith and meant to atone.
Thrown so off course, now in the midst of packing,
he paused to seek out the reason for the screeching.
A single marrow sat on his lawn that was neat,
because trimmed and mown, and looked a treat
ready for the concert playing on it tomorrow,
when, all of a sudden, there flew an arrow
that struck the marrow, and burst it asunder.
The peacock ran and found a bush to hide under.
In the intermediate lull, a strange man appeared
dressed in green, with a big moustache and beard.
The minister, in a panic, thought it retribution,
and it was now his firm and illogical conviction,
this was a sign from the divine that he should stay,
and unpacking his case, he put everything away.
Then, going outside, he warmly greeted the man,
who fired another arrow, his expression deadpan,
and the minister fell to the ground with a sigh,
a huge question mark on his face as to why
before he departed this mortal coil to discover
whether all he'd been told was one big whopper.
Chicanery was in the air,
the brass were having fun,
cold of mind, their slyness
deep, their laughter loud
and clear as they reaped
a bonanza, leeching
off the graft of workers
trying to pay their bills.
With mobiles stuck to ears
they bartered stocks
and shares, driving
the economy down, down
until it hit the ground.
With indiscreet pleasure,
and devoid of feeling guilt,
the bill for their fun
was passed on to the people
and then they walked away
to play roulette for another day.
A Man of Peace
Boredom made him do it.
A desire to be a forerunner ,
the first to create a huge hit.
No retrograde step here,
this was going to go global .
Some would call it nuts , others
a brave enterprise and noble.
Ardent in his great endeavour,
he stood on the cusp of fame
when he'd be known forever.
He'd do away with weapons,
no more guns , bombs or missiles,
no more death defying missions.
Even an idiot could play the game,
retribution would be swift ,
and revenge severe , his claim.
The reaping of rewards was ensured.
They'd come pouring in for the man
who ended wars he felt assured.
Trouble was, he underestimated Man.
He wanted the battles and the fights,
to test his virility whenever he can.
So his brilliant strategic war game
where no blood would be shed
was quickly shelved, and no fame came
for the man who had a dream.
He turned his back on the world
as he realized his was only a pipedream.
Let me tickle your fancy with a game,
‘Terraform'. The purpose isn't lame,
it's really good. Build a new earth
then sell it for what you think it's worth.
That should arouse your interest,
and the entrepreneurship of the keenest.
Stay faithful to the rules, and no field
is beyond your skill and sit by to yield
results like no other, from morning,
through to noon and on to evening
you can play, with a warning,
some parts will make you grunt, moan,
duck and dive, and have you groan,
but, join in the swim, you'll win
in the end with your own world to play in
where you can make your own rules,
build whatever you like with your own tools,
and people it with only your friends.
What more could you want in this world of trends?
Terraform the land came the order from on high,
enough to tickle the finest of minds all around.
It wasn't going to be easy but they would give it a try.
Ten years later, a tract of arid ground was a field of green
with a lake where a duck could swim , swine could grunt
and wallow in the mud, and, overhead, the swallow
flew, and there were stags and grouse for those who hunt.
In the evening light, the scientists stood, their purpose achieved,
they'd been faithful and true to the order. Now their success
was destined for space to a planet in a galaxy far away.
A new earth was going to be made, the march of progress!
It was enough to arouse the deepest emotions in all
and it did, but each of them knew that their research
had a darker side for the earth was dying, beyond repair
so there was an urgency for the success of their search.
Not the most joyous way of celebrating such a discovery.
They turned and walked away, silent in their knowledge,
but filled with pride as well over what they had achieved
as they faced the grim future with resignation and courage.
Turkey for Dinner
The turkey looked exceedingly grumpy
with a pickle in its beak and a finger
up its bum. The cook raised a query
over how long to cook it while swatting
away the flies buzzing all around while
pouring a whisky, which she kept swigging.
When the bird was stuffed, she was hot,
so went off to bathe before starting the cooking
The bird, though dead, looked decidedly glum.
A drummer outside banged out the last stand
as a casket went by in a hearse while his drum
rattatatatted, joined soon by a West Indian band.
When the cook returned, the turkey was gone.
It was last seen with its tail in the air and its head in the sand.
‘Undoes' is missing so smack ma hand,
just won't go in…but that's okay in surreal land.
I need to bathe, I'm hot and sweaty,
tired of swatting flies, I need a whisky.
You query why I'm here, I need you near
to understand why I'm so very grumpy,
my mood so glum, I've cut my finger badly
and, outside my window, there's a drummer
who I'm going to kill. We had turkey
last night, which I swear was off, for dinner
and, for veg, there was pickle, who serves
pickle as a veg! This place undoes sanity
very rapidly. If I'm not careful I'll be coming
home in a casket. I'm not used to slumming
in the tropics, and there's a chameleon
just run across my bed and a giant centipede
crawled out my toilet. Help, I need rescuing!
The rest of this text is ensuing, my phone
has no reception. Now I can't stop crying.
Arsenic and old Lace
‘Arsenic and old Lace' the actor growled
replacing disapproved of swearing
as he walked through the doorway
and into the limelight of the stage.
