Sumfin Wot I Roat in Skool, Emprooved By Teechur

Kiss, Don’t Miss
Hug, Don’t Slug
Luv, Don’t Shuv.
Love, Don’t Shove.

Fly, Don’t Lie
Make, Don’t Fake
Kreate, Don’t Hayt.
Create, Don’t Hate.

Simplify, Don’t Amplify
Empathize, Don’t Rationalize
Democratize, Don’t Autocratize
Distinguish, Don’t Extinguish
Illuminate, Don’t Eliminate
Expostulate, Don’t Excommunicate.

Bee, Don’t, Flea.
Be, Don’t Flee.

Me and Thee

There's an ocean between us
(I'd prefer it a puddle)
It's my ego and I
Got us into this muddle.

There's a land mass between us
(I'd prefer it a garden)
For your heart's with another
And I've forced mine to harden.

There's a galaxy gap
(But I crave inner space)
And the moon's a reflection
Of your lovely face.

Tidalia

'The land may vary more
But wherever truth may be -
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.'
- Robert Frost

(What is it of that fluid edge
That keeps us all in thrall ?
That justifies the seeker's pledge
But makes us feel so small ?)

I reach for her, and she for me -
My endless mirror: the sea, the sea.
On far horizon's line she keeps
The mysteries of her tawny deeps.
But here on my loved rocky shore,
With noisy breakers by the score,
I manage what lies in my reach,
And search for treasures on the beach.

The Horn, Silenced

The dust from the shuffling of a million feet,
Obscuring the sun in its appalling heat.
The mothers and children, the men without herds,
Moving forward towards nothing - looking back without words.

The borders are blurred when the drought is complete,
And the crops turn to dust under shuffling feet.
There's a way to the camp, with the promise of water,
So a couple move on with the corpse of their daughter.

Kwashiorkur relentless, and the young will die first -
Armageddon triumphant (malnutrition and thirst.)
Still the warlords deny all the death in their land,
Though the harvest's a bounty of dust, dirt and sand.

At the gate stand two thugs, and they greet with a shove;
Still the couple persist with their bundle of love.
Join the mob at the truck, where the water's in flight,
Then the search for a roof, and some ground for the night.

I have seen quite enough, so I switch off the news,
And I head for the fridge for a couple of brews.
While a husband and wife face a hole in the ground,
And the mummified death of a love that they'd found.

Then I reach for a pen, pop a cheque in the post,
For an easing of guilt, then I'm done - well, almost.
I should do it again in a week, month or year;
For the need will continue beyond this, I fear.

And the pair walk away to an uncertain fate,
Just two pawns on the board of Somalian hate.
Now a wind swirls the dust on that long-barren plain,
Where a cross on a grave marks unbearable pain.

Life, Jim, But Not As We Know It

I’d like to see a UFO,
Not later, but right now;
And watch it as its ghastly arms
Abduct a munching cow.

Those tentacles will issue forth
From ‘neath the hov’ring saucer;
And give the cow a tale as real
As any found in Chaucer.

The green men will attach their probes,
And prod each orifice;
And test the cow’s reactions
To ensure no artifice.

The cow may well discharge cowpats,
And “Moooo!” as if in fright
(Or maybe to complain about
The lack of grass in flight.)

And on the ground I’ll sit and wait
For Daisy to return;
Or for the pat-smeared swirling disc
To quickly crash and burn.

Across the fields a radar man
Will monitor events;
While accessing his online bank
To count his pounds and pence.

For now his job is under threat
Because of budget cuts;
And not even the RAF
Can pay for high-priced butts.

Perhaps the cow will be called up
To ‘man’ the radar station
(That’s if the bovine close encounter
Sparks some conversation.)

The air force brass might be impressed
With what the cow’s been through;
And Daisy’s newfound aptitude
For adding two plus two.

The cow could play a crucial role
In UFO detection;
But never make the evening news
Thanks to data protection.

The aliens will return to Zog;
(They'll leave us - that was that)
To spend the next three light years
Probing one distinct cowpat.

And me? I’ll always scan the skies
From railway, car or bus;
While pitying the farmyard beasts -
Hoping it’s them, not us.

Once Upon a Time in the Two-Thirds World

Raul lives on a trashpile
Maria lives next door
Their cardboard shanties shelter
Them from life which feels like war.

Their parents are a vapor
Their brothers drift around
The rest of those they knew then
Are still hiding underground.

The men with guns come often
Their weapons sweep like brooms
The children softly cower
In their makeshift cardboard rooms.

El Loco and amigos
Have ruled the hill since when
El Presidente squandered
The golden egg (and hen).

Conquistadors on trashpiles
Where beggars sift and sort
Just Raul and Maria
And their orphanage cohort.

What Fresh Horrors... ?

What fresh horrors await us today ?
What fresh honors await us today ?
I will hold back and have something in-between, thanks;
A wealth of the well-known - a closing of ranks.

What lines do we utter to earn ourselves love ?
What signs of life clutter may just burn out our love ?
I will scribble some poetry, mumble some verse,
And pray for a lifetime, for better or worse.

What games do we play to deserve this dire fate ?
What flames of affray will preserve this fire (fate) ?
Though a sin of ommission is no sin of commission,
I will offer my fears to the angelic vision.