Dermot

A hero inspired the neighbourhood devoted to his passion, he often cried when on a losing side, he was the pinnacle of obsession.

It is with such passion great things arise, however being too emotional, then he was cut down in size. 

I have no right to be here any longer than him, have not achieved anything, I’ve never had a win.

Arsenal, Chelsea, Blackpool, football has lost, a heart treated Crawley and mean, the best the footballing world would ever have seen.

I know this all to be true, he was my friend in my inevitable youth, we played cricket, football and all kinds of games. Like knock,down,dinger and blind mans buff. 

I would like to have said please don’t, just have fun, life is better all round when your not trying to be the best. He would have been a loser like me but a living one. 

'IT'

We tread carefully with the mere thought of getting it so dreadfully wrong, one may ask what ‘it’ is?. Is ‘it’ the walk of life?, the work we do and the love we hold so dear?, is ‘it’ that everything we cherish could so easily turn to dust with our fear, a nightmare beyond proportion fighting for survival, striving for success then at the stroke of achievement like a wonderous ice sculpture the weather changes to dissolve all that is beautiful into water.

Our ways as homosapiens meaning ‘to be wise’ go forth with the ability to survive, to be the most attractive man, she is the petal that must be plucked and in order to do so will smile with dignity, to be set as a rare orchid singlely displayed in a meadow of poppies frozen through a winter chill, then all of a sudden there is a spurt of joy, a warmer climate dramatically climbs high into the sky drawing the moisture away thus remaining the only flower to survive and win through with courage to the end.

Man' with a strength of conviction and willpower becomes whatever he desires to warm the heart of that lonely orchid, yet after seasons of change from urgent beginnings wilt into that empty nothingness we all eventually endeavour, leaving a gaping hole, falling through, on and down, until everything that once was open and light deepens into a black hole, yet what adventure awaits on the other side. 

Apathetical incorrectness

Tyranny is a ridiculed master, greedy for success of position and wealth, a success story of thwarted cynical evil
Power is a condition of the mind threatening control over the fearful to speak out the truth or  to believe in an alternative opinion, lest they be deceitfully destroyed
Capitalism although intricately designed for the growth of wealth for all, is a tool which the haves of power and tyranny use for the excuse of controlling the nation, blaming the poorest for wanting something that they themselves  abuse to the end of their own greediness.
Xenophobia is a hatred of foreigners adjoined with racism to gain the same end , it is a condition brought on by a fear of people different to ones self, the same as pointing out a spot on another child’s face in school, a person with a disfigurement that others dare not look at. A person mistreated for being weak. It is a strong tool used by politicians to gain power by evoking fear into the heart of everyman and woman in the street which has by deceitful means of the government brought the United Kingdom the vote of a Brexit from the European community, the obvious reason for this would be breaking down of Health and Safety regulations including protection of workers rights for obvious gains.
Fascism is a combination of Tyranny, Power, Capitalism, Xenophobia, Jealousy, hatred, fear. not purity as Adolf Hitler would have had the world believe. No it is an evil, a cold hearted  greedy collector of wealth by villainous means it can and must be overcome by the masses of Good hearted people all over the earth looking around at each and every person as another ordinary person that requires food, a home, a car, a Job and a loving family, putting aside age, gender, race, wealth and any other idiosyncratic reason for jealousy or hatred of others because they are different. Fear is also the enemy within everyone of us.
Or maybe I’m being simplistic

No historical statute left by S.A. Scope.

Once proud England stood low on the mountainside, the greatest war lost with no last post, greediest of worms weakening the foundations of the pure white suited host.
Blue blood is the colour of the already dead corpse that defeated the dove, incomplete without wings, peacocks of the millennium hoodwinked, magpies claw away remains of roadkill, minority fleeing, congratulatory sings.
Era ended away to crumbling farcical amusement, reducing at a level of absurdity, crime in the hood, needles of a drug addict, not exactly a peasant revolt moreover a joining at a level of accomplished nothingness with beauty.

