At Home in the Breeze-block Palace

She'd never heard of the 'Falklands',
now she wished she never had,
as time and hope are running out
and things are looking bad.
It wouldn't even matter,
if Johnny was still on the dole,
how could joining up redeem
the money that he stole,
from his Father's breeze-block palace?

He'd listened to that young lady,
in her hat of well tempered felt,
she was only a probation officer
but his heart began to melt.
He joined the Royal Navy
to prove he was a man,
and now his Mother weeps for him
as only a Mother can,
at home in the breeze-block palace.

An MOD announcement boasts:
"invasion has begun"
Oh! let the dead and injured heroes
be somebody else's sons.
But when this war is over
and Johnny comes marching home,
we'll give to him everything he wants
so he'll never have need to roam
away from the breeze-block palace.


Capability Red 1982

Affluence

Affluence is liberation, affluence is reminiscing,
affluence is a second generation that don't know what they're missing.
Affluence is emptying the pedal bin, wearing a leather skirt,
never getting your hands dirty, not allowing your pride to be hurt.

Affluence glows like a well soaked sun tan,
across the breasts of a young housewife.
Affluence is a house in Essex
and a mortgage for the rest of your life.

Affluence is a video machine, to enjoy violence at your leisure.
Affluence is watching a sex film, if the violence doesn't give you pleasure.
Affluence is an unusual word, overheard in the checkout queue.
Eyes that unwrap your shopping, then stick the knife into you.

Affluence is this year's model, parked on your tarmac drive,
affluence, is the pleasures of life, being glad that you're alive.
Affluence is available. To you, on easy credit.
Er. Pending financial status! Don't tell them I said it.

Affluence is a lunch time pub, sharing a couple of jars,
and on weekend evenings, frequenting wine bars.
Affluence is Piere Cardin. Affluence is Benneton.
Affluence is material love and two weeks in Benidorm.

Affluence is 'fitting in'. You know immediate recognition.
smiling your way to the top. To a comfortable position.
Affluence is unisex, affluence is deviation,
affluence is S'nM, or a Zandra Rhodes creation.

Affluence is dampness, as your neighbour trudges in the street,
and you waive as you pass in your brand new car, wriggling in your seat.

Affluence is far away places, that appear on your TV screen.
You don't have to live there. But you can boast to your friends that you've been.

Affluence is a catch, and how many people get caught?
Moreover, how many admit, it was their own selfish fault?
Affluence is a spiral. A wall of death for you to ride.
A cavalcade coliseum, without a place to hide.

Affluence is the Queen's new clothes.
A variation on the three card trick.
Affluence is like mud.
If you throw enough, it'll stick!



Capability Red aprox 1990

The Wedding Reception

Whilst DJ at a wedding reception
I found time to mingle with the folks,
sink a few beers, offer them cheers,
suffer all of their jokes.

I also 'ear wigged' the gossip;
it spilled like a boil just burst,
the lads were moving fast on an ego trip
about who'd get his end away first!

I exercised a cool sense of brevity
when approached by bridesmaid Rose.
She had facial hair, that caused guests to stare
at that 'shadow' beneath her nose.

The in-laws were a race of Ogres.
The best man resembled a Yeti.
When he wasn't downing a pint
he was shoveling his face with spaghetti.

Every young married couple I spoke to,
had a son with the name Jason,
a cute little daughter called Hayley,
and knew someone, who was a freemason.

The groom was the life of the party
everyone left feeling cock a hoop.
That is, everyone except the groom himself,
he'd contracted brewers droop!

We took him home in a taxi
he was totally unaware,
and we had to leave him in the kitchen,
'cos we couldn't get him up the stairs.

The bride's face. Earlier so radiant,
was a cast of molten gloom,
she sobbed on her wedding night
all alone in her room.

By now, everyone else had gone home,
so I offered to clear up the mess.
She asked me to stay for coffee
cautiously, I said yes.

It was a tentative encounter,
neither of us knew what to say.
But we both got what we wanted,
it's funny how it worked out that way.


Capability Red aprox 1989

For Paul....

Black 'n white tv on a winters night?
Dad, what did you do in the war?
Now I stare at an empty stool
Paul doesn't drink here anymore.