Garbed as a monk clutching a cat,
superb in his field, indecent in his pride,
he took his audience for the ride
of their lives. The joint of meat
hung bloody, garish in its redness,
while the dog slavered in the kennel
to the left of the stage, and the cat
spat in the arms of the monk then leapt
at the dog ready to brandish claws,
all amidst loud raucous roars
from the audience uncertain
whether this was part of the drama
or an additional unexpected panorama
of events. The actor froze, a haunted
look on his features, then recovered.
With a flourish he strode to the battling
pair, threw the meat to the dog,
picked the cat up by its scrawny neck,
dumped it in the arms of a man off stage,
and returned to cheers and applause
to continue uninterrupted with the play,
satisfied he'd survived for another day.
For the day of her birth
she received a card .
It wished her good fortune
and lots of good cheer,
but was so kitsch she cried.
Lurid and ghastly
and harsh on the eye,
it insulted her dignity .
To brighten her day
she went for a walk.
When she got to the park ,
she lit up a joint.
to find nobody there,
she sat shaking with laughter.
A light bit of relief
after receiving a card
liable to make anybody
want to commit murder,
then got the munchies,
so made her way home
scoffing honeycomb Crunchies.
A Park Bench
The day was sombre with darkened skies,
one where hope has faded and distant
memories disturb the mind, lost fortune
stirs ancient recollections and past
delight withers cutting to the poignant
when to gamble was one's sole desire,
leaving a whole section of memory
all but blank from too much wine .
When women were there to adore
and life was full of thrills and spills,
but, now, seems shrunk and poor
in these days when I drink no more,
have ceased to gamble, and women
barely cast a glance in my direction,
though my pleasure in their beauty
is still sound. One of the few joys
I retain, to sit on a park bench observing,
them, even on a sombre day like today,
that solitary pursuit insists on surviving.
Some days, though, are torture , stretching
endlessly out when icy cold and rain
prevent me from my bench, I sit beside
my window at home and imagine beauties
walking by, a wondrous, voluptuous tide.
The New Land
The highest point of his adventurous life,
apart from when he married his wife,
was landing on the shore of the new land,
and with some trepidation offered his hand
to the chief with a monkey on his shoulder
and who did not appear to be very much older
than the cabin boy on board. The chief smiled,
full of mischief with a jaunty shrug that beguiled
the crew into feeling secure. The captain, wary,
not wishing to hinder progress ignored the scary
way the people were now fingering his jacket,
and trying to examine his clean, new doublet,
offered gifts and lauded the chief with friendly words,
while overhead appeared a flock of noisy birds.
Jolted out of their sense of security, the crew
suddenly realized the people's mood was new.
No longer mild, their looks talked of treachery
while examining the gifts of cheap jewelry.
Then spears were flung without any warning
and two of the crew fell to the ground moaning.
The captain yelled and the crew drew their guns
and began to fire at their attackers, while their shamans
chanted as the visitors backed away to their boats
reloading their guns and brandishing cutthroats.
After wounding several of the people, even killing
some, they retreated as the chief was unwilling
to see his people die, and the visitors rowed back
to their ship mystified by the sudden savage attack.
The captain, saddened by the death of two of his men
raised anchor, and left the new land there and then.
The chief raised his head and waved to the birds
for they were a warning to fear these visitor's words.
With great mourning, they buried their dead
and, from then on, regarded all pale skins with dread.
Fearing now to lose their land and their liberty
to men who spoke lies and who came solely for bounty.
Lady Goo Goo
She was the darling of the criminal class,
quite foreign in her craft
of blending human and bionic.
The beat she could create
was nothing short of sonic.
Normally banned because dangerous
for the ears and not much good
either for the brain,
but the police thought that fine
and nothing short of gain.
If the rotten wanted to ruin
ears and brain they were willing
to let the darling strut her stuff
from a distance because a calamity
if it turned their brains to fluff.
With a diamond sparkling
in her navel, the darling whirled
her bionic arms in a furious rhythm
while the criminal classes lapped it up,
their brain cells dribbling into a chasm.
The Javelin Thrower
I've an ache in my joint,
I don't walk but lumber about,
I was quick on my feet
and light of weight.
Now I'm slow and stout.
There is no justice.
Once I could hit a partridge
with a single javelin throw,
used to do just for show,
but now I couldn't hit a door
with a barge pole anymore.
My piston popping days
are over, I listen to the young
who have taken my place
raise the occasional question
in the odd quiz about who
held the record for the partridge
kill with a javelin, and most
have never heard of such a skill.
Should have known better,
after all, it was actually illegal.
Suppose when you're ninety
you're allowed to be a bit slow
but I've still got my javelin
in case I can summon up
the energy for one last throw.
The Quiz night
The joint was swinging,
its bright light flashing
showing a partridge pecking
at seeds on the ground
inviting all to come on in,
and they did from all around
when the quiz night arrived.
The interest was always who
lost and who survived.
You had to be quick and really listen.
