I’m a poet and a writer, every day I sit and write
But my girlfriend often calls to me
Or asks me for a cup of tea
And do I have a moment free?
You know what she saw on TV?
I’m a boyfriend and a writer and poet through the night

I’m a boyfriend and a writer and a poet on the side
Though my kids need constant oversight
And a writer cannot hope to write
Besieged by things that kick and bite
That need reminding not to fight
I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a writer if I hide

I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a writer by the night
But my dog has differing ideas
Nudging elbows, tickling ears
Scratching doors as bedtime nears
Reducing me to tired tears
I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a dog owner who writes…
Sometimes

**

We suffer the misconception
That we nestle on top of the tree
So burning, the need to acquire
That we seldom remember to Be
It’s a fallacy built on foundations
That were laid with the purest of heart
Now we stand in the ruins of greatness
Whilst tearing each other apart

We admire the beauty of shadows
And forget where the shadows abide
We proclaim the virtues of unity
But we’re suckers for picking a side
Our history will be forgotten
A demise of our careful design
For we walk in the footsteps of giants
Yet our stride is in steady decline

On a rain battered hillside that looks out to sea
Clings an edifice, sullen and damp
The vacuum of night seems to suckle the light
From a singular, sickly lamp
The sign at the gate is of sun splintered oak
And the letters erased by the rain
‘The Slowcombe Asylum ’ they’d long ago spelt
‘For the Brainsick, Disturbed and Insane’

The cold of the air tangles up in your hair
Like a lingering tendril of panic
And the door to your skin as you venture within
Is unnervingly warm and organic
There’s a hole in the window that lets in the rain
And it’s rotted the carpet beneath
The rattle of wind through the weather-worn blinds
Hides the sound of your chattering teeth

There’s a whisper that nibbles the edge of your ear
And a shudder that skips up your sleeves
But the cry that had clung to the tip of your tongue
Is accosted before it can leave
There are pools of neglect where the shadows collect
‘Til the sunlight has faded from view
The security door is of iron and steel
But it’s broken and hanging askew..

A smithy, name of Ronnie Gun
Created an invention
To rapidly distribute lead
Within the third dimension
He buffed away and polished it
Displayed upon his shelf
He loved that thing so very much
He named it for himself

So he used it in the local bar
To order up some beer
But the landlord wasn’t happy
Having rapid lead just here
He said “If you’ll be drinking here
On more than one occasion,
I’ll need a fancy shooting stick
Of the hole-making persuasion

Ronnie hastened off to home
To build another gun
A scientific exercise
He’d do it just for fun
And if perchance he happened by
The local bar tonight
He’d leave it there for safety
With his friendly barman: Dwight

But Dwight was quite a careless man
He waved his gun around
It puzzled him why everyone
Was lying on the ground
By evening a line had formed
Of angry solid angry local
Demanding Guns for everyone
And getting rather vocal

So all week long he toiled away
and though his gun was fine
He took a little liberty
Improving the design
He charged them quite a penny
Growing richer by the day
While his remained to gather dust
Still standing on display

Policemen came that afternoon
With news of great concern
The ****** rate was soaring
And it’s no surprise to learn
The leading cause of death we’ve found
Is holes from rapid lead
We’re going to have to close you down
There’s one too many dead

‘Twas then that inspiration
Hit like lead propelled at speed
Ronnie stood and thus proclaimed
“I know just what you need!
I’ll happily sell you weapons
With reduction to my fee
And just to prove my honesty
I’ll give you yours for free

And soon another queue had formed
Around his little shop
Of people sick of ducking
At the first sign of a cop
It came to pass that everyone
Had bought a gun to hold
So Ronnie made a bigger gun
And counted up his gold

The moon passed me by
on its lazy patrol
Disturbing the stars
In their ebony bowl
As if all creation
Was carved into coal
I looked to the sky
And it swallowed me whole

Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall
And that was his first mistake
For eggs can be overly delicate things
Quite likely to fall and break

Humpty-Dumpty tottered and fell
Kersplat! He was runny and raw
Desperately scooping his gooey insides
As they spluttered out onto the floor

Humpty-Dumpty twitched for a while
‘Til his innards were down to the dregs
And all the kings horses and all the kings men
Are not paramedics for eggs

**

His name brings to mind
A besuited baboon
And a **** poor excuse
For a business tycoon

Famous for firing
Much more than he hires
High-heels and boxes
He often requires

Cack handed on twitter
As in real life
If he could, he’d have taken
Himself for a wife

And it seems you can slander
Whomever you choose
When your name is an anagram
Of “**** Ragus”

And if I were the tabloids
I’d land a low blow
He’s Polish and Russian
By descent, don’t you know?

But that would be nasty
So I’ll leave it at that
It’s not clever to smear
You arrogant ****

CS

Those who dwell too close to it
The light is all they see
And those who turn away from it
A shade is all they'll be
Although they stand as opposites
Not one of them is right
For it's best to stand in darkness
But look towards the light

**

When everything becomes cliché
I'm left with nothing new to say
No random thought, no handy tip
Or poorly executed quip
But still I'm here, centre stage
To keep you busy, fill a page
It's hard to find the will to rhyme
In absence of a paradigm
The words align, all prim and neat
For most of them, a grim delete
At first they come across inspired
But just like me, they're worn and tired
And all I've said, I needn't say
For even this has been cliché

**

"How to help the terrified and famine stricken masses?"
"How best to save those darling kids from evil toxic gasses?"
Up stepped Mr Donald Trump, "I've got this smart idea"
"I'm with you!" cried Theresa May, before the plan was clear

We'll... Just...

Bomb them all, but gently
They'll thank us when we're done
We gave them lots of warning
So they'd better start to run
We'll bomb them back to freedom
And as they turn and flee
By raining fire down on them
We truly make them free

We'll bomb them back to liberty
Each freshly widowed wife
You get some decent exercise
Whilst running for your life
We'll bomb them into harmony
They'll be the better for it
But if this was in Israel
We'd probably ignore it