I’ve O’D’d on Glucosamine Sulphate, so much I’m mentally scarred.
It’s escalated now I’m 70… I’ve mainlined on my Senior Railcard…
I bow down to the Norse God Voltarol… He eases all my pains…
and there’s Deep Heat, Germaloids, even Anusol for the other stresses and strains.

The wondrous Winter Fuel Allowance! That’s what lights our lamp these dark days - ahh, those twilight hours!
But after the logs, it’s not Leccy or Gas we crave? No! We buy ***** with ours…
the Whisky, Gin, *****, Wine, a drop of Brandy too. It all helps us numb the cold
whilst memories of happier times gone by - brighten up this ****** growing old.

Supplements, sterols, statins, aspirin, beta blockers… All the heart meds - life’s a battle.
In the 60s it was *** and Drugs and Rock ’n’ Roll… Now there’s less *** and a lot more rattle!
****** fails to make it now - “no more”, after the last time - she said!
These days the only thing it does is stop me rolling out of bed!

The bus pass lets me roam the world… from John O’Groats to Land’s End.
But these days I travel locally Southwick, Lancing, Steyning; oh yeh and a cousin in far Gravesend.
Further afield; abroad perhaps? Well no…Back then it was Newhaven for the Continent.
But now I’m over 70, well, it’ll just be Worthing for the INCONTINENT!

And… did I say? Not that I was ever in the habit of measuring it you understand - or straightening out the kinks
I’m pretty sure that these days - and ’no’ it’s NOT just the cold… but, your once adequate **** - it shrinks!

I'm sorry...Your *******! It ain't so long!

Fickle
Done in mentioned light...
Through and due the common, the still
Notice of compliment, a comment of right

None
The more we save, from the proof of simplicity
Story's and a sulking tree, the seldom of fun in the sun
Turned to universality, with the eyes of anarchy

Amend
Sour and refined, refrain from the beauty of compel?
The pout of another gift and the choice of feeling's substance
Over the quiet since, that has become ours to weal...

Things
And the duty of a desire in worthing heaven, the hell of unity
Given me, and the role of synchronicity a resolve, to sweeten
Time is a daring host, to assure even the tiniest of needs, vicinity

Arduous
Threshold in the lime, the boding of every else, in the book
Staid and remembering decorum, like a hell is every cause
When we are the understanding home, to a willing look...

Force
Are we a stir of responsibility in the arms of voice, or its cope?
Timid as we are, the calling of it all, is a wisdom's source?
Look hard for a nature? when you can have a friend for it's love...

Caring
True to mellower stares, the throe of uncanny light
Made from the none, are we to survive a decision, so faring
The response of decency, that a swim with the devil, is also right...

Liberty
Loan the call, to me for a universe's song
Trust is a walking might of the deed, asking the seldom, evil's
Is it me, or the shade in a wishes stir, the tout we held all along?

I feel you into water
I feel you into air
In unknown a time of process
I want to be with you.

I do everything for you
Just gain your love with you
But you left your behind nothing
Because you are not worthing.

Prowess, judgment, and bravery
Solitude is a walking hope
Tours of energy, have the world savory
Delighted with peace, a rallying cry of cope?

Delivering the news
Of austerity, the tout of power
Has the future, a fusion of a worlds good
Separate me from a stir of vicinity, baring is how?

Hello since a raging storm, has the voice
A waiting hour, to search forces for voids
Of caring for a wish of simplicity, a unifying choice
To place the service of ourselves, into the light of sorts?

Gifts of love?
Seldom to venture forth, with the arms of fated curiosity
Charisma in a whole ley, of works we dote are us
But a risk of beauty to a chaste, is it virtuosity?

The cloth of voiced persuasion
Halt and eschew the truth, a weary solemnity
Just for peace's argument, is tomorrow a savior's intuition?
Just because willingness has a soul, do we know a nativity?

For the silence of creation, a secret of simplicity
Worthing itself, as a shared host, of what was might
Many and decision, any and intimation, of divine sincerity
Has the moment and the need, of a universal right...

Children grew, with the passion of inclusion...
A habit of vice, to vindicate a victory
That has the voice of dependency, a filial cause to win
The marvel of understanding what will, a patience in history

It’s a dystopian gloom and doom saga...
Also you may notice I’m still crusading for Littlehampton to feature on the world stage.