Af.....is.......let...

Dear ...........
I don’t know how to begin this ...... ...........leaving for a most important.......... I may  not return due to the dangerous conditions as there are lots of.............. bastards will know. Further more can you visit.............. Next year. I hope to see you at............. winter cheer with a beer and a Happy new.......... car is in the wash........... as I am selling plenty of them at................. the time to go and collect the dosh. Please give my love to............. all the beautiful.................wildebeest are amazing.....................torn apart by lions or grazing, anyway I...................... closing, make out what you say, I’ll be coming home in.......
Au revoir
Patric....

Sweet Little Creature

In the dark shadows where the deepest doth lay, beneath the brambles on a hot summers day, hidden underneath the bails of old hay is a sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May.

A collision of thunder, a pelting of rain, a cool bitter winter stands in the way, snowy covered fields on a icy cold day, but it does not destroy or change the mood of the sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May.

Enter the spring when the winter has failed, beginning new life with all that’s allowed, soft soil found from trodden old leaves, planting afresh dispersing the seed, yet “what happened to the past?”  You hear some of them say, the hedgehog laughs on, still hidden away to the sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May.

New Born starting life every place around, there are lots of baby kits around to be found, a new little owl has fallen to the ground, a feed for a fox teaching her cubs silence, not making a sound. “It’s a wonderful time of year” some would say, except the sweet little creature who’s birthday is in May, sadly fell  asleep and died on this day under the bail, of rotten old hay.

Rethink

Wile away, while I am away, waste your time staring all day for you might miss something if you turn away from the fireplace clock that ticks and tocks from June till May.
The futures in the past, if we’ve  learnt from our mistakes, fashion once again bell bottoms at a stake, not likely with those high waists.
I keep fit, thinking hard about it, that poor horse  has a bite on a bit, like chewing gum, what an ache in the jaw with a gnaw, better than a bite in the head or the bum
Once upon a time when I did not have a dime (or a penny) could pull a piece of string through a needle, now twine is like a rope, I hope I get that letter from the queen. I hope.
Heads gone crazy, busy or lazy, I cannot clear my mind, “no I’m going to town, what’s with the frown, “no I don’t remember booking that circus to see a damn clown” . “I know he is five and it’s his birthday, oh he is six, is he my grandson?, no need to get shirty”, where did it go?
It’s despicable, unpredictable, Tuesday night I went for a walk and was hit by a fool on a bicycle, he never apologised, not a word, worst thing is he never heard the rude things I called him, it was dark, there are 25 thousand traffic lights in the uk, where was I ? Okay.
Look in your wing mirror, a little bump could cause misery to an unsuspecting jerk on a motorcycle, my, my, red is a beautiful colour, depending on your point of view.
0800 3627784 been buying PPI since 1984, “no I haven’t had an accident”, “JW take your foot from my door” remember religion can be a bore, yes, the beatles were top draw, "you throw the dart mate and ill keep score". "Please take me off your List!.
light a candle for your friend, he’ll never send the message, he could not send or eat dinner with us again. I’d love a fish tank, 500 gallons should do it, no I can’t swim.

Norman

He’s big, He’s old, He’s rather bold, on his arms his muscles have dropped instead of being up on top. His scars are there for all to see, marks of hardship in his history.
His children see dad,  his grandchildren see nothing, a bald headed old man that once was something, he stood on one whilst swinging at another, back to back with his hard arsed brother.
 One day on a dark winter night, a shot in the dark through a gangsters sight. Blood ran fast from his temple down, he fell in the river and almost drowned, surviving a hit, his brother did not, stabbed in the chest from a criminal yob, a big part of him died that day, his brother lost, gone...away.
Sat in his chair now, quiet, in thoughts, memories of times he could have bought, a flash suit, Italian shoes, a Ford Cortina, he met a beautiful woman, you should have seen her, wife of ten years until she was not, he remembered her mostly until he forgot.
Retirement leaves him quite alone, surrounded by family wishing him gone, forty years a special in the force, the police were his closest family of course, long hours, long years, lots of joy and lots of tears, a Medal for the times he done his best, a fairly good pension for years of fight, it does not help him sleep at night.
The nights are dark and woefully long, so much time left to continue on, grand children look at him and say “old man”, give us thirty quid I’m in a jam, really to buy 1/4 of a gram.

