Mist. Windows steamed up.
No room inside
for an unwanted pup.
Fog all around.
No home of my own.
November is dark
for a dog alone.
Capability Red 1971
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Junior Apprentice Lunatic Show
There is a performance on a village green.
Maurice plays Horace: What a scene!
Colin and Cyril will both be there.
Come and see 'em, it's worth the fare.
The show's being held in Villagegate.
Quarter to seven. Don't be late.
Join in the chorus, let yourself go.
At the junior apprentice lunatic show.
They could make your business grow.
The junior apprentice lunatic show.
Ho ho ho ho:
Lunatic show.
Capability Red 1971
Maurice plays Horace: What a scene!
Colin and Cyril will both be there.
Come and see 'em, it's worth the fare.
The show's being held in Villagegate.
Quarter to seven. Don't be late.
Join in the chorus, let yourself go.
At the junior apprentice lunatic show.
They could make your business grow.
The junior apprentice lunatic show.
Ho ho ho ho:
Lunatic show.
Capability Red 1971
Saturday, 15 November 2014
Got It Made
The tool shop beside the shipping office,
enjoys the pleasure of a roaring trade.
Customers come in for odds and ends
Maurrie Israel's got it made.
The bakers are a different piece of cake.
You see; they're always in the red.
There's another bakers around the corner
and they bake better bread!
Capability Red aprox' 1972
enjoys the pleasure of a roaring trade.
Customers come in for odds and ends
Maurrie Israel's got it made.
The bakers are a different piece of cake.
You see; they're always in the red.
There's another bakers around the corner
and they bake better bread!
Capability Red aprox' 1972
Saturday, 11 October 2014
Mirror
Mirror, what do you see?
Within. A fragment of me?
Or, behind you, am I to believe.
Your conscience is infinite
do you ever get fed up with what you see?
But I can only see myself.
Or, is that what you want me to see?
Alice through the looking glass.
And malice through the mirror.
Oh mirror, what do you see?
Capability Red 1976
Within. A fragment of me?
Or, behind you, am I to believe.
Your conscience is infinite
do you ever get fed up with what you see?
But I can only see myself.
Or, is that what you want me to see?
Alice through the looking glass.
And malice through the mirror.
Oh mirror, what do you see?
Capability Red 1976
Sunday, 14 September 2014
Conflict Ain't What it Used to Be
Note: I used to write a lot of angry political stuff when I was active in politics. Not any more. However, yes, there's always a 'however' isn't there: Every once in a red moon I get the urge to rant. So for the first time in ages...............
Conflict Ain't What it Used to Be
Some pundit observed; "a funny old game
there's no difference, they're all the same"
Gove, Milliband, Haig, Balls.
A bunch of careerists without a cause.
David Cameron? What a joke
pretending he's an ordinary bloke.
And Boris Johnson; who are you?
The original rebel without a clue.
No. Conflict ain't what it used to be.
"We're all in it together", that's a nerve.
A bedsit in Peckham is what you deserve.
You get dirty mauve mixing red and blue
I'd flush those bastards down the loo.
A big brown turd like a floating barge
is the politest way to describe Farage.
Who are these people? Where are they from?
They've got no roots, they don't belong.
Conflict ain't what it used to be.
Back in the day you knew where you stood,
they were bad, we were good.
We were red, they were blue.
Tell the truth: Who were you?
It was like a civil war
the miners strike in Eighty Four.
Now it's all: " Don't rock the boat.
It might cost the party votes"
Nowadays conflict ain't what it used to be.
Defending jobs, we went on strike.
We told Tebbit: On yer bike!
You took your turn on the picket line,
stood with your mates, rain or shine.
Wore the badge, sold the paper
none of this 'opinion poll' caper.
The people's flag waved with pride
verses sung, we didn't hide.
Now: Conflict ain't what it used to be.
MP's calculating all their expenses
whilst making a living sitting on fences.
Breakfast TV, Question time.
It's hard to make this drivel rhyme
But I rarely turn the TV on
I'm not sure if I want to go on.
Social media? Can it get any worse?
And I can't write another verse.
Because: Conflict ain't what it used to be.
Capability Red September 2014
Conflict Ain't What it Used to Be
Some pundit observed; "a funny old game
there's no difference, they're all the same"
Gove, Milliband, Haig, Balls.
A bunch of careerists without a cause.
David Cameron? What a joke
pretending he's an ordinary bloke.
And Boris Johnson; who are you?
The original rebel without a clue.
No. Conflict ain't what it used to be.
"We're all in it together", that's a nerve.
A bedsit in Peckham is what you deserve.
You get dirty mauve mixing red and blue
I'd flush those bastards down the loo.
A big brown turd like a floating barge
is the politest way to describe Farage.
Who are these people? Where are they from?
They've got no roots, they don't belong.
Conflict ain't what it used to be.
Back in the day you knew where you stood,
they were bad, we were good.
We were red, they were blue.
Tell the truth: Who were you?
It was like a civil war
the miners strike in Eighty Four.
Now it's all: " Don't rock the boat.
It might cost the party votes"
Nowadays conflict ain't what it used to be.
Defending jobs, we went on strike.
We told Tebbit: On yer bike!
You took your turn on the picket line,
stood with your mates, rain or shine.
Wore the badge, sold the paper
none of this 'opinion poll' caper.
The people's flag waved with pride
verses sung, we didn't hide.
Now: Conflict ain't what it used to be.
MP's calculating all their expenses
whilst making a living sitting on fences.
Breakfast TV, Question time.
It's hard to make this drivel rhyme
But I rarely turn the TV on
I'm not sure if I want to go on.
Social media? Can it get any worse?
And I can't write another verse.
Because: Conflict ain't what it used to be.
Capability Red September 2014
Monday, 25 August 2014
Her Greatest Discovery
Teasingly combing the guilt out of her hair,
cascading monsoon like onto her bedroom rug.
She asks the dressing table mirror:
What does it really mean, this sudden abandonment of angst?
This innocence of the first time.
Where nothing makes sense. Words no longer rhyme.
And that pointlessness of purity?
That deprivation of joy?
The furniture of fear never seemed so uninviting.
In the elegance of opera gloves she had opened up her mind, awakened her awareness.
Walked unaccompanied through the door marked: Childhood's End.
The door slammed behind her.
Paradoxically she had opened Pandora's Box, and now:
She realised, it could never be closed.
Capability Red August 2014
cascading monsoon like onto her bedroom rug.
She asks the dressing table mirror:
What does it really mean, this sudden abandonment of angst?
This innocence of the first time.
Where nothing makes sense. Words no longer rhyme.
And that pointlessness of purity?
That deprivation of joy?
The furniture of fear never seemed so uninviting.
In the elegance of opera gloves she had opened up her mind, awakened her awareness.
Walked unaccompanied through the door marked: Childhood's End.
The door slammed behind her.
Paradoxically she had opened Pandora's Box, and now:
She realised, it could never be closed.
Capability Red August 2014
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