***** words on colourful cards
Sausages and fruit with a **** core
Humourous lines and ****** remarks
That your parents enjoyed even more
Fathers would stand and laugh out loud
Mothers would smirk and tut
Kids would try to see the joke
That the makers had saucily put
In seaside towns on twisted racks
Rude and crude and funny
Sent back home to the family
At the expense of a little bit of money
Hilarious designs to shock
****** jokes for a laugh
Postcards that men wanted
Amusing but equally just naff

Tremendously they sparkle
And what really is so remarkable
Is those earrings only cost her twenty pence

Shimmering in the sunlight
The child’s beautiful colourful kite
Blissfully happy for the cost of thirty pence

Explosive words leap from the page
In the book that’s all the range
Gripped in fiction for just five pence

Content in bars of wood
A baby sleeps as a baby should
All peaceful for the price of ten pounds

Buying hotels across the board
Putting competitors to the sword
The board game for only a pound

I remember being a child
I remember it oh so well
Those frequent little moments
Where life was heaven but often hell

I remember being a child
I remember hill street blues
A theme tune and not much content
Reminds me of sky news

I remember being a child
Watching kids tv
Magic torch’s and button moons
Little treasures that stay with me

I remember being a child
A scouts hut full of wood
Neckerchief and plastic woggles
And knots I never understood

I remember being a child
Talking to my friends
Before adulthood made an entrance
The beginnings of the ends

I remember being a child
Emotion being a toy
I controlled it and made it fun
But now it decides my joy

I hear this horrible sound
Like a child shouting
And I wonder where it is

I hear a horrible warble
Hanging in the air
And I wonder what it is

I hear the worst sound imaginable
Soaring through the night
And I wonder why I can hear it

Then I find out what it is
It’s a fox crying
And I wonder why it is
Crying
And then realise
It’s just nature

The house is so quiet
That I’m forgetting to breath
My blinds are blowing inwards

I can hear ringing in my ears
And a drone of talking outside
The breeze is very beautiful

Music is playing somewhere
Loud and without care
As I sit here typing

A crescendo of surburban bliss
Not caring or not working
I best go to sleep soon

The offices of Moore’s and Booths
Celebrate a hundred years together
Extortion and unholy blackmail
With a reputation for hell and leather
Mr Bartlow is the almighty pariah
Running a criminal show
Twelve of his deadly disciples
Follow wherever he may go
Like leech’s in a river
And mosquitos in the sun
They **** the nations blood dry
Then declare it to be fun

Tired, tried and tested but clearly undigested
All rolled into my life
The noise and the poise
Of a field of irrevelant prose
Blinkered splintered and unnaturally tinkered
Changing perception after time
A movement of a passing train
Mimicks my flowing existence
Rain on my fence thick and dense
Makes the world seem so dull
A gentle stroll and the howling wind
Seems somehow very fulfilling
Crickets buzzing through the thickets
Take me to my child hood lost
Ice cream cold served on a cone
Gives me a shiver of enjoyment
A child of a sinner now a lottery winner
Fills me with a sense of belief