With the speed of a javelin throw
the contestants had each question
fired at them all in a row,
and, when the end came,
the bang like a blocked piston
as the mallet struck and fame
or failure was proclaimed
for all to hear, and the joint
erupted as the winner was named.
Then the pole dancers would mount
the bar again and, with the mind fed,
it was the turn of the body
before everybody went home
hyped up and mostly happy.
Had to do the night justice
for it was hard grinding toil
in the lumber yards and this was
the people's chance to uncoil
before they had to go back again,
and the winner earned a prize
of free drinks for a week,
a boon for the joint's barflies.
Even the wives and partners
did not complain, knowing
their men were having fun
and the quiz was only coming
once a month so joined them
before they drove them home again.
The Dating Game
The torrent of news poured out
enough to tickle your fancy
if you were single and a gad about,
but soporific if you were not.
It was all about validating your worth
and proving that you were hot,
made of the right stuff and no rogue,
ready to rescue a lonely woman
living in a vacuum, now in vogue,
with the single woman out on the hunt
for a man to fill the empty space
who could do more than grunt.
He would require a handsome face,
a few brain cells, sex appeal,
a body young, healthy and strong,
a decent job and a house to seal
the deal and, of course, cash
to spend on the girl, failing
to do so would vilify him in a flash,
and he'd be shown the door,
there's no room in the world today
for anybody who's even slightly poor.
This, no doubt, accounts for why
there are so many single women
with values seriously and fatally awry
on the prowl and so many single men
living alone unable to find a mate
or even get a second or third date.
The beast loomed ghastly in the night,
its coal black eyes a terrible sight,
Below the decks, in the galley sat
the youngest crewman, wee Jack Sprat.
He'd joined the Navy for fun
freedom and firing a cannon and a gun.
He heard the sound above his head
of feet which seemed as heavy as lead,
His cheerful face took on a worried frown
as the boards began to bounce up and down.
The cook, nutbrown and gnarled, growled
with concern then scowled
for the leather carton in his hand spurted
like a fountain and squirted
its contents over Jack Sprat
and the ship's fat cat.
Above their heads, the beauty
of the sunset was lost as duty
took over the rest of the crew
and they fought to kill or subdue
the beast threatening their lives.
So armed with guns, swords, and knives,
they lunged at it with loud cries
until no sound could be heard except sighs
of the sails in the wind and the blood red rain
pattering suddenly like a hellish bane
as it dripped through the decks
onto the cook's and wee Jack Sprat's necks.
Then they knew that none had survived
except them, until the leaden tread revived,
and, with bated breath, they waited
for their lives to be ended.
But it was not to be for the footsteps ceased
and there was a loud splash as the beast
plunged back into the sea,
and that's how Jack Sprat so wee
got home to eat no fat
while his wife could eat no lean,
and between them they licked their platters clean.
The Bad Decision
I was a dope to ditch the dog,
he was my only hope for catching the hog,
now I'm in a jam, I've jumped out of the fire
and straight into the frying pan.
I suppose I'll have to eat fish
but I'll eat my hat rather than frog.
I'll jilt my gal who says I'm fat,
that must be a joke because I'm wafer
thin, so wish I hadn't ditched that dog.
The College Dance
The college dance arrived at last.
The young farmer took to the floor,
beneath the glittering sphere,
his fine lady by his side, wasting
not a moment to start gyrating
to the music beating out its rhythm.
Feeling immortal and full of pride,
his movements started a clearance
of the floor, with all keeping him
at a distance but with persistence
he continued jiving and striving
to whirl his partner over his head,
beneath his legs before he licked
her cheek like a postage stamp
believing himself having a whale
of a time, while his lady had turned
pale as her stomach churned
until the music ceased and he, grinning,
bowed to her and led her off the floor
where she made for the nearest door
and fled from such a two left footed bore.
He had the right attitude and determination,
but a cause liable to rouse dissension
and be thought a real nut with his formula for success
at escaping the daily rut and constant duress.
His proposal of a back pack and leaving modern life,
would be a disaster, with him blocking out his wife,
family and friends, said by all to be revolt too far
but he had a thirst now for the natural on his radar
making him envy all who cast aside
everything and took off to let Nature provide
and to rediscover sorely missed leisure.
And getting away, the real source of pleasure,
from his own boring job, and discover the life
free of toiling, struggling and so much strife.
Taken for a Ride
The man appeared welcoming,
his smile though visible
was rather menacing.
I was very uncomfortable,
which was quite normal
considering that I was being
taken somewhere formal
in a grey car, its framework
somewhat rusty I saw
as we both climbed in.
Outside it was raining
when I saw the rope
on the back seat
and wondered how I'd cope.
No joy ride this, I thought
as I tried to make light
conversation about all
sorts of stuff, his face
belied his background,
rough, and typical of his race,
then we turned a bend
in the road and he pulled up
in front of the church.
The smiling man turned
to me. ‘Are you ready?'
was all he asked.
My gut churned
but I nodded, wishing ardently
I'd not sown my seeds
so haphazardly, but how
was I to know she was
the local chief's daughter.
I took a deep breath
before being led out
like a lamb to the slaughter.
