Enemies Must Die

October 2, 2017
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You fight
You know you must
You’re young and fit and strong
And there is a cause you feel is right and just
You don’t imagine that the damage you cause
Stinks for years like a broken sewer
Negating the reasons
You fight

It’s war. Hola! Whoopee! What adventures there will be!
Marching shoulder to fearless soldier brother, a company
Willing to face the battle, take the weapons to the enemy
Chase them into hiding, root them out from their homes
Frighten them and their families, their women, children,
Babies. Shoot them knife them smash their brains
See the blood splash, ooze, pump, squirt, spatter
Watch their death throes as they jerk in agony
Screaming for mercy as you kill the enemy
And their innocent relatives who suddenly
Seem to be just like your mother your
Sister, brother, even just like you
What adventures would be
If only they had been
Not the enemy
Like you



Dismantling The Leylandii

June 16, 2017

The conifer gave nothing to the ground
Strong, stable, sucking goodness from the soil
Roots deep spread and undermining
Satisfied only itself, no shelter for a bird,
Its negative needles provided no nutrients
Dropping cones solely to broadcast seed.
In the interest of a better future, I voted to remove it
Wanting something less selfish, with more beauty

I set about the task with meagre tools,
A little chopper and a saw and not to much effect
The chopper was criticised – not up to the job
It’s handle short in grip and seemed scant strength.
The naked tree laughed as those blows glanced off
But with momentum, bark was stripped, wood bared
A chain saw many teeth in huge support
To cut where axe had bitten to the sap

And soon enough the tree fell, trimmed to stump
The little chopper’s marks clear on the fallen boughs
A million needles now were swept aside
Without ceremony, to the brown garden bin,
But still that stump persists, a dense and sturdy block
With nothing to uphold, open to the season,
Thick roots held in place by uneven slab,
A fractured infrastructure of a saddened path.

Tool handles now renewed in strength
I seek to dig away the useless stump
Lifting the slab to make room for a spade
Exposing horrors of a thousand ants
That made their nests in shelter of a tree
Beneath a slab. And dearly do I trust
Those terrors shall now take themselves away
Under fresh truth, dispelling my dismay.

Something deciduous is here required
Something assiduous with outstretched arms
Where birds will sing with unbounded joy
And flowers bloom in Hope’s unfolding cheer
And leaves that, when they fall give richness back
In leaf mold compost added to good earth
Which then supplies abundance to the many
Creatures sharing in Nature’s love and mirth.

Unnecessary Mistakes

June 9, 2017
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Unnecessary Mistakes
(A review of Tory policy decisions)

Holding a naff referendum
Stripping out safety for pensions
Foodbanks like flow’rs on a dung heap
The bad stink of benefit sanctions

Losing the triple-A rating
Borrowing more into debt
Cutting security policing
(Causing more terrorist threat)

Giving big business big billions
Making disabled folk suffer
Making up smears about Corbyn
Failing to pay for safe software

Flogging off NHS services
Snipping off winter fuel payments
Keeping high charges for students
Lying about the opponents

Pushing the abortion-rape clause
Halving our rubbish collection
Closing our library doors
Forcing a stupid election


Cons Just Take The Brexit

June 9, 2017
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We were told many tales of migrants
We were told many tales of great waste
We were told there’d be billions for our NHS
All the tales were just lies or bad taste

A third of us voted for Brexit
A third of us voted Remain
A third were just too disenchanted
Or confused, or not arsed, or insane

Less qualified voters went Brexit
Younger dudes went for Remain
Asians in England were for status quo
Giving Asians in London disdain

Two-thirds of Cameron’s Tories went ‘out’
Corbyn’s Labour mates only one-third
UKIPper Farage I cannot disparage
Enough. But then, why dis a turd?

Spades Are Not Trumps

February 6, 2017
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Worms hidden
under this blanket of glass fibre
there to protect the ground from weeds,
those wild and unchosen gifts,
a menace to order
in this, his garden.

Free of green fingers
he knows not much
of nature, life and beauty,
just its cost.
Nature is his enemy
he will force it
into his square-eyed plot,
the one he knows
above his coverlet.

On a grand bench
he sits to listen
when flocks twitter
alarm calls in damp air,
He emulates, badly,
truth perceived
in cauliflowered ears.

