Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Remember The Name
All the world's a suffering stage,
a dress rehearsal for a coming of age.
And I age, as I remember.
The tortured minds and bleeding hearts,
lives that capital rends apart.
And it tears, into the heart of me.
Eighty two million dollars spent.
But it can't make a man content.
It's just a price to be remembered.
The setting sun in a misty sky,
herbaceous borders begin to cry.
It's the name they remember.
A profit made from a piece of land,
around a hole the mourners stand.
For a moment, they remember.
Ten years on and prices leap,
rememberence doesn't come that cheap.
And I weep. As I remember.
CapabilityRed aprox 1986
I Believe ( 2009)
I believe David Cameron is sincere.
I believe 'phone tapping never happens here.
I believe that Theresa May isn't just after fame and glory.
But I can't believe that a working man votes Tory!
I believe that George Osborn has a brain.
I believe Ann Widecombe is sane.
I believe that William Hague is set to appear on Jackanory.
But I can't believe that a working man votes Tory!
I believe we have a fair and unbiased press.
I believe that monetrism was a huge success.
I believe that Liam Fox will stop repeating that same old story.
But I can't believe that a working man votes Tory.
CapabilityRed rewritten Dec 2009
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Our Day Will Come
They interviewed MacGregor,
and spoke to Michael Eaton,
the BBC were adamant:
"the NUM was beaten".
Nobody was certain
how the strikers would react.
But there wouldn't be an amnesty
for miners who were sacked.
Our day will come, we place our trust.
To show them the mercy that they show us.
What would you give?
What wouldn't you bet?
That they'll deserve everything that they get
Our day will come.
On strike for twelve long months,
through hunger debt and strife.
But all we get are news reports
of a scab and his wife.
As the NUM march back to work,
the vitriol suddenly fades.
Fleet Street finds a target
in the latest case of AIDs.
Our day will come we place our trust.
To show them the mercy that they show us.
What would you give?
What wouldn't you bet?
That they'll deserve everything that they get.
Take heed. Our day will come.
CapabilityRed aprox March 1985
They Lost
The 'pull in' is lined with cars, limp scarves droop sadly out of windows.
As the battle weary warriors make the long journey home.
It wouldn't have been long enough if they had won, but:
They lost.
Solemn faces pushing hard against wide coach windows,
seeing only the night and the cock-a-hoop sneers at the factory gate.
It's a whip 'round for petrol.
Shouldn't have had so many beers on the way up!
You see, they just couldn't lose, but:
They did.
In the motorway cafe, a Father consoles his son; "the best team won".
Young waitresses peep from behind a vending machine,
frightened to ask "what was the score?"
As yet another coach pulls in and slowly almost like prisoners of war,
one by one, the lads file out.
They lost.
The cockneys impose a temporary take-over.
Got to find some consolation in this hundred mile retreat.
Despondent epitaphs are mumbled through mouthfulls of tea and toast.
And the word passes 'round; "someone's 'alf inchin' scoth eggs"
But nobody really wants to know.
They lost.
CapabilityRed aprox May 1981
The Grand Slam Clearing Event
At the grand slam clearing event,
you spend money you had put by for your rent.
You spend money you have already spent.
At the grand slam clearing event.
At the grand slam clearing event,
bargain hunters prowl, with intent.
But no malice is ever meant.
At the grand slam clearing event.
CapabilityRed aprox 1978
Equilibrium
Without thinking about it, she just rises from her chair.
Takes a deep breath and tosses back her hair.
Ties it so neatly in a cute red bow,
she smiles softly at me, oh, but little does she know
Treading ever so gently; on the points of perfect persuasion.
Like a ballerina queen at some banquet occasion
Gazing like a widow, 'cross an unattended grave,
crushing the chains of darkness, like the emancipated slave.
Into the seeming infinity of a fog-bound motorway at night.
Crawling out of the cellar, and into the daylight.
She stops.
I'm searching in vain, for that elusive opening line.
There must be someway to say it,
to let her know she looks fine.
I'd be bound to get it wrong, Twentieth century mating call.
I fear she'd skin me alive, that's if I've ever lived at all.
She is the unknown star from the voyeur's classic collection.
A promise of pleasure from the house of correction.
As the ripe forbidden fruit she would taste so right.
Apple of fulfilment only thee I yearn to bite.
Along that overgrown path through the fields of her youth,
constantly stumbling upon myths, but I'm searching for proof.
Of her identity.
And in her bedroom, I see:
A single stiletto shoe, lying lost and alone on the floor.
On a plush, deep carpet,
stretching from beneath the bay window, to the bedroom door.
On a luxury divan she lays her head down and closes her Doe eyes.
And then:
The room goes; 'round and 'round and 'round, and,
I, seem to be losing my balance.
CapabilityRed aprox 1980
YOU MUST BE DREAMING
Velvet curtains, marble halls,
Rembrant paintings on the walls,
If you believe they'll ever be yours,
You must be dreaming.
Henly regatta, Ascot Races,
smiling, healthy sun tanned faces.
If you believe you'll ever change places,
You must be dreaming.
Overdraft charges, solicitors fees,
interest rates perpetuate the squeeze.
If you imagine you'll ever break free,
You must be dreaming.
High Street fashions, working class rituals,
the latest designs, the latest initials.
If you think it's anything but superficial,
You must be dreaming.
If you don't believe in political strikes,
are prepared to get "on yer bike",
and imagine you've the freedom to do as you like.
You must be dreaming.
CapabilityRed aprox 1984
On an Autumn day
Why do things go wrong?
so often, on an Autumn day.
Why does sorrow belong,
among the throng down Autumn way?
Why do shadows so long,
darken the grass where I'd lay?
And obscure summer shade long,
gone and forgotten, on an Autumn day.
And why does the Starling's song
haunt me as I turn away?
To remember distant days gone,
some close, some far away.
Why should an Autumnal sunset,
determine the game I'll play?
Looking up for an answer,
but, falling leaves get in the way.
Why should a setting so perfect,
bequeath a price to pay?
Why do things go wrong?
So often, on an Autumn day.
CapabilityRed aprox 1987
Monday, 28 December 2009
And The World Turned Cold!
The old man's striking long white hair,
his wife's anaemic to the point of despair.
And the world turned cold.
Teenage girl, her legs appear to shine,
I wonder if her father thinks that she's divine?
And the world turned cold!
Do you believe in a parallel world?
Someone, somewhere, is writing these words?
And the world turned cold.
Without sounding too philosophical.
Don't want no profit at all.
I'd be content to live in utopia.
Not No Hope....ia!
Young boy bought a plastic hand grenade,
Told his buddy's of the plans he'd made.
And the world turned cold!
CapabilityRed aprox1978
Welcome to my blog
Welcome to Capability Red's blog, where I will post my backlog of poems and rants, inviting comments, criticism and opinion.
Feel free to post your views, there will be no censorship!
The majority of my offering date from the; 70's 80's and 90's, as I am suffering a long running creative writing block which I am hoping this blog may just dislodge.
Feel free to post your views, there will be no censorship!
The majority of my offering date from the; 70's 80's and 90's, as I am suffering a long running creative writing block which I am hoping this blog may just dislodge.
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