united

 

image from daily telegraph

                

                                                                           education

                                                                           not segregation

                                                                           lead the blind

                                                                           into the light.

                                                                           black groups

                                                                           white groups

                                                                           what's the diffrence

                                                                           can only lead 

                                                                           to eternal blight.

                                                                           now's the time

                                                                           for the bigger man

                                                                           lead the masses

                                                                           unite the fight.

     

an ode to ceefax p.302

                                                            page three-oh-two

                                                            with your straightforward ways

                                                            you take me back
                                                            
                                                            to those halcyon days

                                                            when life was simple

                                                            and the text was too

                                                            in headline white

                                                            or main copy blue.

                                                            as i mulled over breakfast

                                                            punching keys on the remote 

                                                            watching the numbers

                                                            upwards they'd float

                                                            until the moment of reckoning

                                                            appeared before me

                                                            in my morning haze

                                                            I'd typed in page two-oh-three.

battles not won

                                                                    A battle not won

                                                                    words drawn like the gun

                                                                    shooting men down

                                                                    with sick twisted tongues.

                                                                    An age thought forgotten

                                                                    lives on with shame

                                                                    an ill-gotten disease

                                                                    bred in the worlds game.

                                                                    Cultures and creatures

                                                                    vultures and cheaters

                                                                    out with the racists

                                                                    out with the anger.

fallen

 

image from emirates247.com

                                                                           the sour apple 
                                                                           from the tree
                                                                           a bitter taste
                                                                           no dignity

                                                                           public chew
                                                                           they stew
                                                                           they spit
                                                                           no longer take
                                                                           the shame of it

                                                                           apple fallen
                                                                           from the tree
                                                                           unashamed
                                                                           ignorant pleas 

                                                                           falls from grace
                                                                           yet not a bruise
                                                                           a mystery
                                                                           a deviant ruse

the fool

 

image from daily mirror

whispers wander down the tube

turning into tales of truth

storms do rage

through the papers page

giving credence to the proof

little tact, ill decorum

whispers turn to roars

led yourself astray

down reckless corridors

defend yourself as you may

you imbecile, you fool

three lions they do linger

they creep

they prowl

they crawl.