But larks and tits,
carelessly broadcast seeds
under chipped bark,
germinating, seeking light.
awaiting his retreat,
to the rickety-rackety bridge.

Without turning of the soil,
beneath their glass ceiling
worms wiggle woefully.

Trump It Voluntarily

January 20, 2017
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I’m calling a halt to the jive about Trump
I haven’t gone barmy, in need of my bumps
felt, but Yanks know him well for his time on the stump
and STILL put him up there and still primed his pump.

He can’t help his looks (well, apart from that clump
on the top of his bonce that appears like a dump).
And next to Obama he seems like a chump
Not charming nor erudite. More of a grump

With the press he’s been gifted you’d think he would flump
in the back of the bar or a faraway tump.
No, there’s too many trolls; and I’m not one to slump
Let’s just throw him some rope and see if he’ll jump.

Al Barz, Inauguration Day USA.

Love New Labour’s Lost

September 14, 2015
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Back in the fold, the white sheep stare,

chewing the cud that they always chew,

warm in the wool that they always share,

bleating of goats next door, as they do.


Goats are the winners.  Don’t ask for fair

kind of treatment, just bleatment and butting at you.

They’ve very hard horns and devour what’s spare

and sheep have to keep to the back of the queue.
Hang on a mo!  This is goatland nightmare!

A ram that butts back with its own point of view?

Rams cannot lead – they’re a danger.  Beware!

We’re in it together. Goats have told you.

Keep him at the back, we can laugh at him there.
Hell knows he’ll turn sheep into mincemeat or stew.

Don’t listen to him, he is far too aware.


from where has this crowd of rams come into view?

Uncivil Service

August 16, 2014
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Bills are signed, sealed and dated.
Plans are met, dreams frustrated,
Schemes of war contemplated
By men of grey who fail.

Papers pushed, emails sent,
OBEs paid like rent,
Not for good, not for right.
Consequences out of sight,
Out of mind – not polite.
Such sense would make them pale.

Ticking boxes for their bosses,
Some for gains, others losses.
Daily grinds for clerks’ assistants.
Results are kept at a distance.
Many lives with spoiled existence
Hang from this paper trail.

Falling Into The Sun

May 29, 2014
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Germaine Greer thinks a newsrag, a newspaper called The Sun
Is purely for viewing by old men, ‘Page 3’ a dose of fun.
From her ancient, lofty and intellectual stance,
It’s harmless in a paper – young women just in pants.
She bought a load of forests that surely do need protection
But doesn’t see the soil that needs some closer inspection,
Saplings growing fungus may be eating through the bark
Forming in rather a mangled way, unseen in subconscious dark.

Young minds printed like paper, imprint is clear as day.
What they witness being ‘accepted’, louder than words can say.
Large pics of young girls’ bodies are everyone’s property here:
At table for family breakfast, or tea or evening beer;
In workplaces where there are restrooms, in streets, lunchtime canteens,
Holiday hotel receptions, nestled beside magazines;
Newsstands in so many hospitals and college campuses too;
Promoting a sexist notion that it is normal for women to do.

Here is a paper for news that is licensed for millions to see
What’s happening in their environment. But what is portrayed on page 3?
It’s a nude, painted up just to ogle, not news and not sport and not art.
It is there just for fun, just to look at – an object – a woman – a tart.
There isn’t a man in the paper who doesn’t have something to tell
But this has no skill and no function. It has only nothing to sell –
Except a young skin and firm breasts for the world to lust on or admire
And for innocent female children, an object to which they aspire.

And what are the teen boys learning, the ones who are growing up, too?
Continual pictures of burgeoning breasts for them to compare women to.
Women are silent on page 3. They are not expected to speak.
If they do they are laughed at, derided, their dumbness in papers unique.
Young men enjoy sex stimulation. Normal girls that they see in the paper’,
Stripped, so men know what they’re there for. “If my girl won’t, I’ll have to make her.”
“Anyway, what’s the big problem? She’ll probably like it like that!”
Which makes the girls think that they’re ugly to make him behave like a prat.

