London can be a frantic, hectic town;

London can be a frantic, hectic town;

With people rushing left and right

Hurrying up, scurrying down

Endlessly, relentlessly, seemingly unceasingly.

But please remember, wherever you go,

That we can’t all keep pace

With the human torrent’s flow,

Some have prams, young children,

Bulky luggage, heavy shopping

And some may not know

Where to go

Some have wheelchairs or crutches

And some may just be slow.

You may have to keep a schedule,

You may have to make a date,

To get back home safe again

Or to go out with your mates,

But please some respect, some politeness and some love,

If you’re in a hurry, please don’t push, barge or shove.

And there’s one further point

That I’d bring to the table

Please vacate disabled seats

If you’re not disabled.

The scrawling of Gyronwy monoprint and The senior woodlouse cult emblem Hand coloured print

The scrawling of Gyronwy

(monoprint)

and

The senior woodlouse cult emblem

(Hand coloured print)

artworks by p.murry 

are in the  FPS UNFIXED Show @ Espacio 

druids and trots

The Green Party is a Looney Tunes alliance of druids and trots (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/green-party/11453910/The-Green-Party-is-a-Looney-Tunes-alliance-of-druids-and-trots.html)

out from dark and ancient forests,

and from the depths of inner cities

and even from the leafy suburbs

the druids and trots are coming

you thought that history had buried us

or that you’d bribed us to make us obey

but our ideas are still living

we have not gone away

the druids and trots are coming

send your drones out killing

send your spooks to spy

but we're no longer listening

to the hacks you pay to lie

the druids and trots are coming

strengthen your defences

reinforce your gates

hire guards for your buildings

hire soldiers for your state

the druids and trots are coming

one person passes a message

and ten more the pass it to more

the cause is gaining momentum

like an avalanche on a slope

the druids and trots are coming

the Levellers want their playing fields back

and the chartists want their demands

we’ve come to get our land back

from the clutch of your greedy hands

the druids and trots are coming

you’re plundering our planet

polluting the skies and seas

but we will not let you continue

to rape our world for your greed

the druids and trots are coming

so this is the whirlwind you’re reaping

grown from the seeds that you’ve shown

when you looted the common treasury

and kept the wealth for your own

the druids and trots are coming

HOW SWEET IT IS..

.

 Once every morning,

And once every night,

I unzip the purse and

Take out my digital mini-dracula

I wake it up and

It squeaks,

It’s thirsty for blood.

I stick a needle into my fingertip,

And squeeze out one ruby drop,

from which I give my pocket vampire its drink.

It squeaks again happily ,

reads the sugar

And turns my blood

Into a number

Oh how sweet it is,

to have diabetes.

I am a LOUDMOUTHED PRATT,

I am a LOUDMOUTHED PRATT,

And  I always know what I am talking about.

Poets of today just endlessly drivel  on

About finches in their back gardens

Unless they are so-called wrappers

Spouting urban angst.

But that don’t bother me

Because I can only hear my own BOOMING TONES,

When go out into my

Suburban back garden

AND SHOUT

To drive the finches away.

Stupid little brown birds

Twittering incessantly

Not like proper birds like the crow

Who sits on my chimney stack

Next to the television aerial

And says CAW

Whenever I go out of my front door

Because it  always knows what it is talking about.

BADGE & NOCTURNAL artworks by p.murry

BADGE & NOCTURNAL artworks by p.murry in 

BAR Print Show

Private View: Thursday 22nd January 2015 6pm-9pm

Opening Hours: 12pm-6pm Tuesday-Friday,  2-6pm Saturdays

BAR Gallery, 4-5 Queens Parade, Walm Lane, London, NW2 5HT

On the first day of the fifteenth year

On the first day of the fifteenth year

I saw seagulls riding a strong cold wind

Blowing in grey from over the grey sea

Hasn’t been a bad winter so far

A few frosts but the soil was warm enough in sheltered places,

for bulbs to begin sprouting.

But I had enough sprouts last year to last this year

And the seagulls are now shouting

As they wheel screaming above me

Perhaps they can see what’s coming,

But I cannot, and my speculations keeping getting grim and grimmer.

So I just hope that tomorrow I will see

That a winter sun burning low in the sky

On its road over this globe,

Will bathe pedestrians trudging, with loaded bags and shopping trolleys

In warm red gold light

And turn them all into angels.