lywers

 Liars, lawyers and paying clients,

With witnesses who have not seen,

Appear, like prattling postage stamps,

Every day on video screens.

Politicians, shysters, grifters

Crawl as worms from rotting wood,

Alter words like slick shapeshifters,

Change left to right and bad to good.

Twisting truth, they try to persuade us

Make us unsure of where we stand

What we knew now seems to evade us,

We feel that we’re standing on quicksand.

But this planet cannot be glibly lied to

It’s changing because of our greeds and needs,

There’s no easy exit, yet we try to find one

But business as usual can no longer proceed.

I hate hoovering

 I hate hoovering,

Vacuuming is vile,

And mechanised suction sucks.

Most of the time,

I’m surrounded by detritus

And I don’t give a tuppeny fuck.

But once in a while,

Usually in springtime,

I catch the cleaning disease.

I notice the dust

And scraps around my feet

then I feel a pang of unease.

So, I apply a flexible hose,

Which ingests my nasty leavings

But attempted domestication

Is a deafening bore,

So I sit back down after,

To drop more rubbish on my floor.

MEDZ

 Exhausting exercise,

Invasive injections

Bitter pills

And diuretics,

To keep me pissing like a drain.

So, I piss down a drain

Before I go out

Dragging my feet

Behind my walking frame.

Every step I take,

Every move I make,

Is just another excuse

For another nerve

To blow a fuse.

swiftshit

Silly old cripple

Sits on the shitter,

Listens to swifts,

Screaming in summer.

corvine politics

 

The crows are very vocal today.

Their caws cause me to glance up,

As like black ink characters

Painted on a pale blue sky,

They fly along and across the street,

Back and forth, in and away.

I know their kind, it’s like mine,

Ruthless, intelligent, and incredibly social.

I know that they can summon each other

To form flocks when they need to.

I have seen them mass thirty strong

To shout abuse

At an owl hiding behind leaves.

They can form squadrons

To harass herons.

And sometimes they gather together

As a black parliament

In the hilltop tree.

Do they agree there  to depose old king crow?

Does a feathered delegation tell him

That his rule is ended?

I sit earthbound and wonder

As corvine politics goes on,

Way above my head.

nautical seagull stuff

 I floated through winter

On a river of booze

And washed up in spring

Like a castaway on a rock,

Staring up confused

A cloudy sky

Waiting for swifts to arrive.

But I only see seagulls

Wheeling above

Screaming and laughing derisively

At my self-pity

Whilst people are entombed alive

Beneath the bombarded steelworks

I can make up all this nautical seagull stuff.

But I can’t imagine what that’s like.