Sunday, 2 February 2020


drop in tune out & turn off

what mah gonna lob at Trump tonight
name him the climate change regicide
Hasan-i-Sabah of the golf club
blackball his snide

words don’t weaponise the pacifist
be meself for once just stop & think
sticks'n'stones won’t break his balls nor pomes
loaded with stink

probably a swarm of locust would
conjure more applause than metaphors
comb the White House lawn with robot claws
cleaning his spoors

who could then unleash a plague of rats
that'd eat up all the green kickbacks
Biblicise the war on cheese with quotes
Jonah would pack

that's enough shut up for once & all
leave him sprawling on the game show floor
call a halt to this impeachment trial
do touch that dial

PG the final tips


Plastic God eschews the land He leaks
into wells some time ago a Greek
weaponised His fumes ten thousand ships
burst into flames

Bedou tending pools of Him had stacked
goatskin loads on camels' backs to trade
at the coast for pots of wine & bronze
knives then did sly

Promo Theus scale another route
using alchemy revealed His core
element as diamond soup but kept
quiet for yonks

meantime whales got hunted down for spunk
just before the automobile age
raged across the planet leaving Him
overnight king

glam rock followed the end was in sight
vinyl worship sent demand to new
heights of depth from which the Plastic One
rose ashèn winged


worship Me in effigy He roared
flaming from a solid rocket bird
soon the heavens started spanking new
stars did the strand

those who'd put their faith in credit smiled
Plastic bore the weight of gold but felt
light as air spent just as frictionless
outlets did trade

out at sea He brought freedom to fish
never saw such low conception rates
broke all records when condoms blew up
like ’88

supermarkets bagged the greatest share
margins low enough to triple wrap
codswallop @twice the going rate
checkout galore

AstroTurf was knelt on by the score
drinking to the victory over there
in His styrofoams He promised they’d
conquer the world


huh nowadays Plastic ain’t all that
tries to sneak back down His hole the mutt
Old King Coal was sleeping on the job
Olive is next

time to let the baggins out of jin
solar winds to blow the keks off Him
paper tigers at His coattails this
headline just in

Plastic God is through but with defeat
staring Him in the anonymous
mask He tries to engineer one
last for the past

check His new credentials out He's pea
green inside forget the single use
propaganda hanging round His bin
second hand Him

chains of molecules are wily beasts
snakes on grass that hold a Bible class
Plastic God's got anti-Christ you see
try Him for free

shirtholders' meeting

invites only to the Davos game
sit-down stakes a cut in ages as
climate change Cassandra takes the stage
striking for fame

donkeys do the robot work till men
face extinction now who'll speak for them
Angry Thornbird plugging Virgin Trains
play it again

what the heck we're doing in a world
three score years & ten before the mast
Lucky Bags at 20 30 when
you overstep

nature with its glaciers on thaw
there in Switzerland the cuckoo clock
warns adulterers to flee a nest
foretold is all

stick yr ill-got where the finger points
frostbite not withstanding learn to cheap
skate if bored of snowboarding annoint
No-brainer king



feat of space & time the Promised Land
can't be beat its very ashes bleed
what lives on when countless folk have died
Phoenix or pride

Romans Saracens & Jews abound
overseas from old Byzantium
Turks Crusaders Druze the lot collide
still it survives

is there magic does Jehova dole
out milk & honey while hand grenades
spike the fields even Samaritans
get on the phone

Everyman has got to come from some
where it might as well be there but be
ware the price of land in dollars per
metre goes up

up & up you gorra be dead rich
man to own an inch its very stones
cost the Earth the most exclusive grave
yard in the world


let the politics get back to square
one reset the clock to zero ground
God's representative has not been
on His rounds yet

men & women thrive in Eden right
not to pick too fine a bone they split
cooking cleaning washing up & child
care fair & square

till some angel taking one aside
spins a line it hardly matters what
since the other hasn't seen or heard
diddly squat

promises promises did those feet
countenance devine & all that jazz
take the cow to market Jack my son
new lamps for old

call a snake a snake a burning bush
fire for heaven's sake if truth be told
you've been on the sauce again a word
isn't The Word


