journeys and other leisure activities

8/9/2019 Journeys and Other Leisure Activities

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JOURNEYS AND OTHER LEISURE ACTIVITIES

DAVE MAHONEY


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THE PILGRIMAGE

Again, I wish to look upon the shores

Of the country of my birth.

Leaving behind me all I possess

To be nurtured till my return

By the guardian of my muse.

The ferry is full on its westward trip

And I elbow a path through the crowd.

Tears of disbelief fall onto the deck

While a melancholy cloud passes overhead

And the dark waves jump out of the way.

If I were the pope I would fall on my knees

To kiss Jerusalems Holy ground.

Instead I just stare at the garden of Eden

While Adam and Eve, fully clothed,

search through my bags

and Gabriel twitches from passport to me.

With the sun shining brightly I get on a busAnd buy a ticket to where it is going.

My mouth soon forms the words of my youth

my brain registering the jokes of the past

and recognition flows through my eyes to my soul.

The road retreats rapidly a few feet below

as we climb up the hill to the sky.

Not knowing whether each mile is a

run away from or a run towards;

is the destination the start or maybe a finish?

Why ponder the past, why search for the source,

why not accept the am, the is and the are?

The history of me is the future of I,

the roots of yesterday are the fruits of tomorrow

on the bud-bearing tree of today.

The places I visit and the people I meet

are the teachers who open my eyes.

We share bed and breakfast and

poetry and thoughts and desires

and part in mutual sorrow and yes, even love.

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I remember a town Id never been ,which

I left liberated and light of heart.

And a girlfriend Id never met, who,

while our liquids baptised the world at our feet,

taught me to love the place we were born.

A childless couple invited me into their home,

while I was on this trip down memory lane.

I helped them to cry, they helped me to laugh.

She was barren and bitter, he was meek and mild

but we all embraced on saying goodbye.

When the tourists had left I met a man

at our famous ancestors grave.

We were both writing and searching

Experimenting and innovating. And oursoixante-neuf became a rewarding,

fulfilling, everlasting relief.

My visit to the shrine of the Gods was

surrounded by memories of anguish and fear.

The guardian of the tomb placed my head on her breast,

succoured and rejuvented my aching soul,

a Vestal Venus bringing peace on Mount Olympus.

My muse accompanies me on the return journey,

by bus and train and boot.

I relate to her my innumerable tales, which,

become a homeward-bound paper-chase

to be followed by future seekers,

or blown away by a westerly wind.

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4/42

WHILE WALKING THROUGH WESTERBORK

The barracks are gone,

the people are gone

but the memories will live on

till mankind is told to forget.

A purple flower grows, is growing

in the moat looked upon by

Anne in 1944; it can also be plucked,

a premature death.

A holiday snap on the buffers,a sacrilegious act, but who cares?

The trains no longer run to Auschwitz,

the 102 000 tickets were not returns,

but then again the carriages were not first class.

The eye looks and the mind tries to

create the past but feels only the peace

which the sighs have sown in the soil.

Who can imagine the fear, the pain,

the sadness, the anguish of mothers

unable to answer their childrens questions?Would it not be better just to forget

and erase the memory of this

black period in mans history?

Will the varnish of civilization be

thick enough to prevent us and our

children from turning again into beasts?

Or must we always remember?

Man looks to the skies and

flies to the stars and leaves

his footprint on the moon;

but the spirit of Anne Frank isstill alive in Amsterdam,

not allowed to rest by the rearing head

of the 4th.Reich.

The 102 000 stand to attention,

each one symbolising an ocean

of tears, The sons and daughters

of David murdered by their

New Testament brothers.

The watch brings us back to 1993

The papers are full of genocide and war

the Westerbork museums to be.

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A TREE AT ALLARDSOOG

Gnarled, twistedintertwined

but housing a safe

haven in your breast.

Your green cloak a shelter

from the rain and

beneath the earth,

no doubt,

your roots are holding on firmly

while the storms

try to demolish you.

Your growth has not been stuntedby lack of nourishment.

But the curve in your trunk was caused

by pressure unknown to us.

Old age increases your dignity

your limbs seem strong still,

although some withered stumps

pay tribute to your years.

In less than thirty minutes

all trace of you could be removed;

chopped down becauseyou were of no more use.

In your place, bricks and mortar

built on a concrete foundation.

The birds could still nest in your gutters

and you would not be missed,

not even remembered.

Life must go on

but yours would have been brought

to an end.

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COMPASSION

Excuse me, Sir,

would you mind if I insulted you?

I havent seen anyone crying for days

and I, myself feel like crying

for hours on end.

Unfortunately the sun is shining

and everyone feels happy.

There are lambs in the fields

and the world is full of colours.