The Long Wait
The West was won
by a carrot and a stick.
The vast land was open
and, using every trick,
the newcomers gained
the upper hand
by killing the populations
or forcing them enchained
The exact number
unknown, but millions
died as the plunder
of their lands took place.
There was no guiding hand
to wipe out the pale face.
No rage could avert
the hard reality
overtaking the indigenous
tribes. Forced to convert
to alien beliefs,
to bow before the gun,
While the proud chiefs
ended up in comic strips
until weary of war
they retreated in defeat
to watch townships
rise from the earth,
And wait still for the day
when the conquerors' dreams
blow away and their new birth
while recalling with fond
memories those days
when nobody owned the land
and a man's word was his bond.
A Safe Haven
It was a malicious lie
that wrecked his credibility.
The silent treatment followed.
Someone had spread the rumour
that, in collaboration, with a rival
the Chief executive, out of necessity
to survive, had taken a bribe.
He was back to square one
before he knew it, out on his ear,
a major setback to his career.
Freezing him out of parties
and social events, with a few token
friends rallying around, he was broken.
At a guess, he reckoned he'd lost
several stone by the time
he'd got back on his feet,
and was now walking the streets
as a postman. It seems lots of the fallen
end up working for the Post Office,
it being seen as a relatively safe haven.
The Witch 2
The clock struck three
when the witch hit the tree.
Bending her stick nearly in half
could have raised a laugh
as she flew through the air
like a bat out of hell with her hair
standing on end.
Like a bolt of lightning,
so really quite frightening,
she landed hugging the trunk
like some desirable hunk
then slowly slid down it
before having a fit,
which made her swear
and declare warfare
on the unfortunate owl
who was out on the prowl
and collided with her.
She checked her jacket and dress
both were torn adding to her stress
when she saw a family
of squirrels leaping briskly
watching her with keen eyes
They could be her enemy's spies
she decided, so cast a spell
trapping them in a gluey gel.
She had a terrible thirst
all of a sudden fit to burst.
She looked around for water
and seeing a well went over,
raised a bucket and drank
till she was full and then shrank
back aghast, as her strength
drained away and her length
shortened until she was so small
she was less than two inches tall,
and, with that, the owl flew by,
spotting her from on high
and swooping down, ate her.
Her enemy's cackling laughter
echoed in the night
at this delicious sight.
The witch landed with a bump in the ditch,
her broomstick caught by a hurtling brick.
She was keen on flying but not of dying.
With a curse she found something worse,
the jacket she had worn was torn
and her dress covered in mud, and was less
than pleased to find her mind
in such a dither going hither and thither
over why a brick should hit her as she went by,
and who threw it with such an accurate hit.
She gathered her strength at length,
retrieved her stick, which only had a nick,
took off again heading for the lane
where her cottage sat guarded by her cat.
The clock on the wall in the hall
said it was three when she drank some tea.
Bending down she stood up with frown
after consulting her cat by the fire on its mat.
A picture came into her head of a game.
Like a bolt from the blue she knew
‘I swear I'll get you, so beware,'
she shouted at a rival whose recent arrival
in her region raised conflicts by the legion.
With a sigh, she bound a scratch on her thigh
and, gathering her courage, she left her cottage
and headed for a family expecting a new baby.
for now, her rival could wait, and hate
wasn't right to aid newborns into the light.
Cat and Mouse
Bright yellow was her dress,
this talented pretty young Miss
as she stood confronting
the boy, hands on her hips,
a belligerent glare on her face.
He had a look of guilt
on his thin reddening face.
‘You're so pretentious.'
She declared portentous
in accusation, having
learned big words
at her finishing school.
Bigotry didn't enter her mind
as she presumed herself superior
intending, with no regrets, to tease
the poor boy, a definite inferior,
and make him suffer indeed.
He wished he was transported
to another planet but the loop
was tightening around his neck
and she was pulling it hard.
His time was over if she reported
what she'd seen, able to make
his life a complete wreck.
His train of thought was blank,
fear of her power to destroy him
numbing his tongue
and making his outlook grim.
Also one other thing,
he was stoned, and trying
hard not to giggle as well.
She had caught him smoking
a spliff, and was threatening
to report him to the police.
In the end, surrendering,
He said, ‘You've got me,
my future is in your hands.'
Even then he could see
she was playing a game,
and she was the cat
and he the mouse, but
she took him totally by surprise
when she replied, ‘Roll another
and share it with me, I've
not had any since finishing school.'
With a wicked grin, she faced him,
he dumbfounded nodded with glee,
and together they sat in the shade
of the great sycamore tree,
smoking spliffs for an hour or three
and giggling together happily.
A Man of the times
They declared he must come from another planet
with his yellow skin, his bigotry and his pretentious
attitude to everything, he even presumed
he was naturally talented and assumed
that nobody noticed his licentious
appetite for power, his lack of guilt
when a very strong case had been built
proving he was in the loop with corrupt
businessmen right down the line.
The finishing touch, when confronting
his accusers, was to declare himself bankrupt
and try to say he had Alzheimer's disease,
but everybody knew he was guilty of sleaze.
