Day: May 4, 2019

Even when it’s suicide to smile

Taunt no longer idiots on these isles
For like the Lord they are not English pure
They voted for the  stupid and the wild

In appearance, May looks fairly mild
For the old, she has   a faint allure
Being  the chief  sweeper of  church aisles

 

Boris Johnson Turkey has defiled
He cooked his goose  in rapeseed oil  uncured
As   befits the  madmen and the wild

Michael Gove’s own  head his heart defiled
Yet save him from the deserts of the sewer
Taunt no longer morons on these isles

The NHS is poorer  mile by mile
It’s good if you are dying on the wires
Even when it’s suicide to smile

Mrs Thatcher, never   paid the toll
She wrote a cheque and signed the counterfoil
Taunt no longer MPs on these isles
We chose among the cunning, the most vile.

 

 

The lamp  is silent, now I am alone

He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone
Made by potters on the Suffolk Coast
The lamp was silent, it was he who groaned

I was not angry, though I may have moaned
I loved  our lamps but I loved him the most
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone

For human time  on earth is just a loan
And of it’s wasting, who am I to boast?
The lamp was  quiet, the man it was who groaned

Like a candle when the flame is blown
His  life force waned, I saw as I was  close
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone

By the following week, his  soul had flown
I heard the music of a distant Host
The room was  quiet, my  love  no longer groaned

Of the love of God, I long to boast
Despite that, some devil my heart froze
Why  go down  and break that lamp forlorn
The lamp  is silent, now I am alone

 

Beech trees are so British, I am Welsh

The bonsai tree is now a thick green hedge
By my mended garden wall of brick
Beech trees are so British, they are Welsh

My genes are mainly Irish, it’s alleged
With some from Denmark making  blonde hair  thick
The bonsai tree is now a thick green hedge

My  metatarsals Celtic I begrudge
I could bear them were they Arabic
Bleached feet are so British, they  now belch

Through the EU quicksands, I can squelch
Even if the  dirt makes my legs black
I need no tree, I need a stony ledge

Immigrants are dying  of their lack
Kill them all, we’re British  we love flak
We don’t mind a  flower from somewhere else
Elm trees are  so common,  yet they’re Dutch