"Chairs pulled close 'round a glowing coal fire",
"cushions jammed tight against the door".
I can't ask for a Jim Beam,
Paul doesn't drink here anymore.

As an only child Paul would recall
those yarns of blackouts and war.
Looking down my glass is empty,
He doesn't drink here anymore.

Today there are no expectations,
no echoing boneville roar.
Paul left before last orders
and behind him he closed the door.


Capability Red 2010.

AT LAST: SOMETHING NEW!

For the first time in over a decade I have written a new poem. What follows was inspired by the sad news that an old friend of mine no longer walks on this planet. Paul was a true 'gentle giant' who loved life and lived it to the full in so many ways. He will always remain a part of the lives of the many friends he had. We spent many hours in bars, just talking; rambling; reflecting. That's the way I'll always remember him: For Paul............

The Breaking Down of Bernard

This is the breaking down of Bernard:

The fascia glows for all to see,
sombre spirits run bewildered.
Bernard resents his therapy.

Mother's in the corner, knitting to the wireless,
drop one, pearl one. She really couldn't care less.
She always made sure that her fledglings read their bible.
But Bernard grew up a teenage bone idle.

Act one, scene two. Bernard going down the pub:
The expanding skyscape of improving machinery,
is it exciting? or nauseating scenery?

Dull curtains glow in tower blocks high, concealing;
stubble, boredom and collars and ties.
working class fathers signing open cheques,
just to receive their daughter's respect.

Sister's got a good job working in the City,
see's little of the family, more's the pity
Bernard kicks an empty lager can.

The pub is half empty, a sign of the recession,
but no sign of his pals, man what depression.
Bernard sups a terminal pint to quench his terminal thirst.
This infuriating ailment seems only to get worse.

This is the breaking down of Bernard.

Bernard overhears a private conversation,
they're analysing pay and the current situation.
It seems they're not frightened of being overheard,
But Bernard only catches every other word.

Working normal hours? very inconclusive,
Bernard stands alone at the bar, looking unobtrusive.

It's as well he's not involved, he wouldn't know what to say,
Bernard thinks there are twenty four 'normal hours' in every working day.

This is the breaking down of Bernard.

Slip out around ten thirty, to catch the last bus.
But he finds the service is cut. In whom do we place our trust?
What are our leaders' fantasies? Thinks Bernard as he hurries home.
On a cold January night he finds comfort in being alone.

This is the breaking down of Bernard.
The message is clear for us to see.
Sombre spirits reign triumphant.
Bernard resents his therapy


Capability Red aprox 1986

Is She Reading Robert Noonan?

High heels and a summer dress,
looks around to see who she can impress.
But the world and his wife
just couldn't care less,
like a stoic impasse
in a drawn game of chess.

Ah. But is she reading Robert Noonan?
Robert Noonan?

A subtle reminder on valentines day,
of a radiant glow from her huge bouquet.
and the world's ok
when someone else pays,
but who pays the piper
when he carries you away?

She's surely not reading Robert Noonan?
Robert Noonan?


Capability Red aprox 1990

One Dismal Thursday Morning

In Leadenhall Street it was raining
one dismal Thursday morning,
the rain fell faster than the pound
before some gloomy fiscal warning.

The lady's, they were quenching
as they shimmied 'neath their brolleys,
I couldn't spot the difference 'tween
the Claire's and the Holly's.

Some overworked light bulbs
were glowing like a haven,
on a number fifteen in disguise,
the morning's soul they were saving.

The walls of all the buildings
were closing in around me.
Giving reference to Dickens
St Mary Axe? go on; astound me.



Capability Red aprox 1980

The girl with the sun in her eyes

She hasn't made her mind up yet,
she said.
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
She's not really sure,
which way to vote.
She doesn't understand it much anyway,
she said.
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
I, tried to explain to her,
what it was all about.
Her mind was wandering,
I could see she wasn't paying attention.
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
And she looked at me,
but I don't know what she saw.
The sun was in her eyes.
She said something about her new shoes.
How much they cost?
or something?
I'm not really sure about:
The girl with the sun in her eyes.
We never spoke much after that,
we were on sort of,
different wavelengths.
Me, and,
the girl with the sun in her eyes.
Have you made up your mind?
Which way to vote.
Do you?
Have a good job in the city.
Are you wearing new shoes?
Are you
The girl with the sun in her eyes?