The Judge threw the book at him,
sent him down for fifteen years,
then a doctor declared he had cancer
and his chances of survival were slim.
He was released on humanitarian grounds,
his recovery one of the great turnarounds,
and claimed he was innocent of the crimes
until he died at the age of 103, a millionaire,
an autobiography to his name, three wives,
and said that, really, he was just a man of the times.
For a price, you can purchase a DVD
on how to train to be a successful entrepreneur,
to recover from cancer and keep your brain free
from Alzheimer's disease and find God before tea.
A Burning Desire
She had a burning desire
to swing with her peers,
but they were forever putting
off inviting her along.
She was genuine in her shock,
at the dawning reality,
that she wasn't wanted,
but, being young still,
didn't realize others will
be cruel unintentionally.
She posed before the mirror
wearing her aunt's fur coat
and thinking she looked
like her absent mother.
She had a secret lover
her aunt had told her
and so she was living
with her now for a while.
Storing away her few treasures,
she had arrived with her few
belongings. ‘Come in.'
her aunt had said, opening
the door and a smile wide.
With a lazy sweep of her arm
Auntie led her to the bedroom
that would be her space
from now on, then took her
downstairs and gave her
a cup of coffee and asked
what she wanted for tea.
The rattle started as the match began,
a simple sound but loud and clear.
The will to win was there pushing
all thoughts of losing far away.
The visiting team was clearly fit
while the hosts were struggling
with injuries and a fool of a player
caught smoking dope, storing
up trouble for all the others,
and likely to see this match in the bin
with the possibility of a win
shrinking fast as the first attempt
at a goal hit the post, and the striker
on the carpet for kneeing his opposite
number. Not a good start, and one
which made the coach wish the offer
to cancel had been take up,
but too late now, the match was on
and all he could do was watch
his team sink even further from the cup.
It was one of those days when
he really wished he'd never got up.
A quick flash of a thigh
brought a gasp
from the gaping man
and a boyish smile
lit up his face.
it lit a flame, long dead,
but suddenly alive.
The question was there.
He started by saying
to himself, this is a parade,
and there are thighs
but not like that one.
Did he want to tangle
up his life, and defy
the odds by pursuing
the owner of the thigh,
or wake up and face
reality. She was gone
from his life, a slip
of a girl then but now
a woman ripe and ready,
and there is also the matter
of her husband too
a typical obstacle.
The man sighed,
and stepped back
into the crowd, too late
for him he knew now.
Long ago he had tried
and failed to win her.
She was just a dream
in his mind, a memory
that thigh awoke
and needs be laid
to rest once more.
It was upsetting. It made me cry.
I chose the wrong path to try
and ended up in a maze
which caused a deep malaise.
There seemed to be no escape,
from this puzzling landscape,
but there was one benefit
I, reluctantly, had to admit,
it was Summer and hot
and I suddenly felt a lot
more joy than I felt at first
and, hoping like a fool, I reversed
my footsteps fervently wishing
I wasn't inadvertently risking
going even more out of my way,
when, suddenly, a voice said ‘Hurray'
and then ‘Hello, you've made it
which does you great credit,
most people never get out alive,
you will most definitely survive
even though you bent the rule
by acting like a fool.'
Then I saw the exit before me
and left by it feeling very queasy.
The Rejuvenation Program
It was a program designed to re-animate
a tired member, to make stiff
that which had been flaccid, to activate
the partly or entirely dead.
It worked fine for a while even
brilliantly until the program ceased,
then all movement became static again
and what was alive became deceased.
It was worrying for the creator, a pain
because it had taken him ten years
to write and collate all the information,
and many friends had donated funds
to keep him going and set in motion
this fantastic innovation. He ate
only rice some weeks to keep going
and now this discovery could negate
everything in one foul swoop.
He poured himself another coffee.
On his screen he stared at the age group
he had set out to help. Maybe
he thought I need to reduce it,
and started to re-write the program
before he called it a day and quit.
The New Program
The ten members of the committee
decided on the new program quickly,
because the old had become static,
and it was worrying because, partly,
the recipients of the food were hardly
ecstatic that it was no longer getting through
but, mainly, because they were under review.
The rice distribution, with this new innovation,
worked brilliantly first time. The donated
food was gratefully received and every member
went home satisfied that the crisis had abated.
The Chairman poured himself a stiff drink
as he realized how close they'd come to the brink.
Now all he had to do was collate the information
which he was sure would be fine, and meant
the new program would be in full operation
by the time the Minister stood for re-election.
The politician gave a bear hug
to a voter, full of confidence
that his deep bass voice
and undoubted charm assured
his win in the forthcoming election.
He would make clear too his preference
for an anti-drink and drug campaign,
especially since reporters were here
from every channel of radio and TV,
and he excelled at playing to the camera,
making certain he came out as sincere
like an angel and not a devil in disguise.
A quick update from his spin doctor
informed him all was going well so far
and it would have carried on that way
but for one angry man who threw an egg
at him. The politician leapt over a bar
separating them and threw a punch.
Every camera filmed the ensuing fight
after it landed on the man's chin with a crunch.