Promised Land means what exactly fig
trees & olive groves look there a date
palm some flowering Judas trees a goat
wouldn't debark

well there’s water underground it rains
on & off the winters bloody cold
not what you'd call Eden Gardens how
much do they want

world's powerfulest clown Alexei Sayle
Alsop boy before my time but still
Kosher Scouse & diamond geezer swore
blind not to sell

out as president do one thing Pal
get the Palestinians their rights
tell that Knitting Yahou he's not on
stump up the cash

pay the beggar off & call it quits
as for William Blake the music's good
change the words & it'll be a hit
land of the free

                    [ dah dah da-da daah
nah na-na nah nah naah naaah naaaah... ]

force majeure or act of war

not fanatics crushed at football ties
funeral ravers villagers with strange
dialects or gods in gas attacks
far faraway

not some demonstrators charged & shot
down cos why was anyone in that
town those fools whose plane would cross the lines
should’ve stayed put

not escapees from dictatorships
refugees in leaky boats their routes
hopeful when compared to neighbours who
croaked with mouths shut

nor the people swept away & drowned
venturing abroad on holiday
burnt to death or decimated by

just some folks who lived next door but one
bods with kids or pets those mums & dads
seen on queues who'd chat & lend a hand
if they were asked

Do Lend A Hand!

Wednesday, 1 January 2020

up the path

a pantomime in seven cants

boys & girls I hope we’re sitting tight
once upon a curse it's Folkland time
make a wish or flog yr cow the witch
shall see ye now



fairy tales are born on lonely walks
mustn’t wander far from sight of home
full of wolves & wizards be these trees
keep to the path

come on Jay we're off to seek & hide
though our step mamma with cruel smiles
keeps insisting we'll come to no more
happy returns

run as if we’re drawn like tiger moths
terrified tho' fascinated by
secret flames & glades of Jabberwocks
axemen in hoods

where does criminology come in
what has science got to say of paths
nowadays we kids consume like black
forest gateaux

no religion just on pagan grounds
right or wrong do battle for our souls
undercut the very steps we take
breadcrumbs of truth


Jay & I fetch water from a hill
enterprising place to sink a well
Grandma lives where robbers fear to dwell
don’t bears just kill

orphaned girls who mess their lairs & steal
bowls of oats a topsy-turvy world
we’re inhabiting resembles ours
but inside out

welcome back to Folkland sing the bards
find yr inner frog or princess learn
cheating ways from elves & goblins face
monsters down stairs

social media jungles are the new
backwoods no one even needs to leave
home recruitment is on-line just take
tablets for thrills

pop your user name & password in
one day soon you wake up fully trained
only never pinch yourself stay cool
keep to the path


latest craze become a terrorist
dig for hidden arms beneath the trees
train to strangle use a sword or bomb
wear a big vest

Nazi folklore planting Gypsies Jews
reds & fairies under kiddies’ beds
woe betide when laptops turn the scape
goats on our heads

Goebbels' make believe comes true the woods
full of sweet & sticky gingerbread
men for hoods in riding gear to scoff
crumbs to those wolves

smell the bloodlust in the human den
tops cremating bony corpses when
sales of Adolf's blueprints hit the roof
speech acts galore

greet the public every morning mad
dogs & Englishmen may stalk in moon
light while four Teutonic horsemen fear
Whittington's cat


It’s a hey diddle-diddle world where
tins of chocolate soldiers run the pile
Humpty Dumpty stands for president
wins by a smile

folksy themed casinos lady luck
runs amock puts money in thy purse
Desdemona Cinderella but
who buttons Prince

daily news that townsfolk read in bed
toads will rule one day it says so here
swop yr cow for beans ye’ll watch 'em grow
under yr eyes

pull the other it's got bellboys on
joint the barmy army Hamlin’s pride
keep in line Father Christmas comes down
chimneys a street

