Poems
Biggar Writers have a number of keen and talented poets, and sometimes we allow them their heads and they set us fiendish poetical challenges writing inspirational poems. Writing a poem on anything at any time is a challenge for me. So please excuse these paltry offerings, which I offer for your amusement and entertainment.
UNTITLED SONNET
Freedom cried the man lest we should forget,
Was it lost or not the day we voted?
Too easily seen to be a shady bet,
Anger rising in the most devoted.
No one ever admits to being wrong,
Sharp winds tell us who the enemy is,
Shout loud and long for you must show you're strong,
Drown out the voices who'd deny you bliss.
But then when all you gain is not your dreams,
Instead a nightmare and no gains only waste,
Who then to blame when everyone just screams,
Such things are surely wrong when done in haste.
Go back and reflect, stay cool and keep calm,
The people shall reach for the nation's balm.
Write a sonnet those pesky poets said. Any subject. I suppose it's au courant.
Not Tonight
My brother won't climb the stairs with me
Stairs we've often tumbled down for free
Instead he'll sit and watch the telly
With the nurse he likes to call Nelly
I alone must watch our mother go
Alas, not before some to and fro
A flickering flame provides the light
Her face will tell, if it be tonight
I cast eyes over the pic of Dad
In his uniform, he is so glad
Mum remembers well and smiles with glee
The pic of muddy brothers, Harry, me
The telly booms and Harry laughs loud
Nurse Nelly giggles, she's not that proud
I look to mother to catch her sign
Her undimmed eyes choose tonight to shine
Convert one of your flash fiction pieces into a poem. How cruel can those poets get. I chose Not Tonight.
Want it.
Want it, Need it, never mind
Here it is, with the fizz, be so kind
Eat it, drink it, wear it
Today, tomorrow, use it
Spend and spend and spend some more
All those choices, such a bore
Eat it, drink it, wear it,
Make us richer, bit by bit
Never mind it's so much junk
Drink a lot, forget, get drunk
Eat it, drink it, wear it
Worry don't about the fit
Consume, presume, subsume
It's not exactly doom - is it?
Eat it, drink it, wear it
Pretend your fire's lit
Look: so much more to see
And let's agree, we're almost free
Eat it, drink it, wear it
We sink, we drown, we're in a pit.
Still feel like shit?
God knows what the poets amongst us at Biggar Writers had in mind when I produced this. A quirky little number I quite like, and I seem to remember it got a good reception.
For a sure fire way to fame
For a sure fire way to fame
Have your minute in the frame
Don't worry, cos it's so cool
Sign up, sign on, you're the fool
For all those who want to trash
Good reputations to bash
Quiet now, please don't give a damn
Don't complain, it's Instagram
Perhaps you'd prefer to tweet
After all, that can be so neat
Never mind it's only Twitter
There's no reason to be bitter
Keep on going, make life hell
Inflame the nonsense so well
Spread the bile around the net
Make some money, a good bet
To me it's all two faced dung
How do you like to be hung?
Those who spread this vicious hate
Clearly can't have many mates
Ugly people they must be
Rude, barbaric, wrapped in glee
Embrace folk who are aware
Life is love and love is care.
I've long forgotten what instruction our poets had in mind when I came up with this. Another quirky little number. I have a certain style, but then so do donkeys on Skeggie beach.
The Ballad of Dom and Bojo
When wavy Dave gave up the fight
And left the place a mess,
Who could have thought some would delight
In Mrs May, God bless!
She tried her best, she tried to spin
But who could really know,
Plotting away, their chance to win,
Dim Dom and Clown BoJo.
They really went to work on May,
In truth she had to go,
Time after time they had their say,
She went, and what a blow.
No, not really, but who came next,
Dom and Bojo, that's who,
We would all be very soon perplexed,
They did what can't be true.
Lie to the Queen and shut up shop
Was an early gambit,
The courts said no, their plans must drop,
We'll see, said Dom, fuck it.
A Gen Elec is what we need,
Dump the present parliament,
Lie and lies we'll surely feed,
Our credit is not spent.
Oh yes, nit-wits will vote for us
No matter what we do,
Liar Bojo is a bonus,
With Dom his faithful crew.
But Dom's the boss we soon found out
As Britain hunkered down,
Rules for the many, Dom could flout,
And smile, Bojo the clown.
There's nothing shabby to relate
Dom's a perfect father,
Move on, it's time to concentrate,
Move on, sure you'd rather
All die on the Brexit altar,
There is no option left,
Dom and Bojo will not falter,
You can count the bereft
This game's for fools like you and me,
Don't count Dom and Bojo,
But hope one day we will be free,
Even if it's slow-go.
There's been a lot of disaster about this year and I think we agreed in Biggar Writers one day just to write something, a poem, on one of them.
I suspect I'm not the only one who's written something along these lines. I had hoped to do a true pastiche of the Lennon lyrics, fitting it to the tune, but frankly that was beyond me, but I'm looking forward to hearing successful attempts by others. There must be a few around by now.