Sunk in my armchairI stare from the gloomThe never-ending soundOf cars that drift onWith minds on the roadAnd eyes straight aheadCash register for mileageChing ching in their head-If stripped of the clothingAre we all just the sameWe want to be themTo be part of this gameAnd the cars that drift onWith their badges of wealthThese tokens of greatnessMuch better than mine-Once I was partOf this greed that we wantBut now I am nothingSomeone that just hopesMy boys birthdays comingHow much would it costTo bring smiles to his faceWithout knowing the lossYet who will sufferAs my daughter is nextAnd kids have no boundariesWhen friends have the best-And people with moneyNow scorn on my lifeTo some I’m a scroungerWhilst dodging tax with their perksThose LLP peopleWho employ mystery wivesAnd lie on their tax billsTo hoard cash for their lives-A tenner for cleaningAn old boys flatBuys cake for my kidsAs a one off treatYet who is more guiltyOf conning the stateAs I sit in my armchairAnd cars drive on past

My road runs parallel
To the main roadand the sea,
The railway line and the canal.
I am becalmed within the flow
In a four layered sandwich seasoned
By the sound of distant traffic and the train's roar.

The birdsong in my garden is the clearest note;
District
Unflustered by the further sounds.
The birds take centre stage and make their exits and entrances from the wings
Of my neighbours' gardens.

The drone of a holiday flight
The muted murmurings of pedestrian chat retreating,
The click of an iron gate
Complete the orchestra
And all is harmony.