Alarm

alarm... ‘get up’... Doze
alarm alarm.... ‘get up!’.... Doze
Alarm alarm alarm... ‘get up get up!’.... Doze
ALARM ALARM....’GET UP!’..... Doze, have wee
ALARM! ALARM! ALARM! ALARM!
wife.... “WILL YOU TURN OFF THAT BLOODY ALARM, AND GET UP!!”
get up... “Sorry”
Panic

Rana Plaza

United Colours or the monsoon, they met death all too soon, over a thousand I hear the score, dare not forget a hundred and thirty four more. Joe Fresh with the Mango, Pri their Mark make enough profit to keep a whale size shark. Quiet though they be free, seven dollars, thirty a worker  is a complete travesty.
The building heard a rumble with weight too much and most of it on top it began to crumble, generators on the highest level, the floors were at a bevel. Workers were panicky and frightened  “go back to work or your pay will be tightened”, threatened with the sack, too scared not to go back, each one walked in too soon, their fate sealed their doom, there was death in every room.
Floor by floor the building collapsed, while others worked hard, for fear not to, go back. Most tried to run, the night met the sun, the devils hand at work once more has gained victory with his plan.
Lessons were learnt that fateful day, a domestic building not to be used that way, fire safety, sprinklers and all, generator on top is a forbidden new rule, workers lines have been set up for most of complaints, the workers are treated better, but not as good as saints, pay has improved a few dollars a week, more work, tighter schedule their owners do seek, exonerated, nor blameworthy their fashionable house , one dollar more cost for the conscientious louse. Crumble the concrete or pay the bill, there’s profit to be made if your prepared to kill.

Out of the darkness

The slippery slope of hell, I could not tell. Gradually slipping down shrouded for my miserable existence, I questioned everything, everything replied with anger, viciousness, gnarled teeth from angry black dogs grabbing at my mind tearing at my sanity until I became withdrawn from all of mankind, hurt by the way they mistreat each other, anything to cause pain in a cowardly malicious way so as to protect themselves from their own stupidity and fiery spitefullness, beckoning to challenge those weaker than themselves for sickening joy.
 I whom continually am surrounded by people, yet alone pondering troublesome thoughts for whatever cause over many years, entering a blacker tunnel as I begin each day, year, realm of sadness, never finding the worthiness of life on this Earth, burdened by more than debt could afford, going on until the end when suicide is the only answer left before me, then you were born from one of the dreadful mistakes I have become. Overwhelmingly mesmerised by your sight, light shone from your eyes, your wonderfulness pulled me from the brink of death and desperation, out of the darkness into the light it was there at that last gasp that I found life and began to live.

The Milestone

A stone marks the location where the highwayman waited, where the fisherman baited, where the lost man found his way from lost and exasperated Grass grew on its quiet country lane, a horse drawing a cart slowly up a hill start, 1 mile from where a lover feels the need to depart, from a beautiful lady that broke his heart A marathon was won, joy on all the people's faces then there were none left for the races, a motorway can be seen in the far off distance, yet it lies there still, quiet at the bottom of that hill, there's Buttercups and daffodils, the spring is here, goodbye at last to winters chill, dust spread far and wide from the old windmill Sat navs and gadgets packed lunches with faggots, 70 miles per hour, bread from the flour, it lies there still and for a thousand years will, a secret to tell forever more keep, tears from my eyes where I once did weep, you passed from us mother, my memories still hold, the wonderful things and the stories you told, a lock of your hair is under the throne of the little white rock called a 'Milestone'

