Figure of Ridicule

Explosive in those up to the minute Janus Stark styles,
if I was better mannered, I'd acknowledge your fiendish smile.
We know your Father is a member of the mackintosh society,
don't thank him for your reputation, your notoriety.
You are a figure of ridicule.

Your derogatory comments always fail to impress,
and I wouldn't describe you as a picture of happiness.
That shell fish sandwich may just taste confusing,
in my eyes you remain perpetually amusing.
You are a figure of ridicule.



Capability Red   aprox'  1978

Tales From The Broken Harp

I know all the tales they tell in the Broken Harp,
the subversive literature they sometimes sell in the Broken Harp.
Reports of stone age men,
seen in Canning Town
all the Rathbone Market boys
puttin' the word around:

"W e know all the tales they tell in the Broken Harp
We are noted boys as well in the Broken Harp".

They said Eric was planted,
wasn't that a crime?
he used to be a docker
now he's doing time.
I know all the tales they tell in the Broken Harp.
In my dreams it's always dark in the Broken Harp.



Capability Red    1979

Variations on a Theme of Enforced Idleness

The sacred emblem is all she's got left,
listening out; who's gonna be next.
Creeping hours bring burning despair.
Is there anyone there?

Radio phone-ins heighten the tension,
a phone bill that hurts too much to mention.
At times she just doesn't care.
Is there anyone there?

Friendly faces, friendly advice,
people don't know, but, they know how to be nice.
This world just isn't fair.
Is there anyone there?

Mid afternoon, she's got to get out,
 saunter downtown, confirming her doubts.
It's devastation everywhere.
Is there anyone there?



Capability Red            1982

Long stories cut short

Peeping over the red head's shoulder;
man was nagged for thirty years.
Clerical assistant looks much older,
but eager to read about his peers.

Doctor doctor, I've an awful boyfriend
just doesn't want to make love to me.
Can you help me? I live in Southend,
This and other irrelevancies.

Long stories cut short are what you read
in the Daily Mirror, Star and the Sun.
Is it propaganda? Or petty slander?
I guess you can't please everyone.

If you don't mind, it doesn't matter,
you can always buy the Daily Express.
Can eleven pence a day be the price of freedom?
It is according to the British press.



Capability Red       aprox  1978

Oh to be a Policeman

Note: 

Originally I was going to post this poem a couple of months ago. Tragically, at that time, two young female police officers were murdered in Greater Manchester. I therefore delayed posting until now  as I do not wish for any of my poetry to be perceived as attacking ordinary working people doing their jobs.

Oh to be a Policeman was written in1984 during the miners strike, when I personally experienced how the police were being used to perpetrate class warfare.

 Has anything changed since then? Hardly: Consider how the South Yorkshire police force covered up evidence from the Hillsborough tragedy, Remember how  the Metropolitan police were complicit in the recent phone tapping scandal. Routinely, innocent demonstrators are attacked and beaten up by police officers.  Disgracefully; armed police continue to shoot unarmed civilians on the streets of this country.

So, read the poem, but don't enjoy it!

I didn't enjoy writting it. In 1984 I was bloody angry!:

Oh to be a Policeman

Oh to be a Policeman

under the Thatcher regime,

swinging a solid truncheon

ignoring pickets scream,

confronting all those 'nig nogs'

smiling as you do,

whispering under your breath;

" I'll get you".

Oh to be a Policeman

in 1984,

the community face of fascism

in the British civil war.

Stormtroopers in the SPG,

gestapo at the station,

blitzkreig on the picket line,

then comes the interrogation:

"political beliefs?"

" at elections, how do you vote?"

a tape playing under the desk

 and a sergeant taking notes.

Oh to be a Policeman

whilst children disappear,

maniacs get away with murder

and women live in fear.

Those stoic faceless fiends

known as the boys in blue,

no time to catch criminals.

They're too busy watching you.

Oh to be a Policeman

in a hovering eye in the sky

a data bank in Hendon,

the end of freedom is nigh.

Oh to be a Policeman

with the working class as bait,

caught hook line and sinker

by the poachers of the state.

Capability Red        1984

 

Britain 1984 (Two Nations)

Trains roll into London Bridge,
Britain goes to work.
Commuters with their Daily Mail
and no sense of guilt.
Oxford Street is bustling,
school children are on holiday,
squandering their parents' savings.
But the pits stand idle.
The newcomer at the office
said he saw it on ITV.
Violence on the picket line
"they want bloody shooting".
And he's doing plenty of overtime,
to help pay the mortgage
and buy the kids a computer.
Whilst the pits stand idle.
The wine bar is overflowing.
It's lunchtime in the City
affluence is in abundance.
The telephonist books her holiday,
she's heading for the Algarve,
"simply everyone goes to Spain".
She did. Last year!
Still the pits stand idle.
The weatherman said "rain clouds"
across Scotland and Northern Ireland,
in the north; mainly cloudy.
But the south should enjoy some sun.
And another health centre opens,
spa, jaccuzi, sun beds,
for anyone who can afford it.
Whilst the pits remain idle.
Meanwhile in the colliery town
youngsters are baffled,
their pet rabbit escaped.
And tonight it's 'chicken' for dinner.
Mum bites her bottom lip,
or, is it her stiff British upper lip,
Dad's away picketing.
And the pits stand idle.


Capability Red         1984

1981 Proud Nation ?

Confident smiles that we could never raise,
hear the snarling of the Minotaur somewhere in the maze.
George Ward you were smart, you acted so splendid,
penned down in your own half how well you defended.
All we wanted was a union to which we could belong,
even in Strasbourg they said you were wrong.
You had the careful backing of the Freedom Association,
upholding traditions of a proud nation.
Proud nation?

Look out for the sniper at the gates of prosperity,
and the sign saying 'beware; rich man's territory'.
Little sister gets involved in the oldest profession,
Father devours her ice cold confession.
Is the palace aware of this retrograde movement?
perhaps a public show would make an improvement.
Yes, announce a wedding to incite some celebrations,
remind them they belong to a proud nation.
Proud nation?

Apprehensive ears greet saloon bar laughter,
but will they raise a smile the morning after?
when collapsing clouds unveil a sober sun
will they crick their necks to the loaded gun?
There's no shame in admitting you made a mistake,
so admit it now before it's too late.
whilst there's still time and you've got an occupation.
 Ask yourself; how was this ever a proud nation.
Proud nation?

Like an ode of platitude that the proles just ignore,
it's destined to failure because they've heard it all before.
In the guise of a lecture, a vow or a pledge,
like a suicide stalker perched high on a ledge.
In a trance we go forth on a Monday morning,
dodging the volley of abuse like a personal warning.
Retiring into our shells like some cryptic crustacean,
was this really once a proud nation.
Proud nation?


Capability Red       1981