Saturday 28 April 2012

Old Councillors’ Plans





Come Old Councillors and follow
Down the ‘dotage track’ to home
Hear that laughter – seer and hollow
When you’re trapped and cannot roam

Make decisions – take your chances
Wake the selfishness you’ve won
You’ll have need as time advances
Need for care before you’ve gone

Don’t condemn who goes before you
To some distant travelled plot
‘Nuisance victim’ of the plans you
Made today – when you forgot

There is no-one who forever
Can be certain of their wealth
Lay your plans but never never
Feel you’ll always have good health

Just consider ‘marbles rolling’
Coal in fridge and thinking lost
Trim the treatment you are doling
Out to those who count the cost

Marry in your own confusions
Found a year or two away
Where you’ll suffer from conclusions
Of those plans you make today

With your neediness and sorrow
‘Harassed carer’ – ‘Living sick’
Plan for local care – tomorrow
Or you’ll suffer
Take your pick

                                                         24Feb2012

Saturday 19 March 2011

Don't give me that stuff about Gobal Warming

Don't give me that stuff about Gobal Warming
If harnessing protons and neutrons is easy
Let's harness the warming to heat up our house
To put in a runabout - use in a lorry
There's no point in speaking Of Global Warming
Unless we make use of resources it gives

Don't keep banging on about Global Warming
If all of these people - producing such changes
Have no wit to follow - in ground heat nor solar
Nor wearing the oil-wool - nor cranking the clockwork
If all that a government wants is 'controlling'
by nuclear risk-taking - send it away

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
If planes on the updraght could fly to the far side
And mass transport linkage were really to work
Canals - rivers - seaways - were brought to production
And local production had right ove distant
Perhaps there'd be reason to hope for the best

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
If whole populations who freeze in the Northland
Considered their option to cut back their breeding
And those in the hot place considered not fighting
And those making weapons could just be demolished
Perhaps we could settle to learn how to live

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
If carbon emission - controlled by agreement
Weren't traded for riches - as if all our life force
Could - by its corruptions - be sold and down-graded
To nothing worth having - then power and warming
Should come back - full circle

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
Its sole manufacture - a 'fig' machination
To force mass to 'toe it' - to make by the 'fear run'
With war on each border and war in the kitchen
A first step: each nation should ditch politician
And every corruption that forces the mass

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
If carbon emission - tucked down into mineshaft
Returns in the future - to haunt all our children
And burying problems is all we consider
Then why produce children - what purpose to living
Do we show the future - or have one at all

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
There leaders foregather to nit-pick and wrangle
A pension forever - from fear of a Warming
And empire-build charities stand on the corner
But learning - removed from the mass of the people
Means 'smart-arse' and 'self-serve' rule on with dominion

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
Departments of Plenty ill use - misconsider
Make limits on living and sweep off the hopeful
If 'stages of innocence' kept by corruption
down - for the breeding of body parts - rotting
And this the new purpose - what point has the worry

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
When copyright drugs are denied to the masses
And babies are harvested more than the wheatfield
In sweeping - inhuman - inchoate investment
We slaughter for profit and sling on the scrap-heap
The soldiers who serve us: expendable stuff

Don't give me that stuff about Global Warming
You take like a child in a sweetshop - untethered
Preserve all my finest in deep vaults of 'lost art'
Your waste of my oxygen steals from my children
Your terrible purpose is over 'dominion'
Your 'barrow' of warming has just reached the cliff edge

Monday 18 October 2010

Fools and Donkeys

We want to kill
How else can we employ men
Except to kill
And we still make the arms

We will expel
The vanquished from their stronghold
We know full well
That we supplied their arms

So we will kill
To stay in full employment
In things to kill
All enemies in arms

Where soldiers fall
Their death brought by our action
We'll praise them all
And those who make our arms

Our arms still kill
No mothers' arms are greater
Now we must kill
To still supply all arms

Our lives aren't whole
Unless we send young men out
To reach our goal
To live and die for arms

They kill - we kill
And no-one does it better
We're made to kill
And we'll provide all arms

Our Leaders rule
Divinity incarnate
Led by a fool
Who keeps the world in arms

But he won't kill
In safety he'll be hiding
As others kill
We should be up in arms

