Tuesday 14 February 2023

Remember TV?

 
Image from: RawPixel

Remember TV?

Remember how TVs used to be -
When channels numbered only three,
When colour was a luxury
With adverts just on ITV?
 
Remember when you switched it on
Did you have this phenomenon
When static would encroach upon
The TV screen? Or was there none?

Remember that a dial was used -
a dozen digits were perused.
The relevance? You'll be bemused,
12-13, 9 or U? Confused.
 
Remember what the rest would show?
A range of different textured snow.
It was those three you had to know
to watch a broadcast TV show.
 
Remember when the image rolled
so much it had to be controlled
A range of knobs to be cajoled
And one of these was marked Vert. Hold.
 
Remember when, before the news
The kids did not have much to choose.
The Magic Roundabout? No clues
which drugs the writers used to use.
 
Remember when the only stream
was filled by critters of esteem?
"Tales of the Riverbank"; I deem
Hammy Hamster was supreme.
 
Remember when most of the day
the testcard was the sole display?
So not much was worth watching - hey!
Programmes are just the same today!
 
 
 

Tuesday 7 February 2023

Winter Mornings

Something neither political or shanty related today. I don't know if it's a belated after effect of catching Covid-19 last year, but I note my eyes are a touch more light-sensitive when I awaken. Combine this with the resumption of a cold spate of weather and it took me a while to get out of bed. This inspired a short poem. 

The following day I noted frost on top of the cars parked in my street. This confirmed that I was right to turn my radiators on again - however briefly this period should be!
 
 
Winter Mornings
 
T'was far too bright for tired eyes.
From winter sun they hid.
I raised the duvet just a nick
and risked one peeper's lid.
I squinted at the clock display;
I thought that I should rise.
I let the cotton tunnel drop -
too bright for tired eyes.
 
The air's too cold for backs of arms.
The temp'rature's too low
I turned the radiators off
A couple-o' days ago.
The warmer spell was just a blip.
The bed still holds those charms.
I let the duvet drop again;
too cold for backs of arms.
 
Perhaps I should get out of bed
despite the light and cold.
Though forty minutes have passed by
it's not because I'm bold.
I'm not as young as once I was;
that's why I raise my head.
My bladder overrules my brain -
I should get out of bed.

 

Friday 11 November 2022

The Boat is Past its Best

 
These are lyrics to a new sea song The Boat is Past its Best.

The chorus and phrases in parentheses are sung by everyone. The remainder is for one or more soloists. The concept is simple. The crew are humorously telling us (or reminiscing between each other) about their old boat - a craft close to their hearts but clearly reaching the end of its working life.


1. We've got a boat (we've got a boat)
We've had it years, it's still afloat
But there are times (but there are times)
it puts us to the test.
For there is more (yes there is more)
time spent on fixes whilst ashore 
We often think (we often think
"The boat is past its best.")

CHORUS 
It's past its best, we're sad to say
Repairs - there've been a lot
The boat is past its best today
But it is all we've got.
It's served us well, it's kept us safe,
It gave us fellowship, 
It's past its best but we have faith:
We'll give it one more trip.

2. A bit broke off (a bit broke off)
Dropped from the masthead up aloft
yet no one was (yet no one was)
up there in the crow's nest.
The jib once ripped (the jib once ripped);
We had no spare, the captain flipped
and growled to us (and growled to us
"The boat is past its best.")

3. The compass jammed (the compass jammed)
We didn't go where we had planned,
went further south (went further south);
we meant to go due west.
Our rudder caught (our rudder caught)
on weed, we listed to the port
and so we cursed (and so we cursed 
"The boat is past its best.")

4. The anchor chain (the anchor chain)
came loose, we drifted off again.
It took an hour (it took an hour)
to bring the boat to rest.
The hawser rope (the hawser rope)
tied to the dock would have to cope.
Ashore we sighed (ashore we sighed,
"The boat is past its best.")



Thursday 10 November 2022

Bad Service

Sadly, we all come across bad customer service or workmanship from time to time. A friend of mine encounters more than her fair share of bad service, even in the area of medical consultation.

