Burnt Out

Little children do you know? The writing's on the wall.
Sprayed on the buildings you pass on your way to school.
It says: " There's a world waiting . Full of discontent".
You may have read about it in the colour supplement
When you're old enough to wear a uniform,
things start to get involved,
you learn about those problems,
that have never, ever, been solved.
And all the expectations, your parents thought you'd fulfill.
Will end up smouldering in the bush fire at the bottom of the hill.
Burnt out!
Like the cremated beliefs your parents used to have faith in.
Wasted along with the charred remains,
of a society, that just couldn't wait.

Did you ever get a puppy for christmas? Did he end up on the street?
The good things in life don't come gift wrapped.
You've got to learn to walk on your own two feet.
Today I saw an old lady,
knocked down by a shiny new law car,
when they tell her little grandson,
will they explain how things really are?
Will they introduce him to the person he will inevitably become?
Or, will they let him have it with both barrels,
of that overprotective gun?
As the sands of time trickle away,
we might as well just burn,
'cos the lessons passed on through generations,
we're never, ever gonna learn!
We're all burnt out!
Like the cremated beliefs our parents used to have faith in.
Wasted along with these charred remains.
In a society that will never, ever wait.


Capability Red aprox' 1985

Thoughts of a 'Cheap Fares' Campaigner

If power is in the mind
and I'm convinced that I'm right,
why do they shackle my body
so that I cannot fight?
With chains of statute
that can't be broken,
forbidding words
I, might never have spoken.
The people chose, the people elected.
But the Lords decided; 'it must be rejected'.
If voting could change anything
it would be banned.
As would anything that might discolour
this green and pleasant land.

Are these the words of an angry young man?
But I'm not that bloody young.
I am but one in a million,
yet another raging tongue.
The candle of subversion burns
at the line of balanced views,
snap! what a weight off my mind,
thou shalt never be refused.

Where do you go to when you're done?
and you've finished for the day?
How did you get there in the first place?
Did you ever have to pay?
Would I recognise you in a crowd?
Do you look like my MP?
Are you powerful without your disguise?
Or is this democracy by decree?

Do you believe what you read?
Or, do you read between the lines?
When the forked tongues of Fleet Street
sweeten the slime.
Never have the jaws of the gentry
found meat so easy to chew,
never the minds of so many,
been poisoned by the pens of so few.


Capability Red 1982

My Husband Works On The Buses

My husband works on the buses,
he didn't want to go on strike,
he's got a free bus pass,
but he goes to work on a bike.
My husband works on the buses,
although he's a plumber by trade,
and he's a dab hand at woodwork,
you ought to see the playpen he made.
My husband works on the buses,
but we're hoping things will get better,
still, he earns a few pounds on the side,
as a part time pools collector.
My husband works on the buses,
sooner or later, things must improve,
we're saving up to buy our own house,
so that we can sell it. And move.
Yes! My husband works on the buses.


Capability Red aprox 1985

I, Idealism

I stepped inside the dream of a worker,
my leading question gave me away.
They found me guilty of breaking and entering,
my fears were realized and that's the price I pay.
I got in through the first floor window,
of a semi detached open mind.
A stranger in the realm of platitudes,
not what I expected to find.
Emulsioned tongues whitewashed the truth,
a dormant brain had forgotten to think.
Politely English, just like saying 'sorry',
rotten to the core and yet it didn't quite stink.

I cried inside the dream of a worker,
unashamedly, I burst into tears.
Beyond reproach like a fall out victim,
the dream fades then disappears.
Festering wounds of defeatism,
had scarred him for life he didn't want to know.
Living day to day in a world of drudgery,
But I ask you, where else can he go?

I died inside the dream of a worker,
they tortured me as I screamed aloud.
The worker can have no peace of mind,
so he finds comfort in the crowd.
Make sure he earns enough to pay the mortgage,
accumulating interest on the holiday loan.
He can afford a pint if he works overtime,
and watch TV when he's on his own.
But shed a tear for this dead ambassador,
this cold utopian head of state.
Who never had those cricket captain's eyes,
and forgot to call people 'mate'.


Capability Red 1988

A to Z

Note:

This is fiction: Similarities with real people are a coincidence.


A to Z

A is for Alice, she always came close.
B is for Belinda, contracted a dose.
C is for Carol, caught scarlet fever.
D is for Diane, swore I'd never leave her.
E is for Eve, moved like a good'n.
F is for Florence, built like a puddin'.
G is for Gloria, oh what a mover.
H is for Hilda, one-time loser
I is for Ingrid, took me for a mug.
J is for Jill, attacked by a thug.
K is for Karen, she was a pleaser.
L is for Laura, bit of a teaser.
M is for Mona, made me a pass.
N is for Natalie, what a blade of grass!
O is for 'orrible. That was Pat.
P is for Pat. She was too fucking fat!
Q is for Q, so quick off the wrist.
R is for Rhonda, always getting pissed.
S is for Sonia, enjoyed it on top.
T is for Tilda, sadly a flop.
U is for Una, I met her in a pub.
V is for Violet, ended up in the club.
X is for no publicity. That's simplicity.
Y is for Yvonne, got down to it fast.
Z is for Zoe. Ah, she's agreed at last!



Capability Red aprox 1980

Them

Note: This is an early poem of mine, dating back to 1971:





They arrived, but from where?
What once was London
now isn't there.
They just appeared,
from out of the sky.
Now they've gone,
I wonder why?


Capability Red 1971

Against The Wall?

The Kraut turned sour,
they'd told him that the coach left on the hour.
Looks like another Treaty of Versailles.
It was hardly our fault,
as the machinery ground to a halt.
Let's just look forward to Saturday night.
But our spirits dropped,
something like poppies in the Albert Hall.
Against the wall.

In Gregg's all night burger bar,
sits some would- be movie star,
waiting for her chauffeur to find his keys.
And for Gregg, the chicks come easy,
they don't mind if the burgers are greasy,
they're only too willing,
to get down on their knees.
In the wings sit the boys in blue,
waiting for this stage curtain to fall.
Against the wall.

Hired guns quit the dance,
fire blanks at the hollow drum of romance.
Just adding to the confusion.
Ballerina Jane trips the high wire,
falling head first into the fire.
Stoking the ovens of illusion.
And tomorrow Miranda will boast:
"Last night I had a ball"
Against the wall?



Capability Red 1980