a political penis

 A political penis

So Johnson is the new p.m., in dear old tory town,

London will never be the same again, this time it will fall down,

Instead of building bridges, and trading with the world,

Into his mates garden is where we are now hurled,

Johnson is a slang term for penis, this is what I’m told,

An American dick for pm. would this story ever grow old,

So a penis sits in Whitehall, Johnson is his name,

In the Whitehouse in the states, another useless one does the same,

And a Brexit is the watchword, as we wait these dick’s decision,

A dick looking for a deal, and a penis might well deliver,

Its worse we are improving, or so it now appears,

A war on common sense is losing, fake news so very clear,

While Boris sits in parliament and Donald on his throne,

American born Johnson, for president could roam,

He’s eligible to try, or so it would seem,

Might even win, disrupt poor Donald’s dreams,

Either way we are goosed, by the hand of one dick or the other,

They somehow look alike Perhaps they could be brothers,

A power sharing family, across the great divide,

Nowhere on the planet, will be safe to hide,

So we’ve a dick in the states, and another in blighty,

Sharing power on our planet, which is truly mighty,

The end could be nigh, caused by a country with a border,

And our Leo it seems, prefers a dick to order!

So sitting in the Whitehouse is a right flaming dick,

While home in his chair a Johnson waving prick,

And to top it all in Eierann’s green isle,

All these dicks in the arena makes veradacker smile.

Vacation calling,,,,,,,,,,,,,,Sentence postponed

Vacation calling,,,,,,,,,,,,,,Sentence postponed

2 of 3

Asleep in the city, lay a man of no means,

On a bench, in a doorway, he smiles as he dreams,

Somehow somewhere, life slipped him by,

Alone sleeping rough, is where he now lies,

And ,,,

At the far side of town, boy A and B wait,

Three whole months, to find out their fate,

Who can afford the top legal fees?

Weary by a graveside, two parents grieve,

But,,,

Asking for reports, is a judge sat on high,

Vacation is looming, let sentence be denied,

Cosy in bed boy A and B sleep,

The damage they caused, left a family to weep,

Though,,,

Asleep in the city, a woman it seems,

Hides in plain sight, not daring to dream,

No bed in jail, nor escape from her cell,

Living rough on the street, her own living hell,

Yet,,,,,

Boy a and boy b, will still have the chance,

Sentence be served, their lives to enhance,

Inside the prison system, they will live well, and learn,

Buried deep in a grave, forgotten the harm,

That,,,

Asleep in this land, are we as a nation,

Where murder is normal, or so it would seem,

Postpone the sentence, we are off on vacation,

Easily forgotten, are a young dead girls dreams,

So,,,

To history and the archives, a murder is sent,

All the reports, will say much the same thing,

Educate rehabilitate, both boys will repent,

Anna Kreigal remains, a life never spent.

death called ..... i wont be home

Death called I won’t be home.

Anna kreigal

Full of life she ran that day, friends called she went to play,

A mother knew while sat at home,

Usually she was home alone,

Gone to play, she felt appalled, no friend before had ever called,

Three days missing yet mother knew,

In a derelict place her body they threw,

And while one watched the other battered,

A beautiful soul who truly mattered,

Her life ended in a dismal place,

Unrecognisable behaviour a lifeless face,

And all the while a mother’s truth,

The friend called death, a daughter knew,

In two young lads it shaped its form,

Pray ye all this is not the norm,

As three young children went to play,

And two returned on that fateful day,

Truths emerge from media sources,

Pictures viewed, on phone devices,

May have turned one young lads brain,

Unseen by jury the judge refrained,

Still no excuse they planned and plotted,

A beautiful soul perhaps besotted,

Murdered by two false school friend’s,

So sad so hard, she met her end,

And yet three families mourn the loss,

Society at large should fear the cost,

As death called a young soul out to play,

Innocence destroyed, society will rue this day.

notre dame

Notre dame

(After those riots)