It was both undignified and disturbing,
and certainly not the desired sight
the politician wanted seen by one and all,
but the reporters and journalists
and the onlookers too, revelled in it
as it was guaranteed to titillate and enthral.
The political candidate was retrieved,
to be swept away by his bodyguards
far less assured now of an electoral win,
his memory churning every moment
as he envisaged ruefully his imminent downfall.
The contest raised the bar by splitting
the categories for entrants.
With the appearance of automating,
it was possible to give some
the extra chance of beating
those who didn't use it.
It was a reform of the rules
causing the organizers to consult
on allowing now a variety of tools.
The Vice-President was adamant,
changing the dialect to English vowels
and consonants was, in his view, errant.
The President wasn't sure.
It was 2230 after all and then
there was a demand for the old culture
to be resurrected next year when
what had been lost since the war
was gathered up for the women and men
and shown to have value for those
left alive in the human zone.
He conceded in the end,
the dialect being barely known,
but it had once been his own
so would have been interesting to see
whether he'd remember what had flown
on the winds of destruction
when automatons and humans fought,
causing a catastrophic disruption
to what had gone before and brought about
the end of the known world's civilization.
The first appearance of the entrant
in the contest took some beating.
The man's movements seemed
as if his body was automating.
Next surprise was his dialect.
The reform of his vocal chords
made his voice sound
like it was scraping boards.
The judges had to raise the bar
and hurried to consult in a huddle
when they saw him take out a vice
and, placing one hand in the middle,
turned the handle with the other
till no more force could be applied
before taking out a borer
and poking it up his nose deep inside.
At this the judges shouted ‘Stop'
but the audience was loudly cheering.
The entrant, celebrating, took a bow
and left the stage broadly grinning,
took off his phoney arm and extracted
the self retracting tool from his nose
and waited in the wings for the end
of the audience's continuing bravos
before he left via the back stage door
satisfied he'd left the judges horrified.
The Unfaithful Wife
The stack of files piled up
as the creator produced
an analogue of incidents
gathering proof that his wife
was bending the rules
of their homosexual life
and having a heterosexual
affair with a female,
which was so discouraging
as their union had been
blessed only two years ago
and now it meant zero
if he was being unfaithful.
Trying to find a way
to broach the subject
everything he could suggest
seemed fraught with trouble,
but he had a choice,
say nothing about his wife
being seen with a woman
in a district far away,
cuddling and kissing,
or call it a day and let
him go back to her.
Either way, a dark shadow
had emerged to bestow
something nasty between
them now. The creator
sighed, life was hard enough
without this added crappy stuff.
The sound of the key
in the door told him his wife
was home once more.
The Sound of Silence
The Creator needed proof
his creatures were happy.
They did seem so aloof.
and their responses,
most times, amounting
to zero. It was discouraging.
He had thought of bending
the rule that faith was enough,
but that would call his bluff
and he, being the Almighty,
thought that was off the radar
because it could suggest
his response was going too far.
So he conducted a small trial.
Sending one of his aides
to a district with churches
galore, the analogue being
people flocked to them
like bees to their hive
so must be active and alive.
The aide approached the wife
of a solitary man inside of one,
a practising heterosexual,
with their bored dejected son,
who clearly that day wanted
to be anywhere but there,
and saw a stack of prayer books
dusty and clearly unused,
together with worn out pews,
and asked her if this was normal
for a Sunday morning service.
She nodded sighing saying
‘He doesn't seem to answer
any more. People aren't coming
so the churches are emptying.'
The aide returned and gave
the news to the Almighty
who decided to bend the rules.
He spoke to his creatures
from a fiery cloud and lightning
flashes. The result was strange.
The people cried, ‘Aliens are here',
and ran and hid in abject fear.
At that, the Almighty gave a weary
shrug and said. ‘All is lost.
There's no need for faith anymore.
My creatures think I'm a bore.
What's an alien anyway? He asked.
The aide shook his head
as mystified as he. ‘Check it out.'
the Almighty said as he went about
ticking off from a great list how many
of his creations had disappeared
and how many had recently appeared.
The Creator's dilemma
The creator made all humans heterosexual,
but found it discouraging that some
did not agree, and, instead of taking,
a wife or husband, preferred the company
of men or women of their own sex.
The creator could not suggest a solution
or an analogue to this unexpected
outcome, so having conducted
a brief survey of other creatures
further down the evolutionary scale,
discovered the same thing occurred
in quite a few, so, with that much proof,
walked off in a huff because bending
the rules was not in his manual,
it was one way, and one way only
in his book. He had zero toleration
of deviations to his plan so wrote
it down in pen and ink that it would
raise a stink if his idea of the perfect man
or woman was changed in any way,
and that sins would stack up very high
if his rules were transgressed. Unfortunately,
for the creator, the design he had laid out
was not as planned so caused a dilemma.
Now he sits and wonders how, with him
being all knowing and omnipotent,
this incomprehensible behaviour
came about in one or more of his creations
thus implying he is far from omniscient.
The Next Stage
The monkey stood up one day,
and started walking tall.
