Death to all Fanatics – becoming what you most despise

Another repost with tags

Death to all fanatics

That’s what I say

No matter to whom or what

They bend and pray

Death to all fanatics

That’s what I say

I’ll just put a gun to my head

And be on my way…

One Man And His Dog (In a Brecknock hill farm stylee)

Another re-post with tags

One man and his dog

Not the version you see

Clean and sanitised

For the BBC

But filthy dirty

And truly hardcore

If you want a little taste

And to see a little more

Then buy a brown Mac

And come bye and see

The specialist channel

 In our locality

Triple X rated

As blue as can be

Won’t cost you

A single penny

 

It’s all for free.

 

It’s got everything..

 Smut

 Bad language

 Unpredictable twists in the plot

 Dogs.

Dogs specially bred

From a long line of dogs

 

 Noted far and wide

For their ability

To run off in the distance

Wild and free

A bloodline strong

In anarchy

Specially selected

Throughout history

For the voyeuristic pleasure

Of You

And

Me.

 

World Weary Baby

Another re-post with tags so it actually might get read

_

Just met a world weary baby

Sitting in his pram

Too much experience

For his life’s short span

Sat there looking

Like a really old man

Seen it all

 Didn’t give a damn

 Didn’t like the fuss

Or need a plan

 Wasn’t going to work

 For the man

A world weary baby

With eyes that scan

 For any sign of wisdom

 Beneath my tan.

 

Bloodbath on the eight twenty five

I’m re- posting posts that were originally submitted with no tags adding tags so someone might actually read them

_

Old men who drive young men’s cars

Blow-up women with cosmetic surgery scars

It’s the morning bloodbath on the eight twenty five

If this were a contact sport you’d be lucky to survive

The shock troop tactics as we all compete

In a Darwinian struggle for a window seat

No place for the weak or the politeness impaired

Look them in the eye and show them you’re not scared

Of Louis Vuitton luggage and a designer skirt

An expensive laptop or a hand made shirt

I’d like to pretend that this is a class war

That I’m just trying to even up an uneven score

The personal campaign of an old grizzled vet

But I just don’t want to stand by a smelly toilet.

 

It’s Friday evening and all warlike spirit’s long gone

As we wait on the station for the five thirty one

The walking wounded shuffle along

Without even a hint of a Vera Lynn song

As we retreat from Moscow for the weekend

For time with our loved ones and to spend

The meagre spoils of an ever lasting war

Against the flood of bills through a mortgaged door

Our only minor triumphs are when we compete

In a Darwinian struggle for a window seat

On Monday morning it’s an odds on bet

That I won’t be left standing

By a smelly

Toil

et.

The Memoirs and Mental Meanderings of a Maladjusted Middle Aged Man

As I neglected to tag earlier posts I’m now resubmitting with tags as someone somewhere might actually read them. I’ll delete former versions as I resubmit.

 

The memoirs and mental meanderings

Of a maladjusted middle aged man

Aren’t half as easy to write

As you originally plan

Little pieces of poetry

And pithy little pieces of prose

There soon comes a time

When you run out of those

I want to be Walter Mitty

I want to be Billy Liar

I want to expose my very soul

My every hidden desire

But the memoirs and mental meanderings

Of a maladjusted middle aged man

Soon stop doing

What it says on the can..