
TWINKLE,TWINKLE LITTLE STAR
A star may look like heaven
From afar
But in reality
It is hell in a jar;
Not a small gold object that twinkles
But a furnace of endless fire
A million miles from being
An object of desire

TWINKLE,TWINKLE LITTLE STAR
A star may look like heaven
From afar
But in reality
It is hell in a jar;
Not a small gold object that twinkles
But a furnace of endless fire
A million miles from being
An object of desire

ROBOTS ARE ASSHOLES
Robots are assholes
They hardly ever do what you want them to
And they fall over frequently
Often before you can shout ‘boo!’.
We now have technological asshole-arity
That theological point in time
When our robots are becoming bigger dicks than we are;
And all because we have successfully programmed one
To learn the exact pattern
Of dickishness required to ruin
The mental and emotional well-being of a rat.
A rat! Well, shoot me if I don’t eat my hat!
Robots are assholes
But humans are bigger
When they all lumber down that Yellow Brick Road
Who will ever know which one is Tigger?

THE WILD WEST
The Wild West has migrated east
The Middle East near and far
Where the horse has been superseded
By the pick-up, the land cruiser and the car
They race across vast deserts firing bullets in the air
If there’s a name on any bullet
Well, no one seems to care
Shooting up the town was once the pastime of the bad guys
Now it is blowing up the houses
And killing little girls and boys.
The bombs rain down on everyone and everything
Where once it was just arrows
Fired by some pesky redskin.
Looking down the barrel of a gun
Can be intimidating
When it’s eighteen foot long
There are no six-guns or shotguns any more
But rocket launchers, machine guns
And others of such enormous bore
Playing cowboys and Indians was once a pleasant game
But when your opponent must be beheaded
Then it isn’t quite the same.
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Nikolay Gumilev 1886 – 1921, was an influential Russian poet, literary critic, traveler, and military officer. He was arrested on allegation of participation in a monarchist conspiracy known as “Petrograd military organization”, and executed by firing squad in 1921. The case was officially declared as “completely fabricated” and all victims rehabilitated by Russian authorities only in 1992.
THE SIXTH SENSE by Nikolay Gumilev
Fine is the wine that is in love with us, The goodly bread we wait for from the oven, And woman whom we have possessed, at last, After we've suffered under yoke her own. But what to do if a red sunset freezes Above a sky that's drowning in cold, Where there is silence and unearthly peace, What can one do with the immortal ode? You can't eat it, or drink, or even kiss ... The moment fled, and next one now hovers, And we wring hands, but yet once more miss - We are condemned to miss and miss it over. Just as a boy, forgetting games and friends, Sometimes beholds the girls bath in a river And, knowing nothing of the loving trends, Is yet tormented by a hidden fever; As once in time on overgrowing banks The moisten creature holed in despair Of self impotence, feeling on its back Wings - still unformed and very feeble pair, - So century after century - when, O Christ? Under the knife of liberal arts and nature The flesh breaks down and the spirit cries As they bear organs of the sixth sensation.


DID ROY ROGERS EVER READ THE ILIAD?
If I had a classical education
I could talk about the Greek Classics
Read the Iliad, and recognise dactylic hexameter:
I would know of the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles
Understand about the Odyssey, Homer, Diomedes, Poseidon
And other such matters –
Like who the fuck Perseus was?
But I don’t;
Instead of Greek Mythology
I read about Roy Rogers, Buck Jones, Johnny Mack Brown
And how Billy The Kid was left-handed;
About the gunfight at the OK Corral,
And who shot Jesse James in the back;
About The Lone Ranger and Tonto
And other important stuff like that;
Kemo Sabe?
I wonder if Roy Rogers ever read The Iliad?
MONOLOGUE
This is not an art society
This is a money society
A pleasure society
With most in an amorphous state
Demanding forms for themselves.
Where is the curer of souls;
He who gives advice to the lovelorn
As well as the thief and the life-taker?
There are no real answers;
So what do you do?
Perhaps the black youth had the answer
Waving a train timetable at me as I passed him by;
He had missed his stop and was shouting
‘You gonna’ help me out? Have you got a dollar’?
‘That depends’, I mouthed silently
‘On whether you have a gun or not’.
Luckily for me he didn’t.

GERONTOCRACY RULES
Gerontocracy is a word I do not like
Gerontocracy is popularised by silly old fuckers
Who frequently fall off their (motor) bikes
Gerontocracy is for coffin-dodgers
Who can now afford the platinum model
And peddle dreams that are no longer theirs to peddle
Gerontocracy is doddery rule by senile fools
Who believe they can live forever:
Gerontocracy rules – but only in good weather.

This is a poem by Saul Bellow. Not sure if it has a title.
“Mice hide when hawks are high;
Hawks shy from airplanes;
Planes dread the ack-ack-ack;
Each one fears somebody.
Only the heedless lions
Under the Booloo tree
Snooze in each other’s arms
After their lunch of blood –
I call that living good!”


THE BATTLE OF WAPPING (1986)
They pushed us once, they pushed us twice
Their steeds with nostrils flared
They forced us back with horse and shield
As if we weren’t there.
They bussed them in from out of town
The workers who replaced us,
No union man would cross the line
No scabs would dare to face us.
*
We were bopping in Wapping
Till the fuzz rolled up,
We were copping in Wapping
Till Murdoch fucked it up.
Don’t buy the Sun, don’t buy the Sun
Have some fun, burn the fucking Sun
*
The miners they had just been ruined
We should have known the score,
But Thatcher’s thugs took us for mugs
So we had to come back for more.
For one long year we held our ground
We wouldn’t let the bastards pass,
Till Murdoch said ‘block print is dead
So yield you scum or kiss my ass’.
*
We were bopping in Wapping
Till the fuzz rolled up,
We were copping in Wapping
Till Murdoch fucked it up,
Don’t buy the Sun, don’t buy the Sun
Have some fun, burn the fucking Sun.
*
St Katherine’s Dock looked like a war zone
Awash with bleeding heads and limbs,
While the backsliders, scabs and careerists
Sat in the shade sipping their Pimms,
Wapping is the new Jerusalem
Fleet Street has been; now Fleet Street is gone
Read all about it, everybody shout it
Murdoch’s steamroller is still rolling on.
*
We were bopping in Wapping
Till the fuzz rolled up,
We were copping in Wapping
Till Murdoch fucked it up.
Don’t buy the Sun, don’t buy the Sun
Have some fun, burn the fucking Sun.
GUZMAN WAS HERE
They seek him here
They seek him there
This damn Guzman is everywhere!
Public enemy number one in Chicago
He is now succeeding Al Capone;
El Chapo Guzman tunnelled deep
Then called a taxi on his new smart phone.