I wrote this to cheer her up.

Some days are quite annoying,
Some days will make you seethe,
Some days are full of people
almost far too thick to breathe,
Some days you start to wonder
if you're on some sort of list
that morons use to treat you
as if YOU should not exist.
But it's not paranoia.
They really are that thick.
It's social evolution
that their heads have grown a dick.
That's why they screw up like they do;
Although their fatal flaw
Will be the time they screw themselves
And end up out the door.
If you can help that day arrive
Each time you make a stand,
Perhaps incompetence will be
reduced or even banned.
I know such optimism
may be hard but "what the hey":
Cross your fingers and take hope
Tomorrow is that day.


Sunday 25 September 2022

November is Lurking

Taking a break from political poems, this verse is Hallowe'en themed.

November is Lurking

November is lurking, just one night remains,
a deep ferrous odour pervades.
The flickering, nacreous light barely shows
what was lurking, it further degrades.
It might be it’s gone and returned to its lair,
the silence suggests solitude,
but maybe it’s waiting for prey to approach –
a typical trait of its brood.
The floor, it feels sticky, suggesting it’s fed;
it could be it’s sated, who knows?
Your foot catches something, revealed as a head
only briefly – then all the light goes.

There, in the darkness, dead lamp in your hand,
staying still, hoping eyes will adjust.
And still, there’s no sound – you don’t know if it’s there,
And still there’s that deep smell of rust.
A thought comes, insidious, feelings of doubt,
Was it wise on this All Hallow’s Eve
to venture where others have gone and been lost –
or so we’ve been led to believe?
Deciding to leave you begin to back out.
Without warning sharp claws hold you tight.
A mouth dripping mucus rasps into your ear,
“My name is November. Goodnight.”

Saturday 20 August 2022

The Tory Clan (Wellerman parody)

I know it's not politically balanced, but I look at it this way. I'm prepared to share my vitriol upon a party of any persuasion who are in government if they treat their people with such contempt.

In any case, writing these poems/lyrics is carthartic and I'm fond of creating parodies!

The Tory Clan
(To the melody of The Wellerman)

1.There once was a slip and conned were we
To give control to the Tory party,
They're so corrupt, they grind us down,
They grow, these bully boys grow (huh)

CHORUS
Rees-Mogg and Braverman come
With Patel, Dorries, Coffey, Raab (dumb),
Truss, Rishi from Boris's bum,
They'll take our lives and go.

2. Nadhim Zahawi is one more
Kwarteng, Cleverly, Eustice: poor
(in morals - for they rake in more,
their donors all aglow) (huh)

3. Barclay, Wallace, Malthouse and Shapps
don't care about the energy caps
as power falls into their laps
Who cares if poverty grows (huh)  

4. Javid, Gove no longer around
but hanging on - that Boris clown,
Care home numbers were brought down
Matt Hancock had to go (huh)

5. We wonder how long can it last,
Restrictions on our freedoms passed,
We can only hope it's soon these nasty
sub-humans will go (huh)


Thursday 11 August 2022

Drive Down Wages

Another political poem, with the vague idea of creating a protest song.

The current squeeze on the low paid is becoming intolerable, with energy prices creating vast profits whilst more and more people are having to choose between eating or heating their homes. Government seem more interested in placating the donors that finance their party rather than caring for the populace. The fuel price increases affect everything else including food.

All material for a protest song.


Drive Down Wages

Drive down wages as the profits soar
Shareholder dividends are at the core
Funds to a government - their corporate whore
Mutual benefit, and they want more.
Shift blame to those whose lives are on the floor
Paid media outlets will take on this chore
Front page scapegoats we can all abhor
Distract the masses - glitz and glam galore.
If things get tight then blame a foreign war
Cut back on services already raw
Private consultancies will then ensure
Tax payer monies go to banks offshore.
When prices rise and rise and rise some more
When people starve because they're made too poor
We can't protest because it's 'gainst the law
Don't fret - be happy that the profits soar.