Dear Mr Cameron, what are you trying to do,
you are getting rid of soldiers by score.
You are turning "Good Old Blighty"
into Europe's private Loo.
and on the side you want us all to go to war.

With the cut-backs,
will they get there.  
Do we know if they can swim
                         Perhaps ask your mate OBAMA                         
may let them ride with him.

It seems that you "Prime Minister"
forget who pays your wage
You want to spend those Billions
on a brand new railway line
                                          
You will save, what, 30 minutes
which is really not an age
But like many of your policy's
you'll very likely change your mind.  

I find a piece of paper
would help you without a doubt
If the things you write seem stupid
                           when you read                                  
and the figures don't look viable
                 you could always rub them out                  
This would then leave lots of money
for the things we really need.    

Didn't anybody tell you
when you did first get the     job                                                                  ­                                                       That "for" the British people
                                   you are meant to do some good.                                  
Not to make the poor get poorer
                and be forced to go and rob .              
Should we re-employ that man
called Robin Hood.      

Get a grip I say to you,
do yourself a favour.                                                          ­                                                        Perhaps staying in this country        
you may not lose out to Labour.          

You penalize the unemployed
who cannot get a job.                        
But for the rich
you keep the taxman from their door
and for your mate the banker you
will save him a few bob.                                                             ­     
How about some time and effort
aimed a little more at the poor.  

We all know what Obama
really does expect from you,      
but remember every now and then
it's good to tell him, No.                                                              ­                 You don't have to walk behind him
doing what he wants you to.    
It would be nice if you politely
could tell him where to go.      

Also!
Brussels cannot rule
this country any longer.                                                          ­                           Who do they think they are making
all these stupid rules.          
Whilst we weaken this UK
they get stronger every day,  
do they forget we won a war
and we are far from being fools.    

I do hope "Mr Cameron"                                                         ­           
you might think about today        
and contemplate upon the issues
that I and others raise.          
Then instead of pleasing Europe
and the good old USA,                          
you might keep that job of yours and
warrant a little praise.

she swings
thinking about her tomorrow
she swings
to get away from her sorrow
she swings
while her master is away
she swings
to get away from her fate
she swings
not laughing
she swings
discreetly as they continue fighting
she swings
knowing that she is reckless
she swings*
*counting seconds to her death

And life came in, crowned in blood, kissed and messed,
announcing itself with a cry.  
A girl-child, missing piece, fitted to my breast
her weight absorbed with my heart's sigh
She was fear personified, so heavenly blessed,
she made my terrified simpers her lullaby.

I felt my heart's core swell to absorb her scent,
and my eyes overflowed with love's cascading cry.
She cast light into my darkened chaotic hurt -
sparked a desire to wake, to live, to try,
clasping her whole fist around my ring finger,
holding me still; the whole world passing by.

And in her absence she left her shadow nestled in my chest.
And in my absence I hid my kisses in her sigh.
She grew with eyes of blue and a sympathetic smile -
all faerie dust on the wing of a butterfly,
an almost echo of a girl I once knew.
Except she didn't know that kind of cry,
wouldn't know anything less than rainbows,
than Christmas mornings and endless blue skies.

We tripped, clicked heels through the passing years,
from little girl to little woman in the blink of an eye,
till we were both wearing her shoes instead of mine.
And like Alice, she snapped from low to high
she grew - time sculpting curvy definitions
of who I hope and fear she will be.

She is golden curls and girlish giggles
ever wondering the where or the why
ever seeking to help, to heal, to try
to pour her heart into an undeserving world.
She has legs she claims to stand her ground
to be, to free, to hold her own.

And though like me, she is not me,
since she is so much braver than I.
Her finger is wrapped around her innocence
holding strong to consent or deny.
This life will make her cry her tears
and this world will realise her fears
but she will ever have the wings to fly
and I will ever ready to sing her our lullaby.