And let there be light, he said in a raised voice,

So that we may set our sight, give praise and good choice,

They removed the apostle statues from the parapet,

Two days later there was nowhere to return them to,

A fire took hold, perhaps it was set,

All concerned will find the truth,

The roof has burned, and fallen to the floor,

So too the spire, which once stood tall,

A lot to be learned, whether rich or poor,

The cost of this fire, to be paid for by all,

Collections made, design and rebuild,

Never mind the cost, the money will be found,

Memories fade, riots by the skilled,

Jobs were lost, above and below ground,

Macron and Trump, having a chat on the phone,

Cash from his wall, will help to rebuild,

War machine countries, are never alone,

Out went the call, engineers who were skilled,

Suddenly there is money, to rebuild this old church,

Where none was before, when needed for the needy,

When the homeless are running, left out in the lurch,

In the doorways of stores, subjects of the greedy,

And let there be light in a raised voice he said,

The roof fell in yet no one was dead,

So many millions in cash is now found,

Yet when it was, so needed, there was none around.

Cleaning the dishes

Cleaning the dishes

(For my good friend Eileen o Brien)

Imagine having to run from home, faster than you thought you could,

In a family of thirteen never alone, running because I knew I should,

Not thinking, where or how far, even to whom you could turn,

Guided by non-existent stars, if caught I would surely feel the burn,

Finding safety in another home, hidden well under a sink if you will,

Dishes and I were never alone, warm water tap running, the sink to fill,

None other than Eileen, (MA) o Brien, who swore she never saw me,

It never mattered what I did, or how disruptive I had been,

Under her sink is where I hid, my poor old mam sight unseen,

For me and my ally Eileen were truly at war, or so to me it seemed,

Hiding here would at least stave off my tears, a Hurley at home made from solid wood,

Yes, this was my safe haven for years, an ally in the war of childhood,

My mother, the enemy chasing me most days, her with thirteen kids to rear,

Childhood was for me at times a haze, filled with running and lots of tears,

I never made it easy on my mam, I didn’t know I was supposed to?

Every chance I got I ran, didn’t care if I ended up black and blue,

Safety I knew, under a solid sink, Eileen doing her daily chores,

Swearing to my mam if she could only think, I may have passed through her doors,

Almost a hundred, is my savoir Eileen, still going out for the odd drink,

Lives in the same house, same kitchen, new dishes, same sink,

Mind a little slower, harder it is to think, behind her eyes though, still good wishes,

Life ebbs a flows, people come and go, but my savoir remains doing her dishes,

I may not have made it through that war, Yes the war that was my childhood,

Eileen, but for you I’d never have got far from the Hurley made from wood,

May god bless you and that fine sink, washed many a plate over my head,

Who would think, sat safely under there no fear nor dread,

Regretfully, I wish

Regretfully, I wish

I wish I paid more attention, when you said, something,

Instead of sitting silent, waiting for my phone to ring,

Spoke a little louder, while you were by my side,

Not rush off somewhere, knowing too well I lied,

I wish I made the time, to joke with you and smile,

Not stay late at work, ran that extra mile,

Went shopping round the town, spent my hard earned cash,

Knew you were home, waiting, no need for me to dash,

I wish I took the time to be loud, when silently i sat,

Nattered on about my day, laughed at this or that,

Asked you to help out, made a memory in that time,

Instead of waiting too late, feel your loss, as mine,

I wish I could recall, when last we spoke out loud,

Saw you stood there, laughing in the crowd,

Too late your smiling face, missing now it’s gone,

Wishing I had you here, right here where you belong,

Time has passed us by now, there is no you nor I,

I sit alone and wonder, regretfully, harder I should have tried,

Did you understand me, was there a need to speak?