Monday 6 September 2010

Chinese Village - 1960

Thin rags stuffed with straw we wore
in that terrible winter of 1960
Grass tying it around our bony bodies
Neighbours shuffled through the village
fell dead as dolls asleep in the street
Doll-like remained unburied in the cold

Silence frozen on the careless air
The last ox eaten as it died
Fowls and ducks taken by The Party
no grain being left to pay the tax
No birds sang in the trees
No rats or mice were left to scratch

Trees standing leafless barkless
Grass stripped from ground it grew in
Rat stew and song-bird soup ran out
Mice died starved as everyone
Babies didn't cry No babies lived
Tiny girls died first No more were born

At night we huddled and we froze Our toes
turned black and fell away
Good eiderdowns were taken by The Commune
All cotton covers eaten
Leaf pancakes brought a beating
The only hearth The Commune's

Two bowls of stalk and leaf soup
were not enough to line the empty bones
Young pushed and starved the old and weak
First-comers bowls were mostly water
Last arrivals lost their meagre ration
Party bullies punched the poor to death

Daughters dry of tears died first
Men and boys claimed rations for their corpse
Richer neighbours buried live
beaten kicked despised to death
Earth eaten set as clay pots inside bellies
People eaten soothed the hunger pains

Babies and the disappeared becoming soup
to send the desperate mad until
soldiers threw sacks - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - six miles away
spilling wheat eaten raw upon the road
As most of our village died
Our Chairman gave the wheat away
to feed Korea North Vietnam Albania

3.6.96.bk22.228/people CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site





Wednesday 25 August 2010

Civil Worm - after August

Self-determined on destruction
Lie-wrought wording in their heads
Warmer days – relaxing action
Holidays – on beach – in sheds

This the time of dereliction
More than usual their pay
Now unearned – their unconviction
Warping children – They sashay

Round to find some small contention
When - at last – returning work
Forces them to old invention
‘Lie’ – beneath their ‘truth’ lies lurk

This – they say – is old invection
Made against three years or more
Water under bridge – Rejection
Settles this behind the door

Your case closed by interruption
Cannot be reopened now
Truth is covered – their corruption
Says they simply won’t allow

Any colleague’s bad intention
To be lifted to the light
(Paid by us) their condescension
Doesn’t bear the truth – Their might

Is to close down all illusion
Which the surface might project
Black and block in forced collusion
Leave the child harmed, drugged and wrecked

Time is now to force their notion
Into avenues of light
Paint the awful desecration
Shout their wrongs to haunt the night

Pick them up with concentration
Camp them – workless, doomed and skint
Force their nerve with indignation
Show them honour - just a hint

Make those lives of civil station
Count as what is fair and firm
We’re not rabbits – we’re a nation
Rid us of this Civil Worm.
25Aug2010 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site





Sunday 15 August 2010

Three Yards up the Road

When your great-great-Grandmother
sold across the brush of cotton
was singing songs of Africa
and working under lash and lock
and yoke the white man slaver set
the child in England shivered

Silently as Dada died or Mama died
she moved to separation from her own
became a Parish burden picking oakum
was sold to northern mills in groups of slaves
locked inside forbidding winter temples
stocking dross the Parish sent away

When your great-great-Grandmother
sold by stronger tribes in Africa
to make them rich and build their acres
to feed the rich man's people hunger
passing cramped across the ocean
watching daily deaths - or hourly

the child in England shivered
Wearing worn out summer clothing
shoeless in the depths of winter
working fourteen hours unstopping
Hunger semi-slaked by gruel slops
in mills where childhood took a beating

When your great-great-Grandmother
had her babies traded from her
on plantations where the working time was long
and overseers beat and sometimes killed
and raped and pillaged every woman
drunken eyes could squander

the beaten child devoid of mother
dragged a body dwarfed by starving
mis-shapen from the broken bones untreated
locked inside her working prison
sealed at night with others in a tomb
where straw - and other ill-used bodies - comforted

And you can say and lift your head
When my great-great-Grandmother
was taken out of Africa by white men
she ceased her African-African slavery
began her slavery to white men
Then you turn and call me racist