Arab wishing for the moon poor Tom's
tiny crutch ice picks my heart thou Grinch
Christian Ombudsmen shall get thee first
die at the polls


lost by now ye may not follow me
Folkland breaks the laws of geometry
stories like a thousand nights go on
seasons no end

rhyme & reason sleep across the back
rows of cinemas so long ago
half a pound of treacle toffee bought
Fawkes an old guy

bogey men & women rule for real
charming how these moghuls work their clans
strictly ballroom isn't in it when
ugly meets glam

crows have scoffed the crumbs so what break out
orphaned babes the woods are ours to seek
fortunes go compare yrselves to tits
all ye can eat

London bridge has fallen underneath
Charring Cross's Archers all the king's
men have turned to mice their pie is baked
counting house blues


Christmas ain't a-coming in its owl
goose has laid a rotten egg the rooms
at the inn on half price shepherds have
swum to Berlin

Scrooge has gone to bed without his ghost
let him sleep a conscience off for once
sentimental products shouldn’t sway
how people vote

Banksy's traded in his art for loot
no one gives a monkey’s it's the end
user's right to take a present back
give it the sack

click collect to choose yr favourite fate
no one's forcing ye to cast yr lot
keep it safely pocketed & be
wise on the night

best of three use magic to escape
saddle up yr camel & avoid
'fanticide the vale of kings is wide
keep to the path


happy endings suck ye need a hook
catch the next installment buy my plan
watch it buster tropes like these won’t fly
turkeys will roast

specially in the movies money talks
wiggle room for ass men do the twerk
babe cos Weinstein’s watching from his cell
phone called a friend

Adolf's golden bullet trained the dog
playing dead just wait for series ten
superman returns with Nietzsche's ghost
gods never croak

they just fade to great take Cecil B
here’s another twist for y'all to use
lost in a parallel universe
everything goes

switch from good to evil in a blink
Google glass enables ye to Joe
Ninety every situation go
Matrix for keeps


boys & girls I hope we’re sitting tight
once upon a curse it's Folkland time
make a wish or flog yr cow the witch
shall see ye now

not up yr nose!

Wednesday, 25 December 2019

Crimbo in Scroogeland

Crimbo in Scroogeland


sale of humbug get it while it's fact
free to air on every issue top
terms for sporting butts of jokes well licked
spittle on tap

who'll be next to have their bell ends kicked
sparring partners sought by legal chaps
bloody Corbynism's gone & died

rounded up the readership last week
let ‘em go in Epping forest rode
horse & hounds till Sunday lunch & what
fun we all had

not that Corbyns everywhere don't have
preaching rights to dismal creeds a-hem
sacred texts for England’s donchya know
open for biz

sell us what you got the market tells
good from bad with trickle down on toast
make a bee-line Honey Russian gold
buys any thing

let’s define what Corbyn meant at worst
honest peaceful good ideas hope
courage youth & wisdom arm-in-arm
all the above

flaunted openly as if as if
rightly trounced for who can tell the truth
nowadays it’s only fools believe
what a man says

lies have trumped were only fiction trod
onward into battle close the ranks
stop the tide of reason in its tracks
haul up the pumps

hands on deck you fools this ark will float
Jonah’s whale I'd rather go to hell
in a barrel roll the ocean flat
out till no bells

now hear this if anyone of you
was a Corbynista make it plain
or forever hold your tongues dismiss
I'll be below


curses where did Corbyn keep his charts
rum no luck the vessel's dry or smoke
coke would be a blessing take a line
Miss Whatsyourname

I remember Winston Churchill well
not at all in fact his finest hours
underground spent plotting Hitler's doom
just like this room

sorry cabin where was I oh yes
seems we’re in a right old bloody mess
thanks to Corbyn's failure fingers go
drumming on desk

switch the channel Moby bloody Dick's
hardly Christmas viewing when's The Speech
time to be decisive take a stand
business is biz

Ma'am forgive me what I uttered then
wasn’t quite exactly on the nail
coffins float I hope so overboard
here's what to say

not Crook-shank