Author: Gail

Back Seat Joker

In which I am no better than the sweary kid on the number 33…

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Effing this, and jeffing that

Another bus, another tw*t

Impressing peers with his wit

Sort of.  Slightly.  Just a bit.

Drop the ‘c’ bomb, hey why not

Girls will think you’re really hot

Louder, lad, we want to hear

About the weed and drugs and beer

You smoke and deal and snort and sup

How you get high and then throw up

That college bores you to a yawn

That bigger breasts make better porn

Ooh, a word that rhymes with tank

Have we got Tourette’s to thank

For the verbal diarrhoea

You pour in to our captive ear

Or are you, sunshine, simply rude

Insecure, pathetic, lewd

Wow, a word that rhymes with sock

Shouted loud to cause a shock

Tits and fanny, bell end, bum

Words you wouldn’t say to Mum

What makes you think we want to know

That so and so is just a ho

That your best mate’s a massive tool

It’s just like being back at school

There’s no escape, we’re on the bus

We’ve got to listen to you cuss

All the way to flippin’ town

Please lad, turn the volume down

Before I stand and loud recite

This rhyme I felt compelled to write

Inspired by the irritation

Caused by your inane oration

The bus is crawling up Dunkirk

My poem will keep, you’re just a jerk

Ah, the joys of middle age

Intolerance, indignant rage

Imagine if I’d read the verse

I’d have been like you but worse

So not the time or place for it

Back seat joker, talking sh*t

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by Gail

Harriet’s Gift

For Harriet, and for Devizes; a poem for Advent

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Today, my dear friend Harriet gave to me

A tiny glittery nativity

Like Russian dolls, the size of half a thumb

A tiny Joseph Dad and Mary Mum

And Jesus, smaller than a fingernail

Such tiny things to tell so grand a tale

And as she pressed them in my hand her eyes

So bright and hopeful, old and kind and wise

Were simply brimming with that shining light

That fuelled the star that lit that mystic night

Some weeks ago, she gifted me a stone

Found on a beach where she had walked alone

All gold and smooth from rolling ocean’s wear

For me to hold in moments of despair

And there were candles then, that she had lit

Upon the table where we sometimes sit

And then, like now, I very nearly cried

So touched by all the love she has inside

If only love and Christmas were like this

All simple joy, delight and friendly kiss

All gentleness, all light and subtle sheen

Like all the things in her that I have seen

I wish you joy, like Harriet wishes me

A Christmas full of love; all blesséd be

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by Gail

Satire and The Soul

Kevan Manwaring, in his book The Bardic Handbook, suggests that we

satirise ourselves in order to see how it feels…

 

With satire comes responsibility

Thus spake the bard, regarding cosmic law

‘Tis true that thought and act and speech are free

But heed the truth learned by the bards of yore

What goes around and round will soon return

To that dark human place where it began

And pain shall be the lesson he shall learn

Who points his pen in anger at a man

Lest he forget, we none of us shine bright

That are not sullied by some silent shade

And he who seeks another man to slight

May curse the pen that bore the words he made

For what we see in others, we have known

Some simple human neediness or greed

The weakness we perceive is like our own

Who knows a tree that has not seen a seed

So satirise yourself, so spake the bard

Before you dare another man to mock

And turn upon yourself a light as hard

As that with which you wish a man to shock

Unshadow your shortcomings, write them true

Or fall upon your failings like a sword

For this is what you would to others do

And thine own self hast thine own pen ignored

Now weigh the pain you draw like blood from light

With cut of blade, of swift and vicious pen

Look down upon yourself from lofty height

As you would fain look down on other men

What do you see, but merely flesh and fear

A naked frightened soul that cries for love

All sorrow bound and clothed in darkness drear

With eyes up turned in hope to light above

Have pity, spake the bard, for every word

You wield will have the power to wound or heal

Remember what you here have seen and heard

Think twice before you cause a man to feel

The lacerations of your jagged wit

The schadenfreude of your savage ire

Lest you be made to join him in the pit

Lest you be so consumed in that same fire

He snuffed the candle flame, picked up his book

And left the poet, wise from sorrow shown

An unveiled mirror’s face in which to look

At imperfection that was his alone

 

With satire comes responsibility

For what goes forth returns, of that be sure

And you are that which you in others see

The naked frightened soul the poet saw

 

by Gail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holding Your Nerve

Well, knock me right down with a feather
It’s true that some faith in whatever
And holding one’s nerve under fire
Can result in the things we require
Being sent to us served on a plate
By God, chance or synchronous fate

So, cross fingers or whisper a prayer
Take small practical steps up the stair
Fret ye not and have hope for the best
And watch time take good care of the rest
Who can say what the future will bring
When we wait for fat ladies to sing

by Gail

 

 

Katie Hopkins; Wild Redemption

 

Katie Hopkins, what a bitch

She really makes my innards itch

She’s paid to spit and vent her bile

Her views are simply crass and vile

The woman thinks that refugees

Should all die screaming in the seas

And now she is an educator?

