GHURKA WARRIOR

Ghurka warrior
Proud and loyal
How can you take
This cruel betrayal

Always williing
To take up arms
To suffer war
And all its harms

You defended empire
And commonwealth
Fighting hand to hand
And in stealth

You stood and fought
In our nations name
How we forsake you
To our governments shame

Ghurka warrior
Loyal and proud
You now have justice
Let us cheer you aloud

REUNION TREPIDATION

Reunions are strange affairs
Full of shadows of events long past
Faces swim at you from the crowd
Faces from the past
Some are old friends
Greyer in colour
Frailer in body
But still recognisable
Someone says
"I haven't seen you for years"
And suddenly you see them as they once were
You swap stories
Exchange remembrances
And the years just melt away
Though at times you grasp for names
In the far reaches
Of your cluttered mind
You pour over old albums
Regimental photos
Or company teams
Picking out familiar faces
"His name was Chisholm"
"What was his first name?"
"George?"
"No he played trombone"
"Tom, Tim, no Jim"
You feel pleased with yourself.
Your trepidation at attending long gone
With the pleasure of old friendships revisited
You are glad you made the effort

At reunions and other such gatherings
Amongst the sea of faces
There always appears
As if released from a time capsule
That one person who seems completely unchanged
The “Dorian Gray”
Who makes you feel older than ever
And a little bit envious
But not bitter
You console yourself with the fact
He has a painting of Methuselah in his attic
Plus there was that smug satisfaction you got
When you met the rabble rousers of your youth
That are now the teetotallers
Or those with walking frames
And the special diets

Reunions are more than that though
It’s not just about meeting old friends
Some people you never liked
Some you always avoided
Those are the ones who propel themselves
Excocet like from the throng
And act like your long lost best friend
They are the ones you need rescuing from
That cause time to stand still
They ones that caused your trepidation
Who talks incessantly
About everything
And nothing
The ones that cause you to vow
"This is my last reunion"
Or “Never again”
But because the one annoyance
Is the exception to the rule
When next you're asked
You always relent

CULTURE VULTURE

Isn’t culture wonderful?
Music, theatre, poetry
Something for everyone
To feel or hear or see
The performing arts
I particularly like poetry
Especially poetry readings
With the writer at the mic
I go to festivals and slams
From time to time
I like to go to a recital
And ask why the poem doesn't rhyme

LOVE MAKER

In my long life
I have found this to be true
It is impossible
To make someone love you

You have to accept this
Or adopt a different spin
By stalking them until they panic
And they finally give in

SUMMER STORM

A white cloud
Appears on the once
Clear blue afternoon sky
Like a careless splodge of white
On the blue canvas of an artist
It bubbles up
Then races across the blue
Another appears bigger this time
Then another and another
And as they move across the sky
They cast their shadows across the land
Patches of light and dark
Appear to move over the landscape
Like a giant kaleidoscope
One of the sunny patches
Illuminates the weeping cherry
Where the gold finches sing
Then there is more cloud than sky
The small white clouds
Have now bubbled up and darkened
And from the lake the Geese speak
To no one in particular
Saying that a storm is coming
In the distance the mountains
Stand out starkly
Against the ever darkening sky
The first sounds of thunder
Roll around the valley
Sounding like a distant train
Getting nearer and louder
Silent lightning streaks
Across the blackening clouds
Then a thunder clap
Not to be mistaken for a distant train
Large raindrops hit the ground
Dappling the dry earth
Strumming on the roof tops
And the tops of parked cars
In a reassuring rhythm
And as the last dry spot disappeared
The torrent began
Falling vertically like monsoon rains
Lightning streaks dazzled the eyes
And almost instant thunder shook the house
The waters of the lake
Erupted like a pot coming to the boil
And day was turned to night
Slowly the rain eased
And the storm rolled on
Blue coloured the skies again
The Geese spoke again from the lake
Gold finches sang once more
And the air was filled with the scent of wet pines

AM I BOVVERED

She drove in the exit as I drove out
And I hit her car with a mighty clout
With a chorus of colourful language
She got out to inspect the damage
Her hair was pulled back from her face
Eyes bulging as if sprayed with mace
Skin tighter than the string of a bow
As if she’d had her head out the window
I wasn’t sure if she was injured or ok
Or if her face always looked that way
I inquired if she was injured or hurt
Her response was certainly quite curt
Then I pointed out she was at fault
And she reared up like an angry colt
We exchange details insurance and such
And got in my car and wished her luck
I pointed out her horse like behaviour
And the extent of her driving failure
She was a very long way past miffed
The angry girl with the Croydon facelift

IT’S POSITIVELY WRONG

Discrimination is abhorrent
To everyone in this nation
So why is it common practice?
To have positive discrimination

Two wrongs don’t make a right
Was something I learned as a lad
Discrimination is wrong
There is no good and bad

Discriminating positively
Is in no way the right answer
After all it’s like suggesting
There is good and bad cancer

BE ALERT

On public transport
You are reminded constantly
To be alert and vigilant
And report suspicious things you see

But if I saw something
That might be construed suspicious
I wouldn’t know what I’d do
As I don’t like to make a fuss

But what constitutes suspicious
Is it unattended packages
Or people behaving furtively
Or just hanging around for ages

Traveling home late on the train
One night before Christmas
I saw several women dressed as schoolgirls
Should I report that as suspicious?

