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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.


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. 

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