(and btw… I do know that US presidents only get
to have two terms of office… But, like most world leaders…
we never let the truth get in the way of a good story).

You know what’s coming doncha?
It’s not the end of the world (yet) but…
slowly and, as with all evolutionary stuff,
things are changing - and I for one… Well, I’ve had enough!
But you do know what’s coming doncha?

Like a glacier melts and the oceans rise.
and the maps change shape and,
unfortunately, also each country’s size.
The scary cry goes out…
‘we’ll have to move to higher ground’.
And it ain’t just Shoreham, Worthing or LA
(that’s Littlehampton) It’s EVERY worldwide coastal town!
You know what’s coming don’tcha

Yeh!…It’s official folks - Littlehampton IS a world class coastal town!

On another but very related matter - Social media…
That’s developing apace. cyber chatter! Not face 2 face!
It helps spell the future for the whole human race.
We can chat, chew the fat and generally carry on communication.
with pretty much everyone in every first world nation.
Of course - You can see what’s coming can’tcha?

Even Boris’s next election win and Trump’s 3rd term
could be voted for on-line. Press one for a **** - 2 for a clone…
And evil dictatorial leaders can be rubbed out by drone…
Now you just might think that’s fine,
but the terrorists will lash back - (back/slash, the swine)
and come stalking down your street…
with machetes and suicide vests - real ones this time -
looking for your hatch, your subterranean retreat…
Cos we won’t be living on it but below the street!
You can see what’s coming can’tcha?

Yeh, we’ll be, underground, overground (Stop it!)
yeh… under that dryer, higher ground
and still be in be touch and on the ball so,
with food & stuff grown by hydroponics (naughty).
padded out by UBER drone delivered Just Eats.
We ARE preparing for Armageddon.
Drone warfare will also cure the need for extermination
nation on nation skirmishes… Just Sweet!
So you do know what’s coming don’tcha?

Yep… cast your mind way forward a decade or two…
There’ll be Amazon drones dropping goods for you;
the things you want  - your culinary needs
Dry Goods… rice, noodles, seeds.
Spices (for the very rich) - and freeze dried veg
and, if you are really wealthy, and for you life’s not on the edge
the city’s centralised, homogenised cooking crews
The takeaway kings… the Just Eats & the Deliveroos.
They’ll still be at it!
And you can see what’s coming can’tcha?

You might think that’s a good thing yeah,
well maybe! But, if we all start living underground…
to get away from the blizzards and the scorching wind(s).
The Summer Hot hot… The winter Not not - yeh sub zero,
that’ll be the only way to stay in touch
no more roaming… (that’ll still be extra).
Just as well because the latest proliferating virus
makes messaging just as popular as face to face or phoning.
And you do know what’s coming don’tcha?

Things are going to be SOooo... different in our not so Brave New World…
Talk about alternative. We’ll ALL be ‘Underground’…
but not because we’re ‘Hip’ or Hippy… Or even happy…
but, because above ground just ain’t where you’ll want to live.
and then… The doubters will shape up…
A toss is suddenly something they’ll rapidly give!
NOW…you DO know it’s coming don’tcha?

You’re gonna need Armour for Armageddon!

Is this life even worthing living?

If you have stress each and every day it just keeps building up
Then one day it just stops and becames peaceful

Why are you so concerned of these little things
They dont amount to anything
They are nothings
But you see them as your everythings
Its just things
Your thoughts become something
I want to rip off like clothing
But you stand there seething

Quick paced breathing
Acting like its sheathing
The words you are mouthing
But i know you are wreathing
You say nothing
I try to be soothing
My love once unswathing
Replaced now with loathing

My heart cut by your scything
Just say anything
Dont leave me sleuthing
Questioning your worthing
Your silence bites like you're teething
Your intentions sit froathing
You toy with me like a plaything
I am something

Whats left unearthing
When i assume it will be scathing
Leaving me sunbathing
In your seething
Of your nothings
Which became your everything
And am I anything?
Just a little thing.

when your feeling down and the blues they visit you
look in to your memories of things that you once knew
happy times you loved with friends and family
that always made you smile how it used to be

this will take your blues away  make you smile once more
help you realize life is worthing living for
then when your feeling down all you have to do
is look in to your memories that meant so much to you

Let me get this straight, it's 1914.
Arch Duke somebody or other
gets shot in Sarra-******-Yavo…
And Austro-Hungary declares a
war on Serbia? So?
We, within no time…
and in the blink of an eye,
the whole bleedin' world
goes to war!..Why?