And I have nothing more to say
except my great-great-Grandmother
having parents dead or starving
was a burden on the Parish of her birth
which sold her into untold desolation
in a country which pretended to be kind
and left her slave and starving
as a cog inside an Empire
where the rich grew richer still
on the blood of starving children
out of Africa or three yards up the road
05Mar1997 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Trotters in the Trough

Become a politician
Buy the vote - stick in the pin
Trotters in the trough and snout in swill
Late Lordling with ambition
Taking all the public in
Ruling by corruption greed and skill

And here’s the way to gobble up the truffle
And there’s the way to greedy-grasp the cake
Hope no-one understands its no mere trifle
This murky-long career is on the take

Shout loudly of sedition
Blame the rest and lie to win
Servant of the public – mainly you
Colluding with rendition
Cover up in lies and spin
Keep your secrets out of public view

And here’s the way to gobble up the truffle
And there’s the way to greedy-grasp the cake
Hope no-one understands its no mere trifle
This murky-long career is on the take

Line up in competition
Public theft is no great sin
Change the law to make your theft ‘their will’
Creep silent round suspicion
Brass it out – take aim – begin
Blame the - rest and get in with your bill

And here’s the way to gobble up the truffle
And there’s the way to greedy-grasp the cake
Hope no-one understands its no mere trifle
This murky-long career is on the take

Expensive recognition
Means you ‘take it on the chin’
Trough and swill - and elevation too
Ermine-clad patrician
Still the cash and still the gin
Now the right to trade your title too
10May2009 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Up from the Ash (Clone Alone)

When sheep cry Clone-alone Clone-alone
and cold humankind
clutches warm piglet hearts to its bosom
and rat-rattle children are shot down their sewers
or air-starved blown up by the dinner plates cold warriors left
will the lullaby comfort the keening

Where people are copied - Clone-clone-alone
with one moving forward
to pick up a long varied richness of life
and one storing silently tucked in dark cupboard for need
- should the great need arise
for eyes or for ears or a leg or two kidneys - a heart
will the lullaby comfort the silence

When Free-Robert meets Rob-A the clone-alone
will he stare into eyes
which are humbled by darkness and ignorant slavery
choosing which features the silent one grows can be taken
claiming his own-market prize to remove
will his lullaby sing of the killing

Clone-alone Clone-alone Clone-alone
Will people be just moving parts
Will armies and workers be nurtured in darkness
and features of copyright stamp into navels and buttocks
and will a great guru rise up from the ash with religion
and his lullaby comfort the righteous

When pop stars of riches and great estate
need children to bugger and rape
will cloning produce them a great living doll for their need
Behind the high walls will they plunder the assets of child clones
as gurus look on - or join in with the great body game
singing lullabies taking their pleasure
08Mar1997 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Pot of Gold

They razed their houses
killed their gracious men - and women
wept and children died in carnage

They took the land
and swept across removing signs
of life and signs which showed their courage

They found the speaking
harsh and tore the books and manuscripts
and made remaindered people learn their language

They made up godlike
ways to quell the people into fearfulness
The Moon was God and people paid Him homage

They still removed them
silently to quell resistance in the towns
and tortured women into murder savage

They pointed to the moon
- the God - and said This God approves of us
It does not falter in the sky
but sails serenely overhead
illuminating our superior knowledge

Serene the moon sailed brightly overhead

The extra moon
came roaring in a rainbow arc
to meet the ground - a pot of gold
consuming all their battlements

Which shows that gods can disapprove
of actions to destroy by wilful carnage
the most delightful children born
to women calm and peaceful men
destroying every facet left of courage
changing for the speech of war their language
forcing those remaining to pay homage
to gods who - if they be at all
and oversee the realm of human life -
would not approve barbarity as courage
CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Perfect Joy

she wasn't
Temper - violent
Children - various
Colour - brown
(counts as black)
Age - middle
Sex - female
Status - illegal

Sentence - deportation
Method - 13 feet of tape
to hush her mouth

Conclusion - deportation
...of a kind

Deported from
temper
children
colour
age
sex
illegality
life
Joy

Perfect Joy
she wasn't
03Jun1995 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Patronage

Patrons were the monied classes
propping up the Arts
Underscoring all their life achievements
Patrons ordered in the Artist
dressed their wives and their good selves
and tiny children up to show their status
Brought the pearls and jewels out
and posed impatient or quite patient
hawk on arm or horse on rein
or lap or gun dog lying at their feet

