Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm

Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest

The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors

His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat

Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight

**

Ladies and gentlemen, stop and behold
Bid farewell to shingles, to gout and the cold
And a mighty assortment of general malaises
From cranial trauma to scratches and grazes
Your bones will be mended, no need for a cast
With acute tonsillitis consigned to the past
For I bring you a medical miracle cure
And the name of this potion you’re sure to procure?

Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture
From the institute of Scarborough
With a measured twist of alchemy
And three lumps of macabre
A drop or two will beat the flu
Retracting recent sneezes
Buy Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture
For all manner of diseases

Pungent red syrup can clearly be spied
Past the decorative label adorned on the side
A drop eases aching, a second for pains
A capful should rapidly unblock your drains
With daily consumption, whilst not recommended
The length of your tongue will be vastly extended
Avoid naked flames, never jiggle or jolt
Keep it cool, in the dark, in a circle of salt

Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture!
Most marvellous of potions
Farewell to bitter tasting pills
To liniments and lotions
Take only by the moonlight
And in arms reach of a swan
Now buy as much as time affords
By sundown, I’ll be gone

Sown as corn at little cost
And doomed to bloom amid the frost
Struggling through frozen earth
Weak and withered after birth

Swaddled up in soothing lies
With jingles as our lullabies
Numbered at our fledgling breath
Weighed, tagged and worked to death

Grown into a paper mould
With ball and chain of solid gold
Impotent to break or twist
The wireless shackle about the wrist
Conform, obey, do not resist

A silken blindfold binding eyes
To hide corruption on the rise
While noblemen with scented whips
Peddle lies from fattened lips

Voices raised in honest fear
Are drowned before they reach an ear
Just watch the screen, rapt, unblinking
Television does your thinking

Accept the credit, pay the debt
Take the chance and make the bet
Tow the line and wear the tie
Heckle the honest, praise the spy

Apathy has your gullet gripped
And leather fingers, sugar dipped
Have slipped on over zealous triggers
Suppressing freedom, defending figures

Chemical fed and bred to serve
Dry of tongue and numb of nerve  
Right and wrong have merged together
And apathy, our chosen tether

The beast is neutered, caged and tame
The sinews of defiance, lame
Wash down pills with poison water
Disregard the silent slaughter

Slumbering as lions of old
While politicians growing bold
On plundered gains and stolen lives
Until their reckoning arrives

For once again the lions stir
And shackles fall from ancient fur
Beware the people, stay the whip
The masque of apathy must slip

Rise up, lions, sleep has passed
With every lie and bullet cast
A revolution overdue
We are still many, they are few

**

Unassertive
Feeling furtive
Something isn’t right
Nibbling neuralgia begins to bite
Slightly pensive
Apprehensive
Eyes that dart about
Hover in the corner like a lingering doubt
Shadow thin
Sickly grin
Skin the shade of dust
Wringing at the fingers with a deep distrust
World view
Hangs askew
Tinkers with the blind
Studying the habits of humankind

At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room
Where the cockroaches eat what the rats don’t consume
There’s a table enveloped in paper and grime
On a carpet now lost to a happier time
With a cast iron typewriter, rusted with age
In the gloomy wee room at the back of the stage

And under a lampshade of nicotine brown
Sits a comical legend of zero renown
How he plugs at the keys of his rattling beast
The years of persistence have left him decreased
Now he’s stuck in the shade of his hovering doom
At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room

His words are for others and too, the applause
Though a standing ovation might cause him to pause
He hasn’t the courage to speak them aloud
For he’s lacking the bottle and shy of a crowd
So he captures the laughter in lines on his page
In a gloomy wee room at the back of the stage

I used to follow butterflies
In days of green and blue
I’d totter in their lazy wake
As if for nothing better's sake
And listen to the cricket’s quake
To find out what they knew

I used to follow butterflies
Along their merry way
Their cooling wings were flittered dry
The colours seemed to amplify
I held my breath to see if I
Could make out what they say

I used to follow butterflies
Through nooks of tepid shade
To dance upon a patch of light
Upon a bloom, they paused their flight
To satisfy their appetite
Before the day should fade

I used to follow butterflies
So carefree as they flew
And every day I’d wish that I
Could follow them about the sky
I used to follow butterflies
And often, I still do

**

I hope some day that I might BE
So watching eyes can plainly see
“He IS” they’ll say in whispered tones
While snapping pictures on their phones
I want to BE, as I have planned
(And those who ARE are in demand)
So I can BE and just because
I’ll always know that once I WAS

**