Well, Brunel students sure don’t rate her

Poor Katie got no praise or thanks

Just fifty silent backs in ranks

Her thoughts upon the welfare state

Perceived to be just tosh and hate

They sent her straight to Coventry

A damned good place for her to be

She’s blaming social media

For everyone is wrong but her

Not like she’s a cow at all

Or cares if pride precedes a fall

As long as she still earns a wad

She’ll carry on like some bad God

Dispensing poison, spitting blood

Dragging free speech through the mud

In years gone by our ears would twitch

A mob would rise and kill the witch

But that was then, and this is now

Best to simply shun the cow

For centuries of love and learning

Persuade us Katie’s not for burning

She’s bound to go too far one day

For Karma’s not a bitch to play

Eternal justice, endless fall

Oh, Katie won’t like that at all

Forever with the evil dead, and

Haunted, by the things she’s said

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Do you really want that, Kate?

It’s not too late to recreate

In love there’s simply no exemption

Just endless joy and wild redemption…

 

by Gail

 

 

 

 

 

Doorway Dogs

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 Winter is coming, there’s frost on the ground

It’s hard being homeless when you’re a hound

Cold tongues and noses, wet coats and feet

Are par for the course for a dog on the street

Furry surfers of sofas and seekers of sheds

Who dream of warm fires and comfortable beds

Who can’t go to the Council or bid for a flat

Who have to rely on a human for that

All that waiting outside; all that watching of doors

All that catching a wink on unsuitable floors

Living a life dodging different dangers

Living on luck and the kindness of strangers

It’s a dog’s life alright, and for humans as hard

It’s no good in the hood when you ain’t got a yard

But there’s rumours afoot in the Chippenham air

Re: temporary housing and bed space to spare

Tales are wagging and shaggy dogs telling

The news that they sense on the air they are smelling

They go down to Doorway and find out it’s true

“Hey doggies, we’ve got comfy kennels for you!”

One has a sniff and the other a lick

And one gives the new pop up kennels some stick

One crawls inside and another freaks out

“What on earth,” say the dogs, “is the tent thing about?

It’s hard to assimilate cultural change

The kennels, let’s face it, are awfully strange

But the humans look happy and that’s pretty neat

Always a good thing to keep humans sweet

And it’s really quite nice of them, thinking of us

Best use the things so they don’t make a fuss

Just crawl in and smile “Hey, this is quite cool!”

“Speak for yourself, mate, I feel like a tool”

“But it’s warmer in here, so maybe chill out?”

“Less of the ‘chill’, it’s the heat I’m about”

So went the debate, it was fairly immense

Till all dogs agreed that some stuff was intense

That the kennels were handy and kept out the cold

And that humans are weird and like, comedy gold

They were really quite glad that the kennels had popped up

That their core body temperatures had been topped up

And that folk gave them snacks and stuff for their dinner

Yep, the whole kennel thing was an actual winner

But lunchtime passed quickly and soon it was gone

It was time for the dogs to pack up and crack on

With doggy bags sorted they left with their folk

And went hunting for dog ends to roll up and smoke

Oh, housing’s a nightmare and tricky to handle

A difficult issue, an absolute scandal

But on Mondays and Thursdays the doggies can glamp

Pop up to the drop in and hang out and camp…

…

In between times the Doorway staff find with a frown

That what can pop up does not always pop down

The kennels are springy and just won’t play ball

And no-one can pack up the bu**ers at all

Goodness knows where they can stash ‘em or stick ‘em

Not one of them knows how to fold up and lick ‘em

It’s like playing Twister, such weird convolutions

Like trying to find flippin’ housing solutions

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by Gail

 

 

Love and The Art of:

Motorcycle Maintenance

 

 

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Cold and careful hands

Dismantle love’s elements

Methodically

…

The eye detecting

Fragile fractured copper threads

Dispassionately

…

Concentrating fire

Melting metal, soldered wire

Mending circuitry

…

Testing, one, two, three

The current, interrupted

Now set flowing free

…

How beautifully

Cool flux and hot flame restore

Conductivity

…

Love’s analogy

Motorcycle maintenance

Electricity

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by Gail