And Artists ate
And Artists painted
and their family was reared on patronage
Sometimes painting in the truth
the Artists had to run
before their patron saw what they had done

Patrons ordered up the music
to laud their great Creator to His skies
Composers lived at their expense for years
and married local girls
and caroused along the river
spun their music web around The Season
proving patronage - and wealth -
was better catered to in this Grand Seat
where The master ordered music by the year
so every ear absorbed the sound
of every Lord's creation wrapped
around their birdsong living

Patrons ordered up new houses
Giant ballrooms lit by roof-wide glass
Marble pillars hauled from Italy
Saints and nymphs and Grecian urns
Parquet flooring overlaid with finest Persian rugs
Silks from China dressing every window
Golden filigree along the spines of leather books
Patronage produced the best of Art
and craft exquisite into every sphere
Planned along the decades landscaped gardens

Sent the botanist-explorer round the world
in wooden ships to find new wealth
waited hopefully for years
Accepted seeds and leaves and paintings
beads in glass and sapphire stones
Monkeys parakeets and Eastern Art
Cocoa beans tobacco plants and skins
Precious feathers from the Bird of paradise
And spread their wealth around

But patronage has levelled out
Selfish wealth will leave the finest Art
blinded in the banker's vault
Subscription of the poorer classes
pays for books of stark utility
and galleries that tourists visit

Commercial money builds the buildings
set in steel plain glass and concrete
shoves new roads through fields and lives
where once the skylark freely sang
Sometimes brilliant in concept
orders music setting sounds alight
or sets up sculpture in the park
paintings spread along the terrace-ends
Funds the low denominator
into water-colour prose or poem

Left without the life and wealth
patrons still exist
patronising this or that
passing high tone comment on the poor
peasants who are women or disabled
émigrés or starving refugees
anyone of differing religion
Patronage reduced beyond the dregs

Any fool can be a patron now
Any nit-wit standing on the circuit
Any clown whose circus big-feet talk
Patronage needs nothing more than
looking down the nose
patronage is keeping down the masses
If they patronise you
you'll accept it I suppose
After all we're just the lower classes

I say If you must patronise me Where's the money?
They say We're showing you our good intent
I say I think it's pretty bloody funny
Your patronymity won't pay the rent
05Sept1996 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



No wonder that The Nation takes to drink

There used to be a thing called ‘entertainment’
It cheered you up or made you want to think
But now its ‘grab the cash’ the brain’s left dormant
It’s no surprise the nation takes to drink

The Brother House not so much education
A puerile wayto watch the ‘missing link’
has nicely filled the gap - the soul’s vocation -
Yes, thanks a lot I need another drink

If only thoughtful word -or peroration
refilled the space of constant kitchen sink
We’d see the standard rise to raise the nation
Til that time comesI’ll have another drink

And here’s the TV quiz - A ‘cheap’ arrangement
to drag the greed to cash - the ‘missing clink’
Re-set the standard low in rearrangement
No wonder that the nation takes to drink.
25Jan2007 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Holy Taliban?

Holy Taliban

They're murdering women for mythical gods
just picking up sticks and stones
and burying women right up to their breasts
and bouncing rocks and breaking bones
and smashing their skulls - eventually

Barbarians praying and crying to gods
from towers lower than they
and hiding their women from toenail to hair
and keeping sight and light away
and smashing their will - eventually

They're carrying guns for their mythical gods
shooting them up in the air
Illiterates versed in no language but hate
led by the nose from here to there
then settling down - eventually

to murdering women for mythical gods
just gathering sticks and stones
and burying women right up to their breasts
and bouncing rocks and breaking bones
and smashing their skulls - eventually

..and I'm a woman

They're murdering men for their mythical gods
just gathering sticks and stones
and burying men right up to their breasts
and bouncing rocks and breaking bones
and smashing their skulls - eventually
..and you're a man
02Mar1997 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Fools and Donkeys

We want to kill
How else can we employ men
Except to kill
And we still make the arms

We will expel
The vanquished from their stronghold
We know full well
That we supplied their arms

