Tuesday, December 15, 2009

AERON

Aeron, you wrote and spoke so well,
Your own words and your father’s
I have no more than a footnote, that I can add,
I am no actor so I would make
Only a bad parody
Of your words and your father’s words
In my cynical, nasal voice,
So given the choice,
I only write and say my respect
For the words that
You and your father set down
That don’t need to be strangely rendered
In the doggerel of a cockney clown.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

pilled up

Gettup in the morning
Take me Metformin
Then I take some Perinodipril
Oh oh-oh oh-oh
I’m all pilled up.

After that I take
My Digoxin
Put some Omeprazole
Into my cakehole
Inhale some Spiriva
Then I’m ready
To go out

I got more pills inside me
Than there are in any chemists
Can’t you hear them
Rattling about
Oh oh-oh oh-oh
I’m all pilled up.

So I forgot to mention
Biosodiprol
Amolipine and the Warfarin
Oh oh-oh oh-oh
I’m all pilled up.

I take more pills
Than all the Who ever used to
Or than the entire
Population of Moldova
So I don’t die whilst I get old
I’m all pilled up.

When I go down the street
They shake around inside me
I sound like a can full of tin tacks
But I been years paying all my taxes
So now I’m now getting them back
Oh Yes o yes oh yes
I’m all pilled up.

Friday, April 03, 2009

When the president’s Helicopters fly over & IN LENINGRAD

When the president’s Helicopters fly over

When the Ruler of the World comes to London
And his iron chariots thunder, up in the red night skies
He slices his air with the rotors
And my semi detached residence
Trembles volelike beneath.

I don’t respect him,
I didn’t elect him,
I don’t want him,
And I didn’t invite him.

But when a convoy of Chinooks and
Other associated night-riding heli-hags
Slice across ordinary north London suburban air
I’m down with the people in Dollis Hill,
Shaking in my boots,
Whether I want to or not
And a splash of coffee leaps from my cup
With what could be shock
Or be awe.
My beverage may wish to grovel on the floor,
But I do not.

IN LENINGRAD

In Leningrad
A diabetic pensioner dies.
He once was a teacher,
But now cannot pay,
Enough to keep
His killer at bay.

The prices of his medicines have flown
Higher and higher
Away beyond his reach.
like migrant swans,
they’ve  gone 
well south
Down to warmer lands
Where the fat boys play on the beach all day
And where their parents pay and pay
For pizzas, burgers, fries and fizzy drinks
And metformin and insulin.

All of which are beyond the scope
of a Soviet teacher’s pension
So I hope
That there’s a workers' state up in the sky
Since the one on the earth couldn’t cope.