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R Dickson Nov 2018
Guns are all now silent,
The killings all been done,
The boys are coming home,
The war’s ended, but not for some,

The war to end all wars ended,
One hundred years ago,
The killings started over again,
No poppies in the meadow,

Civil war in Yemen,
The Saudis and Iran,
Russia starts an arms race,
Trump’s wall building plan,

Caravan from Honduras,
Fleeing death and repulsion,
Troops at the Mexican border,
With guns and no discussion,

Mothers fears and lovers tears,
Of family they’ll never see again,
Shootings at schools and bars,
Talk of gun control all in vain.
R Dickson Feb 2017
Reading the Daily Poems,
Each and every day,
Watching for the good ones,
To see what they would say,

Sometimes they were happy,
Sometimes they were sad,
Mostly love and human life,
And some were downright mad,

Checking settings in preference,
I ticked each and every box,
Email account cross-reference,
To see if they were lost,

Never seem to see them,
Might never have been sent,
Daily Poems enjoyment,
Missed with sad lament,

Hello Poetry the poetry site,
I see you're still alive,
Can you please send the Dailies soon,
I'll wait for them to arrive.
R Dickson Jul 2016
Take a moment to stop and stare,
At memorials in your town,
The named names that never came home,
Some had died at The Somme,

No shouts no shots no whistles,
No guns no bangs no shells,
No barbed wire or trenches,
And no gun powder smells,

All is very quite now,
After one hundred years,
Unlike the time the dead were named,
When families shed their tears,

No khaki uniforms no tin hats,
No bayonets to stab a heart,
No body parts no blood no gore,
No grenades to blow you apart,

Silently remembering,
Their memory lingers on,
They fought for King and country,
And died there at The Somme.
Remembering The Somme
R Dickson May 2016
Clickety clack clickety clack,
Suitcase wheels over the cracks,
Business men and business ladies,
Men and women some with babies,

The noise they make with heavy pacing,
Sends my heart heavily racing,
Pneumatic tyres would be better,
I'll need to send the makers a letter,

Small cases with high pitch sound,
Ladies with fast walking grace,
Heavy gait of business men,
Large cases with a steady bass,

Trip trap across the road,
Off the pavement to the gutter,
Checking left and right for traffic,
Straight across without a stutter,

Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Two abreast and walking past,
Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Like a train approaching fast.
R Dickson Dec 2015
Hearing of a song about a place that I didn't know,
In my head an idea of a poem it did sow,
All  the searches I could find of this I had no skill,
Was that people were dying there on Kinnoull Hill,

The beauty of the River Tay and of surrounding land,
The place to view is at the Tower, that's the very place to stand,
The craggy face, the steep sheer drop, if you're mentally ill,
Don't dare venture to the top, the top of Kinnoull Hill,

Of all the places that they choose, they chose this place to die,
Shouting out I love you was the last thing that they cry,
Deciding to end it all, a life that's had its fill,
Death was their last resting place, below Kinnoull Hill,

Not since the days when Jamie Foyers had once so proudly strode,
Now it's for the weary in desperation mode,
They have no need for knife or gun or even just a pill,
Their modus operandi was to climb up Kinnoull Hill,

Don't blame the victims for their death or of their state of mind,
Modern life is difficult with day to daily grind,
He was just a soldier his government trained him to ****,
The killing only stopped when he stepped off Kinnoull Hill.
The song "Kinnoull Hill" that inspired this poem is on the album Traces of Freedom and this is a link to it.
http://alandickson.bandcamp.com/album/traces-of-freedom
R Dickson Aug 2015
Once we're on the slippery *****,
With assisted suicide,
That's when the sick people,
Have nowhere left to hide,

Now that the clock is ticking,
Where will it all stop,
Next is the old folk,
We'll chop them till they drop,

Down Syndrome men and women,
Elderly, infirm who can tell,
Doctors must authorise,
Shipman did that well,

Then there's the druggies,
We'll have to use a rope,
Injection would be stupid,
Like giving them more dope,

They'll not be the last,
The unemployed are next,
They'll not be sent a letter,
We'll do it all by text,

Get them all lined up,
We'll do them one by one,
Give them the death injection,
Nowhere left for them to run,

The fat ones need to go,
Costing too much cash,
Eating too much food,
Use a knife to slash,

If your neighbour's a bit different,
You know, a bit like that,
Take out your weapon,
And stab him in the heart,

Clear the jails out,
The place if your a crook,
If we need more killers,
It's the very place to look,

Dignitas will be redundant,
We'll **** them all in house,
It'll be good business,
Shooting them just like grouse,

Forget about the smokers,
Assisted suicide's not their game,
With their lungs and breath failing,
They're dying just the same,

Life is so **** precious,
Killing's against God's law,
Commandment number six,
One of ten we shouldn't  withdraw.
Shipman was a doctor that killed his elderly patients.
Dignitas is a Swiss group helping those with terminal illness and severe physical and mental illnesses to die, assisted by qualified doctors and nurses
R Dickson Jul 2015
The stationery was stationary,
When the train was standing still,
The stationery was no longer stationary,
When the train started up the hill,

The train was not now stationary,
And the stationery started sliding,
The train was moving fast,
And the pen no longer gliding,

On the now non stationary stationery,
That the pen was writing on,
The pen had suddenly abruptly stopped,
Now that the stationery had gone.
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