Capability Red 1987

Tebbit

He's got the profile of Joseph Goeballs
and the charm of Albert Speer.
He's as trustworthy as Lord Haw Haw.
But not half as sincere.

Tebbit is his name,
MP? my arse!
He should be tried as a war criminal,
for crimes against the working class.

Norman Tebbit lives!
That's open to debate.
He seems half dead
and always looks in a state.

He is so nondescript
words can't justify him.
I never cease to wander
how the reaper keeps passing by him?

He impresses the Tory faithfull
with rhetoric crude and hollow.
concocting a social poison,
that only a fool would swallow.

Devoid of original thought,
afflicted with a mental malaise,
he creeps through the corridors of power,
like a blinded rat in a maze.

He's destroying jobs and services,
throwing workers on the dole.
Then screaming for law and order,
to keep them under control.

But, the nation is getting wise,
to what Tebbit is really like.
and the message of the people is clear:
On yer fucking bike!



CapabilityRed aprox 1985

So Much To Lose

Still paying for the jet and the rest of the debt, left over from last year's holiday?
And it's a pretty even bet, that the mail order threat will carry you into the deep water, out of the bay.
You've got the freedom to pay your bills any way that you choose.
So, you'd better behave and be a good slave. 'Cos you know you've got so much to lose.

Ah! You've got so much to lose,
you can afford to be abused,
if you want to pay for that cruise.
Ever felt you're being used?

Despite attempts to pretend that you've got so many friends. How does it feel to be alone?
And at the week-end, working overtime again, slurring and slumping and falling asleep on the 'phone.
You find it convenient to wear that made -to-measure stare.You know, public opinion point of view.
And it's totally against the grain, on the bus, or the train, for someone to make an example out of you.

Because you've got so much to lose,
you can tell me, do you feel confused?
Sort of, battered and bruised.
The Anglo American blues?

Strollin' down the street, make sure you're casual but neat. Never know who you might impress.
Wouldn't it be so complete, if you were to unexpectedly meet that project that answers your calls in American Express?
Does it tingle your conscience, to read all the nonsense in the headlines and the news?
Being bourgeois, eating pomme de terre and petit pois. Can you ever explain these virtues?

No. You've got so much to lose,
you know that you stand accused.
Tell me, how many pairs of shoes,
have you got, but never use?




CapabilityRed aprox 1987

Sign Up Today

They'll give you a chance and they'll give you a gun.
And they'll give you a licence to shoot anyone
In the name of freedom, St George, or the queen.
And you can learn to drive a tank if you're really that keen:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.

They'll make it sound simple if you don't understand.
Why are you here, on somebody else's land?
You'll learn about NATO and the Warsaw Pact.
And Sargent will watch to note how you react:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.

You'll get full military honours if you get blown to hell.
Your folks can feel proud of you, your neighbours as well.
Join up for your country, it's a brave thing to do.
But if there's a war, Lord have mercy on you:

So; sign up today,
sign up today,
step right this way,
and sign up today.


CapabilityRed aprox 1982

GARBAGE

I'm staying in tonight, but there's garbage on the screen,
like a technicolour yawn, it creases up my spleen.
There's garbage in the Express and more garbage in the Sun,
I avoid the Daily Mail, but I've heard it's not much fun.
If I go down to my local, stick my head inside the door,
the bar's a graveyard of broken glasses, and there's garbage on the floor.
Garbage on the underground, garbage on the bus,
you get garbage across your head, if you bother to make a fuss.

Next door's cat's in the garbage, he's hunting for last night's skate.
Unless he keeps his whiskers out of my garbage, he'll end up being served on a plate.

You listen to a load of garbage, in the canteen, at work.
If you try to raise the tone of conversation, they label you some sort of jerk.
I like the word Garbage. I's relevant to everyday life.
The obvious common label, for anxiety, strain and strife.
It's all garbage when you think about it. From the cradle to the coffin.
The garbage they carry you into, and the garbage they carry you off in.

It's the same at the Job Centre, the garbage they try to spill ya.
They send you to work for a boss, and he almost tries to kill ya!
Garbage, garbage, garbage. What else is there to say?
To waste my time writing about garbage. I ought to be locked away!