His need was obvious,
he'd come down from the trees,
learned to tread softly
on two feet, and by degrees
found he could rise up
by digging into a rich vein
of abilities previously
denied to him. Emulation
was his forte, the axiom
that all things are learned
by imitation, held true
as he carved out his first
clog to cover a blistered foot,
it being a huge breakthrough.
After that, his industry grew
when he went from infant,
to teenager, and on to adulthood,
and Homo sapiens was born,
striding forth to stand
where once a monkey stood,
now obliged to take backstage
when evolution's journey came of age.
The suggestion of integration
was put forward to alleviate
tension in the city. It was met
with an acid smile by the collegiate
who saw it as interference
by Government and liable
to activate a rebellion
and really quite puerile,
but the temple was built, set
back giving no sense of intrusion.
There were angry objections
and nit picking observations
about its style, size and situation.
There was no beating about the bush
in the end. We cannot isolate
so many in our city
declared the councillors,
the temple stays, peace
will come with familiarity
in time. They were right,
but acceptance was lengthy
and local people living there
moved out and those
who worshipped in the temple
moved in then peace came.
An unsatisfactory conclusion
but one echoed in cities everywhere.
The acid test was how much usage
the temple got after it was built.
Observation suggested it was an advantage
for the worshippers and integration
into the community began to alleviate
old tensions between the two sects.
There was a smile on many faces
as the finest most upstanding citizens
refused to isolate themselves in most cases
and set out to activate a plan.
The suggestion of the chief Elder
as he sat contemplating his navel
in the shade of an onesimus bush
before he consumed his morning bagel.
Now the temple sits in the town's centre
opposite the other one and everyone
is happy as they recite their daily prayer.
It was the finest acid around.
Californian sunshine brought a smile
to every face and made the sound
of music and Nature alleviate
stress by its usage and any tension
as it began to activate
a whole gamut of sensation.
Any suggestion that it was weak
was quickly cast off when integration
of every sense began to peak,
and isolate taste, touch, smell,
hearing and sight so that observation
became a groundswell
of awesome experience, a beacon
for those seeking enlightenment
and wishing to broaden
their minds in the temple of discernment,
of higher consciousness
while not having to sit under a tree
or a bush to discover that awareness
but via a pill or blotting paper maybe.
However it was taken, it was out
of this world, a mind changing journey
and one not easily forgotten about.
The dentist yanked the tooth,
the patient tried to scream.
The possibility wasn't there
with his hand in her mouth.
She grabbed the nearest thing
which was his rather hairy nose.
As a handler of situations grim,
this was clearly new to him.
An amber light flashed
above his head as his security
system clicked in attuned
to his now erratic heartbeat.
Then she bit deep his hand
which turned the light bright red.
It really was all getting too silly
but sufficient to cause chaos
that could be heard all around
as his shrieks of pain
were louder by far than any other
patient in the clinic.
The division of the two
came when three assistants
arrived to give succour
to the dentist and free him
from the patients now stuck
holding his nose and his hand
still in her teeth. Finally,
she released him and he
extracted his hand now bleeding
while she managed to gasp
that the stuff to deaden
her mouth hadn't worked
and she could feel every yank,
every pull and every push.
The dentist stared aghast,
nothing like this had happened,
he was certain, in the past,
but it was true, when tested
his patient's mouth wasn't numb.
He stood apologizing
while trying to stop the blood
flowing from his badly bitten thumb.
In the end, the patient went home,
the dentist went to the hospital
for stitches in his hand,
and the patient sued the clinic
for millions when she got back home
traumatized and terrified
of ever going to the dentist again.
She won, the dentist
now works in a supermarket
for a living. The patient
has no regrets, she was never
one for forgiving, and to top it all,
she can afford her own personal
dentist now and is having a ball.
The Dog Handler
The handler was silly,
he heard the scream,
saw the possibility
that there was sufficient
evidence that the scene
would turn nasty,
but he was slow to react
when the dog sank fangs
into the man's leg
so deep he left a tooth
behind. It was a mystery
why the handler froze
though later he did strike
the dog on the nose
that turned irate amber eyes
on him before letting go.
The division of dog and man
in general was good,
but the display of dogs
trained and obedient
was clearly a falsehood.
The bitten man went
off in an ambulance,
while the hapless dog
had lost his chance
and was put down,
unforgiven for this event.
The Cabinet Maker
Turning the handle, the grinding stone
sharpened the blade to a razor's edge.
The cabinet maker heard the drone
of bees somewhere in the distance
as he sat in his workshop alone
content to lead a remote existence.
He'd always been resistant to company.
The wood drew him to it irresistibly
calling for him to create crafted beauty.
A quick rotate of his seat had him facing
the piece of furniture half made while
the evening drew near with sky darkening
as he observed it silently alert to its whisper
urging him to see its function,
note every angle, corner and its colour,
rich and burnished when he'd polished
and sanded it down, ready for the buyer
to collect in a week or maybe two when finished.
The days seemed to float by when making
one of his creations, so rarely fixed
a particular day or date, no need for hurrying.
