Peter Believes

Peter believes that Bow Bells sound
it's ten to six, so he must rise,
born in the fifties, a problem child,
he wipes yesterdays dreams out of his mince pies.

And Peter believes there's a peaceful solution
to the abundance of violence thriving today,
he feels so loyal, so totally confused,
at times he just doesn't know what to say.

At the yard he is cordially greeted,
'morning friends' and so to the bench,
his favorite circular saw is humming
how could he say that life is a wrench?

Peter believes that a woman exists
and he will sweep her off her feet,
every day Old Ford is the same,
do we accept the blame, or do we try to cheat?

Peter believes for every drop of rain that falls:
 Someone gets wet!
And Peter believes one day the government will fall.
But it hasn't happened yet.

Oh Peter believes. Yes, Peter believes.



Capability Red     aprox'   1980

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