CapabilityRed aprox 1986

Going to Mortlake ?

Meatloaf, Maltloaf, Mortlake, Saltlake.
Saltlake, Swanlake. It's too late.
We've missed the Eighty Eight.
Got to walk to Mortlake.

Stagnate, Germinate, wake up, Agitate.
The Eighty Eight is running late.
We'll never get there at this rate.

Mortlake, Maltloaf.
You trod on my toe,
you clumsy oaf.
Nothing much to celebrate.
We've got to walk to Mortlake.

Mortlake, Malteze.
More teas? Yes please.
My bus pass is out of date.
Got to walk to Mortlake.

Mortlake, Mortify.
I could cry. I want to die.
It's bad enough being late.
But turning up in this state!

Going to Mortlake?




CapabilityRed aprox 1990

The Ballad of the Poisoned Dwarf

There once was a lad named Richard, who wasn't very quick.
He was a bit slow on the uptake, so his friends all called him'Dick'.
He got a job on the buses, but he wasn't very tall.
So he applied to be an inspector, 'cos he couldn't drive a bus at all.
He thought he'd grow a beard, to make himself look tough.
But he looked more like a 'Poisoned Dwarf', he just wasn't big enough.

He booked crews for running early, or taking over late.
Or; leaving a bus unattended, he really thought it was great.
The Poisoned Dwarf had power, he told the crews who was boss.
But what he couldn't comprehend, was that nobody gave a toss.
He applied to become a 'Gold Badge', and it really caused a commotion.
When he started booking crews, 'cos he couldn't get his promotion.

He wasn't wanted at the top, they could do without the likes of him.
He was advised 'he wasn't suitable', but the Dwarf just didn't fall in.
The saga reached a climax, one murky east end night.
When the Dwarf booked a crew, for running a bus back 'light'.
The Driver leapt from his cab, and woke up his mate with a prod.
And declared "come one Floyd, I've had enough of this little sod".

They stood there face to face. The Dwarf went for his book.
The Driver gave him a 'Glasgow handshake', the Conductor swung a right hook.
It was all over in a flash, the Dwarf got what was comming to him.
But despite the presence of several crews, 'nobody saw a thing'!
So, ask the Poisoned Dwarf, this story has a moral:
A lesson for roadside inspectors: Co-operate. Don't quarrel!



CapabilityRed aprox 1983

Marriage on the Rocks ?

She wakes me up,
hands my letters to me,
says; "there's only three",
she doesn't look at me.

The same every morning,
so regularly,
she speaks to me,
but doesn't look at me.

And I go downstairs,
she says; " I fancy coffee",
but I've already made tea,
she doesn't look at me.

I leave for work,
say 'I'll be home by three',
she kisses me,
but doesn't look at me.

She 'phones me up;
"what d'you want for tea?",
any fool can see,
she doesn't look at me.

We watch the evening news,
on the BBC,
and, although we agree,
she doesn't look at me.

Her Sister calls,
it's a warning to me,
I'm an Uncle to-be,
she doesn't look at me.

She closes her eyes,
as she makes love to me,
what can the matter be?
She doesn't look at me.



CapabilityRed aprox 1980

Door

I've got a door, it was there before, I moved into my house,
and it squeaks like a mouse.
But it opens and shuts, there are no if's and buts.
When it lets me in, I tell it where i've been.
If I want to go out, I never hang about,
I just open my door and go......
Outside.
To the outside world. Where I see:

Bad doors, good doors,
glass doors, wood doors.
Silly aluminium doors.
Grained doors, plain doors,
mad doors, sane doors.
Georgian doors, awful doors,
double doors, troubled doors.
Car doors, bar doors,
near doors, far doors,
the bus driver won't open the doors.
Who'se got a new TV show?
Bloody Diana Dors!

I used to open, I used to shut, but that wasn't good enough.
I let them out, I let them in, you'd have thought I'd commited a sin.
They took me down,
and hung a new Georgian door in my place.
Can't you see, there's nothing I can do,
technically it's an open and shut case.
Oh where did I go wrong?
Perhaps I was too good for too long.

You know; I've got a door,
because I told you before.
Just the same as a ceiling,
a door has feelings.
I hope I've put it to you,
from a door's point of view.
Spare a thought for your door.


CapabilityRed aprox 1977