My underwear is from the Holy Land
I’ll have to take it off for it’s been banned
Let me walk as naked as a babe
It’s this exposure we all truly crave
Bethlehem has got it’s own Wall now
Sign it with a pen, your blood, oh, anyhow
It’s like a plastercast on your own leg
It should come off but we don’t like to beg
I never know where things I buy are made
My eyesight is not sharp enough for trade
I’ve got reading glasses, magnified till pure
This loss of sight is hard to feel, endure
I see we still have Lockdown for the old
Why not shoot us all as was foretold?
War is human as are death and rape
Is the Resurrection true or a mere jape?
I’d like to write a poem that would convey
How it feels when I am really gay
The sun is sinking in the West tonight
Tomorrow they will change its path of light
The Leader has got chickenpox and flu
Send him postcards via London Zoo
He looks pale and anxious as he speaks
Yet he has joints which rarely seem to creak
I did read “Ariel” by Sylvia Plath
After reading that I could not laugh
A brilliant transposition on the hoof
The horse flew forward till the dawn was loose
Should we get to vote I’ll vote for Woe
Joy is harder, that we surely know
Both are needed as the warp and weft
Otherwise we humans fall adrift
Do we still have spies and where are they,
In Cambridge changing gender every May?
In Oxford Union killing a black man
In the garden eating Tiptree jam
Can I break the code and understand
I am not who God made on demand?
He creates, it is his personal mode
As he walks alone down country roads