LADS AND LADDETTES

Going out
Saturday nights
Looking for birds
Looking for fights
Getting ratted
Getting pissed
Getting groped
Getting kissed
Getting angry
Getting miffed
Getting slapped
Getting biffed
Getting punched
Getting kicked
Getting gobby
Getting nicked
Getting queasy
Getting sick
Sleeping it off
Down the nick
This is what
Young lads do
It’s always been
It’s nothing new

Going out
On the weekend
Looking for fun
Going with friends
Getting ratted
Getting pissed
Getting groped
Getting kissed
Getting angry
Getting miffed
Getting slapped
Getting biffed
Getting punched
Getting kicked
Getting gobby
Getting nicked
Getting queasy
Getting sick
Sleeping it off
Down the nick
This is what
The laddettes do
I guess that that
Is equality for you

THE YOUTH OF TODAY

Whether Right or wrong
Or for good or bad
They all do it, Girl and boy
Or laddette and lad
Lads swear like troupers
Loud and loutish
Girls swear like fishwives
Drinking to excess
So lacking in respect
For themselves and for others
Morals like alley cats
That would shame their mothers

LIBERALS

Don’t you just love the liberal crew
So called because of their liberal views
But when you examine their reasoning
Their liberality is merely posturing
Charles Kennedy was deposed of course
Because he was too fond of the sauce
Jeremy Thorpe had to go way back when
Because of his fondness for young men
While Menzies Campbell was told
He had to go because he was just too old
The party so proud of their liberal principals
Are in reality not that liberal at all

PEACE IN OUR TIME

When idle thoughts lead me back down Memory lane
I think of Mr Chamberlain stepping from the plane
Desperately clutching that piece of paper he waved
That promise of hope that Europe would be saved

How we all held that precious hope in our hearts
Before the promise of peace finally fell apart
And how that hope evaporated to leave me scared
When Chamberlains voice said war was declared

Hitler’s broken promise broke Neville’s heart
Another world war blew his appeasement apart
Then up steps Winston Churchill into the fray
His boldness and stiff resolve eventually won the day
A broken man, Chamberlains life came to an end
Many years before the war he tried so hard to prevent

WHO IS ANNE ADCOCK?

The very acerbic Anne Adcock
Who seems to appear adhoc
In order to criticize or knock

Seems to appear out of nowhere
Materializing out of the ether
Leaving no way to contact her

She hides behind her anonymity
Like the Scarlet Pimpernel maybe
Or perhaps she is actually a he

She protects the sacred grammar
Never knowing when to expect her
She’s like the Pimpernel in that manner

They seek her here
They seek her there
They seek Ms Adcock everywhere
Is she in hiding?
Or is she not
That darned elusive Anne Adcock

WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN?

"Who killed Cock Robin?"
 "I," said the Sparrow,
"With my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin."

"Who killed the sparrows?"
 "We," said the Humans,
"With out many deftly hands,
We killed the sparrows.”

“Why kill the sparrows?"
“Because they are so small,
And don’t matter at all,
That’s why we kill the sparrows.”

"Who killed the humans?"
“Mother nature did the act,
For mans breach of contract,
Mother nature had to act”

POETS OF YORE

Great poets, wordsmiths of yore
Prose and rhyme did write
Of matters that went before
Viewing them in poetic light

MISSING OUT

They’ve taken all the fun away
It’s prohibited from the school day
Thanks to the politically correct crusade
And the heath and safety brigade
There can be no unacceptable names
Or boisterous competitive games
Now playing in the snow and ice
You must play games safe and nice
The nanny state has declared
That the nation’s children must be spared
But when I was a child we did alright
And we did survive an occasional fight
But we had more freedom in my view
We could choose what things to do
You didn’t have to climb in trees
Or pick the scabs off wounded knees
You didn’t have to play kiss chase
Or catch a snowball in the face
You didn’t have to make a slide in the snow
If you didn’t want to you could say no
Conkers was not a compulsory game
You didn’t have to call girls names
You could roll in the grass again and again
Or jump in puddles after heavy rain
You didn’t have to skip with girls
Or run with grass seed in your curls
If you didn’t want to there was no need
You could sit alone and quietly and read
But if you chose to you could do it
And after all we were young and fit