I had a great Uncle. He WAS great!
A proud Yorkhireman, by chance,
gets blown to bits in a trench
on Boxing day, in France!
Just a day after watching a sodding
football match... Our lads against
the bleeding Germans
in No Man’s Land… No way!?
Yeh? Yeh! On Christmas effing Day?

Am I going out of my mind?

“But, there’s worse to come…
“the ****** Germans won 2-1…!”

And get this, right… where I live now,
the great and the good
played a hunch…back then.
“I know we’ll give our fighting boys
a send off.  A slap up lunch!!…
So the Mayor, Civic Officers
and Councillors
waited on the squaddies’ tables.
To gee them up.
And so it did!
“Good Luck” bellowed the bulbs
outside the Kursaal Dome…
After the Brown Windsor,
the Mutton and Plum Duff
and, as if the ignominy of the call to arms,
wasn't quite enough...
it wouldn't just get tough
it became obvious; downright plain,
that many of those worthy Worthing men
wouldn’t be coming home again.

That’s the trouble with war… It's a killer!

Done to total, alacrity
Saccharine smiles to avoid, you
Family assurances to develop a photo, integrity
Complacent, sudden and risque, food...

Simple harmony to inform, the next of kin...
Wishes to welcome us to the door
Risen with a fright, the trait of composure lent
In the name of participation, that has a world

Of worry...
Sincerity is a questioning house, with the times
Anecdote and its kisses, are a still worthing certainty
With prides patience, we know your crimes...

Long tomorrows with a colossal bill...
Your liberty in the run of consciences, still able
Avarice in the known, were we the season to little
Farts, that came with meat to the table

Fire...
And the rainbow of your ears
And your earthen reply, to heavenly diarrhea
Is it us, or your probably should that funky beer?

Will Geer (March 9, 1902 – April 22, 1978) who played grandpa on The Waltons, was as gay as a picnic basket.

WIKI: Geer married actress Herta Ware in 1934; they had three children, Kate Geer, Thad Geer, and actress Ellen Geer. Ware also had a daughter, Melora Marshall, who was an actress, from another marriage. Although he and Ware divorced in 1954, they remained close for the rest of their lives.

In 1932, Geer met Harry Hay at the Tony Pastor Theatre where Geer was working as an actor. They soon became lovers.

Harry Hay, April 1996, Anza-Borrego Desert, Radical Faeries Campout
Born Henry Hay Jr.
April 7, 1912
Worthing, Sussex, England
Died October 24, 2002 (aged 90)
San Francisco, California, U.S.
Nationality American
Movement
LGBT rightssocialismcommunism[1]
Spouse Anita Platky
​
​(m. 1938; ***. 1951)​
Partner(s) Will Geer (1932-1934)[2]
Rudi Gernreich (1950–1952)
Jorn Kamgren (1952–1962)
John Burnside (1963–2002)
Children 2

While working on a play, Hay met actor Will Geer, with whom he entered into a relationship. Geer was a committed leftist, with Hay later describing him as his political mentor.[67][68][69] Geer introduced Hay to Los Angeles' leftist community, and together they took part in activism, joining demonstrations for laborers' rights and the unemployed, and on one occasion handcuffed themselves to lamposts outside UCLA to hand out leaflets for the American League Against War and Fascism.[67] Other groups whose activities he joined in with included End Poverty in California, Hollywood Anti-**** League, the Mobilization for Democracy, and Workers' Alliance of America.[70] Hay and Geer spent a weekend in San Francisco during the city's 1934 General Strike, where they witnessed police open fire on protesters, killing two; this event further committed Hay to societal change.[71][63] Hay joined an agitprop theatre group that entertained at strikes and demonstrations; their performance of Waiting for Lefty in 1935 led to attacks from the fascist Friends of New Germany group.[72]