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Andy Hewitt Apr 1
Give him the benefit of the doubt,
Let’s say his bat was grounded.
He was clearly in, not out,
your appeals are quite unfounded.
Let’s make excuses for his life,
when things didn’t go to plan
Let’s blame his troubles and his strife,
for why he robbed your Nan.

Let’s blame the wind or blame the rats,
for the litter in the street.
Let’s not blame your lack of effort
for things not falling at your feet.
Let’s not state the obvious,
that’s clearly plain for all to see.
Instead let’s just ignore it,
accept ignorance and apathy.

Let’s pretend we did not see or hear,
and turn the other cheek.
Let’s tolerate zero hours contracts,
that pay 30 quid a week?
Let’s spend 67 million dollars,
for artwork you can’t queue to see in droves.
Let’s not say it how it really is,
the emperor’s new clothes.

Let’s embrace gesture politics
and clap or light a candle.
Let’s ignore the honest facts,
the truth they cannot handle.
Let’s believe the Whitehall mob,
especially the Tories.
Let’s devour their covid word,
and swallow all their stories.
Let’s wear face masks for ever more,
and laugh and sing and dance.
And not forget the unheard ones,
who never stood a ****** chance.
Andy Hewitt Apr 2021
I have a memory as a child,
of propeller planes droning lazily in clear blue skies.
In the field, lying down squinting up,
blocking bright sunlight with one hand to see the planes up high.
The moment seemed eternal then, and preceded responsibility.
So many seconds have ticked by since,
I can’t be sure if the memory is truly mine,
or is captured from a book, or film or song.
But as I hear that drone again today, the sun warms my bones regardless.
The past is a foreign country...
Andy Hewitt Jan 2021
I don’t like the tone of that engine.
I don’t care for the cut of your jib
The colours that make up your palette,
Or the ink that flows from your nib.

Your reason to me sound like excuses,
Devoid of a single attempt
At anything remotely productive
Yet you hold the whole world in contempt.

You strut like an arrogant peacock
Feathers all plumped up with pride.
With an ego that’s bruised like an apple
Eccentric vision off to one side.

So brief your fleeting existence
What beauty, some horror, much pain.
The squandered gifts you were given
Washed away with yesterday’s rain.
Some thoughts on our species' feckless recklessness.
Andy Hewitt Jan 2021
His story, was one of contention
A life made from indelible scraps
Of morsels that make up a life time
Bad choices, the good, and mishaps.

History, a path we all leave behind us.
One version of events from the past.
A record of things for the future,
an effort to make our yesterdays last.

Each day we each write our own chapters
Without giving much thought at the time
To the imprints we leave in their margins
Regardless of how big or how little the crime.

History, written mostly by victors
Their version of events that went down
Such an innocent word of few letters
An innocuous yet duplicitous noun.
Andy Hewitt Dec 2020
I do confess,
I did frown and cringe
When I glimpsed the needle
Of the steel syringe.

Long and pointed,
And perfect to impinge
Its liquid content,
Agent Orange.
An experiment in rhyme.
Andy Hewitt Nov 2020
You thought you were going to change the world.
With hard-won knowledge,
gained from lofty institutions in earnest,
with brave new convictions and bold assertions.

In the end, you settled for finding your place in it.
Andy Hewitt Oct 2020
Only the good die young, they say -
How ‘good’ are those who go at 31?
She went before her time they said,
The ones who knew my mum.

See now I have a different view on this,
That some might find outspoken.
But it’s my right to think this way -
T’was my heart at eight that got broken.

Our time on Earth is not divined,
By any book or scripture.
It’s not defined, an absolute -
The future’s an undeveloped picture.

Don’t judge me harsh, or waste your time,
Searching for rhyme or reason.
We can’t protect all human life -
to think so is not treason.
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