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Obsession takes the high ground
Scratching fingers in the dust
No mercy for the other side
Who lost belief in trust
Money mountains steeped in gold
Crazy get-ups crash the flame
Explanations soaked in blather
In the most serious ruinous game
All positions given over
To the sanctioned vulgar stance
Where what is said has ‘fingers crossed’
In a tawdry paltry dance
A bon vivant in deepest Kent
Making plans for his companions
Compiling stores should shortage wars
Create a crunch on pickled onions
Selected stocks of spams and jams
Baked beans and tinned spaghetti
Potatoes, oyster mushrooms
Sprats and mackerel from the jetty
A cellar stacked with jars of brine
And biscuits in a caddy
With powdered soup and loo rolls too
To keep the household happy
He checks the tins by candlelight
And labels every jug
While dreaming that, when times get tight,
He’ll have no shopping bags to lug
BBC Radio 4 FM Programme - Radical
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She passed too close to a Yucca Plant
A menacing state of affairs
Terrible tendrils, sharp and strong
Where angles scattered ensnares
To be assaulted by those dagger leaves
Incising slicing deep
A wide-awake reaction squeal
Gave a chill to the evening’s creep
Apart from the pain and emerging bump
We kept a vigilant watch
For the toxic state of aftereffects
Any sign of a venomous swatch
But all turned out to our relief
No medical tragedy
Though a lesson learned emphatically
From the Yucca wounding malady
Letters from the inner mind
Keeping up with time
Looking for the rhyming link
To complement my rhyme
Searching words with meaning
Giving answers off the cuff
Where odd arrays for ending ways
Bring situational rebuff
But then again, on second thoughts
When history is rewritten
Nothing like the way things were
And no chance of exposition
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Unforgettable memories enjoyed,
Immersed in shoreline’s song;
As expectations fill the air,
Contented hearts are swept along.
Where deep and loving people share
Summer evenings will proclaim
Tranquil places warm and fair
Enfolded in Peskera’s flame
Shopping time in town on Tuesdays
Selecting odds and ends
One of those nothing-doing days
The best that boredom comprehends
A dragging time continuance
Too much of muchness permeates
To the muffled tone of quietude
Where language fails to infiltrate
Though walking walks in town on Tuesdays
Where wasted efforts speak forlorn
Forsaken by the rain-drenched crowds
Who in disbelief look back with scorn
Who do you think you are
Is it preposterous to ask
We all must think we are something
Our principal character task
Introduction waiting eagerly
We turn up with much intention
A language-free conception
Such a subtle intervention
Silent contracts entered into
Let expectations set the tone
May saturate the arguments
Ending up resentment-prone