Normal/Insanity

Are we a person who is inward looking out, other people around moving at a pace while we consider it's just another race, perceiving that insane normality could be on the sharp point of a blade, maybe the slanted edged absorbing disciplines to be normal, the other sliding down into the depth of hellfire losing the will to be strong, evidence of any emotional adjustment regressed to a former self of loathing and fragility, anger & paranoia pursues a weakness buried deep within humbling broken spirits, one predicament left to decide, hopefully for not too long is 'which side are we presently on?, are we going to slip to reveal a deep wound for others to pick at opening to a sizeable crater, the poor will of an exposed crumbling nothing for all to see or the strength of an ox with plasticised skin?.

When the darkness fell

The months were warm, the sun shone bright, a picturesque few weeks that were quite serene, the greatest times in life were shortened by that scene, as the dark cloud ascended from who knows where, into a life of confusion wrought with despair, destruction and chaos had found a new friend  that's when i knew, it became the new end.

 Unexpected, imaginary life times of trial for man had become the weakness in himself, that killed with a smile

Limbs torn from flesh, bodies lay still, blood on the kitchen floor, thick and congealed, flies lay the eggs for their own chosen meal, tortured in mass dying and ill, the future of man silent and still.

The corruption of the makers were the only takers, allowing that wretched horror to be brought,the national health weakened by greed, the filthy rich had grown their own seed, poorest of all died long ago, left in the mess they were allowed to sow. Poor health, hunger and disease had killed, all in its path all weakened until still.

The months were warm, sunny and serene when the darkness fell it was quite a scene, the dark cloud grew larger in the sky, no one had time to stop and ask why,

In a moment we were there, then no more, when the darkness fell at our front door....

It fell

It fell a long way into the depth of an upturned spire, a cross of Christ the lord crucified upside on.

Falling and falling, flowing downwards around the shape of barley twist, begging to catch a barb on the way, yet missed. forgotten memories, names long gone even the one with the consideration of a song. The chemicals not working, barbiturates all the same, forgotten the tune, word as a name, tumbling on into darkness lay asleep or dead?, it's all going on inside of the head, only one can tell for the thoughts still trouble, treasured history among the rubble, lights long fading in to dark of night 

love to be saddened the lessened to share

But what's the bother now, not a soul alive cares.

The last time

He recalled a reflection of his own history, it was brief although he had lived more than one life, in his time. He remembered his children, they needed his love so much when they were young, now all grown up living their own lives in the way they wish to live them, they had wonderful children of their own, his grandchildren, his future generation, carving a way forward, more precious to him than they  could feel.

The love of his life is beside him, clenching his hand with her slender pretty fingers, knuckles holding the gold rings stopping them from falling off, she is weeping yet accepting that fate must have its glory, he is so tired now, the pain in him is ill conceived, striking sharply. The nurse speaks quietly to his passion, he cannot hear what is being said however a thin tube is brought over to the bedside and a bag with Clear Liquid inside is placed on a hook, a syringe driver is put into his arm with the tube attached, the liquid flows through the small tube. He cannot concentrate on anything with the dull, yet piercing ache through every part of his being. As his body consumes the liquid, he can feel an immense throbbing pain bound with a paradoxical feeling of no pain at all as if he was not in his own body.

 He takes a look around the room, there are many faces, his Mum, Dad, Children, Grandchildren, Sisters, Brothers, Uncles and aunts and others that he did not recognise, "Oh My, How.....?" then felt as if something or someone stopped him from speaking further, he turned to glance at his love, "you are so beautiful" he told her, he thought that from the first time that he had seen her bright smile across a darkened room although he always pretended that he had not noticed her at all, he reached to touch her short blond hair and wipe away the tear from her soft blue eyes, "it is what it is" he said quietly, "yes" she replied with that same bright but now feint smile that she had shown him many years before, he grasped her hand with as much strength as he could muster then felt no strength at all as his hand slipped away from hers, he had become very weak, with a longing for sleep at the same moment the pain binding his body appeared to lift out of him and dissipate into the light above the bed, leaving him with immense peace, he moved his neck for a glance at her beautiful face then shut his eyes.