So we will kill
To stay in full employment
In things to kill
All enemies in arms

Where soldiers fall
Their death brought by our action
We'll praise them all
And those who make our arms

Our arms still kill
No mothers' arms are greater
Now we must kill
To still supply all arms

Our lives aren't whole
Unless we send young men out
To reach our goal
To live and die for arms

They kill - we kill
And no-one does it better
We're made to kill
And we'll provide all arms

Our Leaders rule
Divinity incarnate
Led by a fool
Who keeps the world in arms

But he won't kill
In safety he'll be hiding
As others kill
We should be up in arms
03Feb2003 CPR
Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site



Fluffy Bunny for Mummy

A baby
A baby
I must have a baby
My teddy is getting quite worn
My bunny's unfluffy
my hubby's quite huffy
He's childless

There's women who carry
my baby
they'll carry
where agency babies are born

With sperm from my huffy
old husband
she's fluffy
I'm childless

I don=t think she's eating
nor sleeping
nor living
in ways that will help my unborn
I feel she's too fluffy
and I'm feeling huffy
and childless

A baby
Aborted
She's murdered my baby
and I'm feeling lost and forlorn
She got pretty huffy
I'll buy a new fluffy
Stay childless
15May1997 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Fleeing

When sheep bleat Clone-alone Clone-alone
no one demands to know just where the pasture
green people eat and lie down on in sun
and in rain
has taken the remnants of knowledge

As hormone-shot women lie languidly on
and men become women
and sperm swimmers die
there's never a question of whether nor what
if the geese should desert from the gleaning

Where grandmothers breed into baby machines
as grand-daughters' embryos suction to death
the wealth of the war zones is harvested
ripe for the cot
of desperate line-ends where babies
forgot to arrive

If children in sewers are rounded and shot
and those from the streets can lie beaten in jails
what hope lies in Mecca for Indian girls without hands?
Or boys in the Philippines sold very cheap to strange men?

What right for the transgenic sheep or the chop?
What selling of kidneys from tropical slums
where bombs and spare land-mines
cut pension plans down?

Which clown can consider the whale song?

We look to the future and flee from the past
We flourish our armour and chains rattle by
We moulder in magic-advertisement-land
as bankrupt as virtual living
26Feb1997 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Feeling the Benefit

"Oh I hate the mornings
when its my turn
I'd rather do beds any day
Beds or plasma
-
Hello Mrs Ellersley
About your Robert
Can you bring him in at 10?

Now then my dear
you know the contract
No Benefit unless he signed
Well he's the perfect match

Yes Yes A scientist
A Worker
Yes An accident
Off below the knee

So its really not so bad
Just up to the knee
Yes we even plan
to leave the knee joint

Benefit? Oh yes
Of course As we explained
The lower rate for uselessness
..lack of work..lack of willingness
that kind of thing

But now he's in a different League
A Benefactor of The State
A lower leg raises him
from 6th class into 5th
..unless we need the knee as well
..or possibly an eye

He'll hardly miss them Mrs Ellersley
Its not as if he's sporty
- or a scientist - now is it
Yes You'll qualify as well
After all you'll need to nurse him back to health"
24Feb1997 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Dying for entertainment

On the tele
tucked amongst the news
tucked between parades of victory
as boys return in glory
from The Gulf
there
for entertainment
stands a child

Sandals sticking
on the orange mudfield
manfully he raises each tired foot
Finally - in tears
he reaches standstill
quite bewildered
by the constant urging

One small Kurdish boy
with brother fleeing
sad amongst the mountains
next to Turkey
04Apr1991 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Depraved trepanning

Mad. Quite mad. He's clever. She's mad.

She's lost quite depressed
lost inside her head
Gimlet-eyed hairy-suited
he bores a little hole
little mental hole
inside the side of her head

It's black depressed and dark deep inside

He drills another hole
to let the light invade
She winces at the pain
his piercing drill has made

He drills another hole
to let the Devil out
pops a puill into her mouth
to silence her

She shouts at the Devil in the hairy suit
He waves his
Certificate of Competent Awe

and lacking the competence certified
continues to bore
14Apr1992 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Democracy

Democracy

has always been the right of England
as far back
as blinkered care to look

what is it?