So they look closely into the mirror, see rubbish with terrible skin
And any small blemish seems massive, where should transformation begin?
Photoshopped pictures, sexed up, in all of those gloss magazines
Have ads that cure all of their ills with costly cosmetics and creams.
Routines and diets and surgery soon are considered as cures.
They judge others – “My new eyeliner is really much better than yours.”
The faked glossy magazines feed on brainwashing that once was begun
By accepting the ‘innocent’ female nudes on page 3 who fell into The Sun.


Assad and Cameron. Is it a double-headed coin?

September 19, 2013
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Assad and Cameron. Is it a double-headed coin?

It always amazes me that British people, despite all the evidence stacked against the tall tales of the political machine like volumes of books against a door, believe them and heave the door open to allow the machinery of the powerful to rush in and instal their little yellow god. But neither Assad nor Cameron will survive. And the reason for that is because their voices are not distinctive. Assad, rather stupidly, has not projected his voice onto the world stage. Cameron, rather unfortunately, has a nondescript voice that will be forgotten as soon as he is ousted.

During the third election of Margaret Thatcher I couldn’t find a single person who would admit to having voted for a Tory government. She would not have been elected for a second term if it hadn’t been for the Argentinians invading The Falkland Islands. Yet there she was, top of the greasy pole once more. A travesty of deceit held over the ordinary women and men of Britain. But her voice resonates in the heads of those who heard it.

Tony Blair was gifted the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. She died so that he could benefit. He always had a flair for opportunism and would have been a great Tory if, when he flipped his political coin, it had given him less manoeuvring to do. But he pulled it off and turned The Labour Party round by scrubbing its working-man’s face and snipping away its braces, by prostitution of Labour principles for a bucket of tar. New Labour had no principles by the time he left office…. ‘bert’ his speech was distinctive.

So now we have a New Labour Party seeking a new role that is kinder to ordinary folk so to grab the attention of ordinary voters and a Liberal Democrat Party that owes its brief fame to an unlikely deal propping up a Conservative Party that couldn’t win an election. A better deal would most certainly have been New Labour and Liberal Democrat but, unfortunately, Gordon Brown did not go a year earlier and at election time was being castrated by his own party.

The Liberal Democrats were formed when David Steel sold the ancient and noble Liberal Party in an effort to give himself a greater power base. An additional five percent of the vote would have made him on a par with the other two major parties, but on the way he lost the faith of solid Liberals and solid Labour/Democrats.

So now we are left with a Tory Party driven by wealth and greed with an occasional sop to the middle classes, and the rest of the political landscape, being a disparate array of rebels railing against the horrors being hurled at them.

Assad is a true blue Tory wielding his various weapons against his own disparate array of rebels. Of course, Cameron doesn’t have the permanence of tenure that Assad is fighting to keep, so the number of ‘his own people’ that he is killing is far less and far more subtly done. But he is acting for and on behalf of those who really don’t give a damn about ordinary human beings as long as it doesn’t impinge on their own lifestyle and their systems that keep them in their luxurious place.

The weapons and the severity of injury they cause are the real differences between Assad and Cameron. The injuries to ordinary Syrians are heavily physical. They are sustained and cruel and as a result over six million have become refugees and thousands have died.

The injuries to ordinary Britons are heavily financial. They are sustained and cruel and as a result thirty million have been moved to struggle against poverty, nearly half a million now seeking assistance from food banks, and hundreds have died. One third of all UK children now live in poverty and in some cities it is almost half the children.

The University of Bristol’s “Poverty and Social Exclusion” project published, earlier this year, ‘The Impoverishment of the UK’ report. Here are some of its findings:

Over 30 million people (almost half the population) are suffering some degree of financial insecurity;
Almost 18 million people cannot afford adequate housing conditions;
Roughly 14 million cannot afford one or more essential household goods;
Almost 12 million people are too poor to engage in common social activities considered necessary by the majority of the population;
About 5.5 million adults go without essential clothing;
Around 4 million children and adults are not properly fed by today’s standards;
Almost 4 million children go without at least two of the things they need;
Around 2.5 million children live in homes that are damp;
Around 1.5 million children live in households that cannot afford to heat their home.

Thank you Nick Clegg for ameliorating the public suffering with a few extra school meals. How long before you realise that you are a simple stooge?