History of a decent man

Catch a thief by the toe, watch him die for tales of woe, burdened by the birthright genes, poor as muck the stealing fiend, bread for dinner, potato for stew, hardly enough for me and you, he feeds his family that's the score, then walks to work at half past 4, twelve hours striving for not much pay, goes back home to sleep in hay, fortunate enough to pass some bread? or wildly wicked and hung till dead!. Judged as dirt by those in power who live so well in ivory towers.

I’m not putting up with that!

"I'll slap him hard for thieving off me"

beat him with a stick for telling lies

One,two, three, now he will see"

"he needs conditioning, the unruly pesk"

"for bunking off school 

not sitting at his desk"

"that boy is useless!

he belongs in the trash"

"now he has drugs and plenty of cash"

"I'll show the thug the back of my glove

there is nothing wrong

with a bit of tough love".

The boy hardly winced or felt any pain

he did not care if he was hit again

desensitised by the surroundings

from a violent life case

thumped by his parents,

and punched in the face

burnt by cigarettes for wetting the bed

alone in his room and hungry for bread

left for so long, close to death

then beaten and bruised for things 

he had said, like "mummy I'm hungry"

and "FUCK OFF DAD" 

always alone and quite often sad

angry, confused, self harming and mad

now going back 

to the first verse in my rhyme

he was put in care

when he was all but nine 

society's problem, ignorant bliss

the boy had not known a hug or a kiss

"give him a smack", advice by some

"shut him in his room 

he will come to no harm"

"grab him, shake him, always be calm"

"make sure not to leave

a bruise on his arm"

carers, sharers fostering dues

no wonder the children are so confused

care is patience, love is Devine

happiness is the child's needs over mine

Tinsel

The unclean are omitted, 

a different view cast aside, 

there is no place in England 

if you are from the other side

judgemental press, hide behind a lie

fabulorised stories, tut tuts and sighs

they say "how dare you be disabled, unemployed or high when a decent working man cannot afford to fly".

Look to your store with a shiny clean floor welcoming people in, filthy at the core

structured music, displays colour bright,

see beneath the counter,

something is not right.

At the back, in the yard,

the staff are fit to drop,

for twelve hours standing 

in this low paid shop

dog ends still smouldering,

behind the building litter,

while the person in the uniform 

cannot afford a babysitter.

Caught by the clock for a long time 

Invisible chains that once were not mine

start at eight, finish at nine, 

whatever happened to all that time

the futures good, the futures bright 

make sure to wear clothes that fit just right. undercurrent, pinned by stress

why don't you wear

that long white dress?

Go to the funeral of my best friend, Strange,

coz I thought he was on the mend,

everyone said 'he is sick in the head'

now they are all being kind, 

now he is dead. 

hypocritical bastards it's time to leave

walk out alone, a chance to grieve

everything is nothing, nothing is space

I don't really belong in this awful place

Is everything I know in life not credible?

Is it all animal, mineral or vegetable?

shallow lies the fallen kind

Incredibly stupid, completely blind

frightened of being left behind

From the ground up

I plastered a hole, more appeared 

no matter how smooth or sheer another hole appears, cracks all around plaster on the ground

The neighbourhood shook, walls fell down yet houses stayed up.

Empty shells with souls corrupt.

smiles upon faces outward grins tasteless in their hearts 

evil in their thoughts, 

contemplated graces

poor souls are in slavery yet the chains are bound and kept, twisting in all directions, pay the largest threat

A stench is in the air, protruding from the ground, cleaners sweep the streets 

scrub the pavements down

wash all the curtains, paint all the cracks, triple glass in plastic Windows the stench is still around