The Election


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.




The Course


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


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 Stud


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 Message


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 Speech


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.




Opening Night


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 Lovers


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.




The Call


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 Climb


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


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.




The Jester


‘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 Lost


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.




Lost Love


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.




The Charge


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


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.




Siren's Call


‘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.




Playing Roulette


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.




The Game


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?




The Order


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.




Tropical Paradise


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.




The Card


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.

Looking around

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


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.




The Escape


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

for exploitation,

and, using every trick,

the newcomers gained

the upper hand

by killing the populations

or forcing them enchained

into reservations.

The exact number

slaughtered remains

unknown, but millions

died as the plunder

of their lands took place.

There was no guiding hand

strong enough

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,

most succumbed.

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


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 Match


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.




The Thigh


A quick flash of a thigh

brought a gasp

from the gaping man

and a boyish smile

lit up his face.

Somewhere inside

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

showing everywhere,

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.




The Maze


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 Egg


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 Reform


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 Entrant


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.

His communications

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 Temple


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.




Californian Sunshine


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


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?




Wizard's view


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


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.




Rainbow Dream


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.




The Essay


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.




The Fantasy


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 Wait


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.