The cabinet maker sighed when the light
died in the setting sun. He packed away
his tools, and finished reluctantly for the night.
Merlin, come back all is forgiven.
The fundamentalist believes muscle
is the way to bring unity to the world.
The liberal believes talking a more gentle
way to banish the current disorder.
Both have their standpoint,
a line drawn in the sand denotes the border
with a chasm between the two opposing sides.
Neither will pause long enough to see
that digging in with no compromise
will doing nothing to turn the tides
threatening to sweep away all sanity.
The lone wizard standing in the bathroom
his feet astride the tiled floor,
a small bowl of soil, a quantity of blood,
a candle and a steady incantation
would be infinitely more successful
at bringing healing to the world
than all the politicians currently in charge
with their empty rhetoric, their pride,
their devious conspiring, shameful
in its extent, but who would listen
to a wizard anymore? Where are you,
Merlin, we could do with your help today,
because we've absolutely no idea what to do?
From the standpoint of a wizard,
it doesn't take a genius
to see disorder coming like a blizzard
from all sides when unity
implodes, the fundamentalist
expels the sane for the barmy.
The gentle take a back seat
while those with muscle
rise up to bring about defeat.
No time to pause and take a breath
when the chaos drive the sane
into the bathroom smelling death
and vomiting on the floor
trying not to soil their shoes
in case they can't get any more.
Not a pretty scene, but one
that could come about
if sanity goes on the run
and the talking ends
with all sides resorting to war
ignoring the awful portends.
The research demanded care it said.
She stared at the plastic spoon,
the sieve, the talcum powder
and the worn out blanket
sitting in a pile waiting for her
when she reached the garden
at half past the hour of noon .
A piece of paper with a rock
on top weighing it down
gave her a single instruction
‘Catch the shrimps'. ‘Preferably
before the next general election'
was added as comment or aside.
She frowned at the sarcasm implied.
A truck pulled up and a man called
out asking whether she wanted
a lift to the gallery, his head
had a tattoo and was shaven bald.
She nodded, her legs were tired
from walking up the steep hill
leading to the garden, and the spar
where the shrimps collected
was a mile on from the gallery.
She sat holding the items on her lap
wondering what idiot was connected
to this particular piece of research.
The man grinned at her and waved
goodbye as he dropped her off
by the gallery, she waved back
then started walking along the track.
towards the ancient spar under the sea
where an unusual shrimp was said to be.
The shrimps came a marching
across the powder white sand
plastic buckets and spades on hand,
while foamy waves licked the shore.
Blankets were laid out when the truck
pulled up and the crabs' legs
were done, all fleshly white,
and the lobsters pinkly pale.
The gallery was paying in fine
sea salt built like a spar
for the honour of seeing the sieve
sift the sand clean in a jar
while the band played calypsos
in the hot noonday sun
when the trippers arrived
to research the latest high
and ice cold beers flowed free
in the garden of joy filled ecstasy.
Swinging her legs on the garden wall
the girl watched a truck loaded with plastic
pass by. The election for a school prefect
was nearly here, and this was research
into life in a small inconsequential town.
Make it important her teacher said,
she frowned, it didn't have a gallery,
a museum or anything of interest,
apart from an ancient spar
that nobody bothered with anymore.
Its roads had more holes than a sieve
but that was hardly scintillating.
Powder puff clouds floated overhead
with dark ones following fast behind
as she pondered her dilemma
Do this essay well and the election
could be in the bag, if it was boring,
another could win, and that would be it.
She gazed at a fish shop over the way,
its sign said ‘shrimps for sale today'.
She sighed, time for chips then onward
and upward, hard to make a dull place
have significance when the young
couldn't leave it fast enough and the old
were left behind to spend their last years
remembering what is was like once
and what it is now, withering away.
She found her purse and crossed the road,
a soft blanket of rain just making her day.
Sitting on the beach
waiting for the fantasy
to begin, she gazed around.
It was the last resort,
coming about from a casual
remark by a friend,
a holiday without stress,
a last ditch attempt
to find a man, any man.
It was unbearable to wait
but if she sat still long enough
he would come along.
All her respective lovers
had gone now, backing
away when she stopped
being young and slender.
Now ample in her girth,
she regarded them as tender
memories as she sat
waiting on the beach
for her fantasy to begin
or crash to be lost
amongst the grains of sand
on the warm seashore.
The waiting was unbearable,
the respective participants
finding it unendurable.
They were promised a fantasy,
on a beach of a tropical resort,
to link up with a girl romantically.
Their levels of stress were high,
a casual remark met with ire.
It was a last ditch attempt to fly
by luxury jet with the backing
of the television show.
The judges should get cracking,
they thought, to let them know
who was the winner,
but they had been left in limbo,
their dreams growing dimmer,
threatening to crash as all knew
only one would survive.
Then the result came through.
The winner was proclaimed.
His triumph loudly applauded
while the losers silently blamed
all but themselves.
They returned to their lives,
sliding back into oblivion,
to find themselves partners or wives
forever regretting they lost
the opportunity to roll in the sand
with a girl with ample tits
and her entire sexy body suntanned.