Was I too wrapped up in me, was I perhaps too weak,

I wish I had the courage, to ask you all those things,

The little things that worried me, dumped that phone before it rings,

Broke that silence I was into, thinking all was truly well,

Never knowing that you were sat there, smiling and unwell,

I wish I paid more attention, when you said something,

I wish I made the time to ignore that phone and its ring,

I wish I took the time to be loud when you were not,

I wish for all the happy things, the things in silence we’ve forgot,

homecoming

Homecoming

By the open fire, hair dripping wet,

Memories in her head, she will not forget,

Her man away, work’s hard for his living,

Home to his lady, his all he’ll be giving,

Oh, and he is on his way, homebound, on the road,

Collect his wages, hard earned pay, lighten the family load,

Her hair patted dry, sat by the fireside,

Curlers all warmed up now, ready to stem the tide,

They’ll be going out then, dancing in the local pub,

But first, she must attend to him, fill him full of grub,

Children each with a curler, warmed gently in the heat,

Older ones at the ready, a hairdo, no mean feat,

When done, a net put over it, to keep it all in place,

A scarf upon the net, showing her angelic face,

Her man almost home now, dinner almost done,

Kids all fed and bedded, waiting quietly for him to come,

The latch on the front door, lifted quietly and with ease,

A vision of beauty in the candle light, she’s displayed, to please,

The traveling has been washed from him, he’s fed and had his fill,

Off to the dancing pub, his vision he would thrill,

Those days by the fire, prepping mam to meet our dad,

Memories cherished, frozen, of which I am so glad,

The days would come and go, and some for me are clear,

The result of his homecoming, thirteen reason’s we’re all here.

the magician

The magician

She peeled spuds from an old sack, laid on the floor,

Smoke wafting from the ash laden cigarette in her mouth,

Screamed at all thirteen of us kids, no one goes out that door,

Swearing the chores in the house were suffering a drought,

One by one she named off those older, in charge of one room or other,

Cigarette ash still hanging unwavering, from the corner of her well-seasoned mouth,

It was never easy being in charge of thirteen kids, being their mother,

But she managed it through our very own famine and drought,

The father was about, late at night, sometimes at the weekend, to unwind,

More oft gone for days working, in the post the parcel came he’d sent,

Pockets sewn up, money inside, safe from loss during travel, easy to find,

Just in time, as there was always someone calling, collecting a debt or rent?

That ash never seemed to fall from the cigarette, at least not that I can tell,

And there were mornings, we could lick the ice, from inside our window,

If there were issues, they were something on which we couldn’t afford to dwell,

It was either fix it, repair it, mend it, everything had a use there was little to throw,

Lately I wonder, how she, like so many others of her time coped,

Who taught her the business of running what was family life,

Doing all in her head money, school, cook, aid for any who choked,

Thirteen of us, yet still finding time to be a dutiful wife?

I still don’t recall that ash having ever hit our kitchen floor,

And she walked from dawn to dusk, cooking cleaning washing ironing,

We helped as best we could, just long enough to see escape, out the front door,

All thirteen independent strong fairly decent adults more or less history defining,

Later years, when your smoking days were over, I’d leave the odd one lying about,

Not a word spoken, a wry smile as you pretended not to see, yet you knew,

Waved and cheered as I shouted, “Cheerio” mother and went off out,

I return now, cigarette gone, ash still unseen, the magician my mam, missing you

sunrise to sunset

Sunrise to sunset

Yes, you saw the sun rise, asked,” was it cold outside?”

Never looked surprised, saying, “the weather wouldn’t be denied”

Then settled into the prayer book, prayed for everyone you knew,

For all that god deemed worthy, he took, left some to help you through,

As the sun climbed in your sky, life and love held you dear,

As hard as you would try, lost love, left things unclear,

Your children all reared well, ill health that slowed you down,

Time would only tell, on which day, you’d smile or frown,

A lifetime of looking back, things that might have been,

Times you had the craic, not to last, it seemed,

Seeking life through magazines, handed in to browse,

Every bargain to be had, fill each room in the house,

Yes that sun rose high, you prayed to god each day,

Suffering here on earth, in heavenly peace, is where you lay,

Looking back have no regret, lay in your place of eternal rest,

So glad we are to have met, someone who aced life’s test.

On the day the sun would finally set, on a life much loved by all,

They came one by one, your children, made soft your fall,

Surrounded by love, as your last breath began to fade,

Left behind this life, all the efforts you had made,

And, so the sun has now set, the last breath, your body left,

Those who cared, have no regret, proud children here bereft,

Your body may be gone, but your spirit lives on through,

In heaven where you belong, missed by everyone you knew.