Voting
political parties
police
rights

lots and lots
of
people paid
to
do the work

oversee
people who do the work

overlook
people who oversee

overcompensate
for inequality

The rest is done
free of charge
generously
freely

covering up
mistakes
guarding backs
blackening character
shutting out clawing
desperate protestations

Keeping the shiny box
Democracy
buffed and polished

Admitting no mistake
no corruption
no scratches
mar Democracy
13Oct2006 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Charity Lottery?

In the paper shop
golden greed stands at the counter
Screw-eyed face shut
Waving its tickets impatiently

Queues build at the newspaper till
Ignored by the staff
Stamping out in disgust
Buying papers in Woolworths
or the street

Greed served first
Expectation standing naked
Furious closing face moaning loss

Till staff intent
Clucking in sympathy
Moving eyes on quickly
Collecting money from the next
-
Next door
Barnardos struggles as money is removed
leaving quicksand quivering
beneath its feet
28Nov1995 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Anticipation

People don't anticipate their future life
or see their child will grow become adult
and realise that they - and theirs - will carry on
until in life's renewal they will die

But actions wrought by them
or cruel words which carve their children's life
and score deep in young memory
- pain which haunts as they become adult -
are never given proper weight as they are wrought
and cripple innocence which strives to grow
and push unyieldingly their child away
into that bleak abyss where love is pain
18Nov1992 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


They

They're stealing my land
roots settled there to grow in peace
rip from rocks they cling to
bleed drip-dribble-drip
as their theft continues

They say they can take
I'd not stop them for progress
moving quietly here
to there in my displacement
cauterising my wounds

They say I can't go
not until they have taken
deep draughts of iron
platelets from my blood
disease protectors and my fluid

They swim round my solution
drinking as they frolic there
the light from my eyes
defiling my existence
negatively blocking

They tie my roots up
hanging in their air - dying
until they rot and float
rootless on the breeze
as if they never were

They point out my empty land
claim I never could have lived
anchored to this place
my mind a carnage
of their wanton destruction

They steal my resting peace
dispossess my claim and title
throw a pittance
churlishly upon their ground
demand I leave
05Dec1995 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Purveyors of Rubbish

They'll feed you rubbish
if you don't protest

They'll tell you rubbish
tell you for the best

There's only rubbish
flocked within their mind

Don't take their rubbish
Leave it far behind

Collect no rubbish
Cancel it unasked

Direct no rubbish
lest you be unmasked
as rubbish too
02Dec1991 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


The Public Servant (Ambiguity)

The Public Servant (Ambiguity)

The public servant's serving
and he counts on his reward
an index linking pension
wherein public wealth is stored

He serves two careful masters
in the intervening years
discarding broad disasters
and discounting public fears

His mind collects evasion
and his truth sits on the shelf
he serves two careful masters
his own service and himself
05Feb1991 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


My Stars

They're stealing my stars
for their planning affairs

They're stealing my life
and my hopes
and my dreams

They're taking my trust
destroying my peace
replacing with lighting
which blanks out the stars

Relayering motorway noise
over the green of my hope

Replacing
with fast-breeding tarmac
loud littered with cars
my peace
and my dreams
and my stars
31Oct1992 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Official Sanction

If it is immoral for the ordinary man,
the ordinary chicken-keeper,
to be cruel to birds,
why then is it legal for
official man to be
cruel to birds?
02Jun1991 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Civil Service? Experts? (An opinion)

They seek to enforce what their master decrees,
(their master decrees, deaf and blind),
they pressure the little man down to his knees,
and worry him out of his mind.

They bring their professions' repute, low as dust,
and swallow their cleverness, whole.
This prostitute people swap money for sense.
This scum on the rim of humanity's bowl.
23Feb1994 CPR
Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Honour

There is said to be honour
amongst thieves.
What a shame
that honour
doesn't extend
to official thieves.
02Jun1991 CPR

Main site
Poetry site

Song site
Child Poems site


Bureaucratic Nonsense

In the centre of the universe
blinded by the light
a closely guarded, corded parcel
fast bound by sleazy lies
deafened, "bombed-out" by a fiery blast
of bureaucratic life

Every common sense, made nonsense
misconsidered might
tied of tongue
with shocked expression
at rules, meant to despise
Human underclasses shudder
and struggle on with life
15Dec1992 CPR