But I feel sad and

no one will share my feelings.People wish me to laugh,

they want to give me their smile,

for which I have no use,

except, maybe, to pass it on immediately.

My pain is hidden

behind a summers mask,

a choking false face.

To see the sun

I must first look at my soul.

Excuse me, Sir, please dont cry.Here use my handkerchief,

it is still dry.

I feel much better already, thank you.

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7/42

JE TAIME

She opened my brain and asked:

Do you still love me?

But my right lobe was out of order

and my left one could not find the words

which the vocal chords were expected to

prepare for emission.

Till finally

the suns rays also entered the exposed organ

and the power of speech returned.

Air was inhaled, nasally of courseand was held in check

till the tongue and lips were sculptured

and the necessary exhalation took place

causing that wondrous talent which

separates man from beast

and the word no became audible.

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8/42

EMPATHY

If I were you......................

Thank God youre not I thought to myself.

Its bad enough me being me.

But if you were I, what would you change?

My bad temper maybe?

or even my impatience?

Do my moods hurt you

or is it my bulldog attitude

whenever we have an argument?Surely you are now used to my

inflexibility

and my use of logic

instead of emotion.

Would you have prepared a less

libidinous partner?

or one that would regularly cook and iron and clean?

A carpenter or a mechanic

would have come in handy;

or even a gardener was better than a bookworm;a painter instead of a still-life;

a global traveller instead of a doormat;

a man instead of a son.

Be glad youre not me because

if you were I

you would need a lifetime to put yourself right.

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9/42

WIVES

The Catholic church allows us

16 wives as you know:

4 better, 4 worse, 4 richer, 4 poorer

and maybe 1 more for the show.

A nurse to look after us when we are ill,

a cook to keep us fed.

A washerwoman who cleans our clothes for usand a whore, sometimes, in our bed.

A nanny to take of the children,

a friend when were in need.

A lady to take to the party

a woman who knows how to follow, but also to lead.

A mother to give us comfort,

a charwoman wholl keep the house clean.

A partner when having to make decisionsbut a child to be taught what we mean.

A mistress for all of our fantasies,

a fan to fall at our knees.

An object for our anger and frustration

a plaything when were in the mood to tease.

Yes, thank you, Roman Catholic Church,

for this aid to a better life.

But wouldnt it be a bit simpler

if we had all these things in one wife?

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10/42

THE FIVE- FINGERED WIDOW

Shes always there, the friend of my dreams.

She shakes my hand when I call.

Shell share my burden if Im alone.

Shell raise me up should I fall.

Her expertise is second to none.

Her touch fires my brain.Her task in life is meant for me alone.

Her rhythm takes me dancing, again and again.

I often see her in the mirror waiting.

I close my eyes to her touch.

I cant get enough of that what she offers.

I never ever say its too much.

My wife, my girlfriend, my lover.

My longing deep down inside.My needs are your daily visits.

My secret, well just have to hide.

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QUOD OMNE ANIMAL

Knock-kneed, breathing heavily,

the perpetual motion grinding to a halt,

while the spirit droops

and the blood settles

and awareness is regained.

Doubt raises its ugly headsatisfaction guaranteed an empty promise.

Time for a cigarette, time for a drink.

The clock offering release.

Tears in the lift

and a stone going down.

The glossies full of their lies;

or could it be the truth?

Will no one ever admit it?

Must parents keep the truth from their children, that:

Quod omne animalpost coitum est trieste.

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FUNDAMENTAL RELATIONSHIP

Millions of people from time immemorial

have played the games that lovers play.

Why then does each generation start anew

searching and finding, crying and loving

laughing and hating?

In the depths of my heart, which can rarely be seen,

there is a place reserved just for you.

In years to come it might be shown to the world,

openly and honestly, critically or abstractedly,

knowingly or truthly.

The parallel roads and the mirrored signposts,

the coincidences guiding our lives,

are just a sport played by the Gods in the heavens,baiting and tripping, watching and waiting,

torturing and enjoying.

And so, my love, lets go on as we are,

treading the well-worn path in the wilderness.

Occasionally finding comfort in each others presence,

lonely and understandably, facetiously and seriously,

covertly and selectively.

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13/42

A RIDDLE

13-year-old daughters are a mystery ..................

to their fathers.

Mothers tend to understand .................

their ups and downs.They probably remember .................

their own 13-year-old period.

Whereas fathers can only remember that ....................

13-year-old girls were a mystery.

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14/42

ANIMAL KNACKERS

Im Dan, Dan, the Dandelion Man,

follow me on a pornographic trip

to Mother Natures brotheland to a peep show on a ship.

The birds and the bees are busy

the rabbits are doing their best

to populate the dunes and the forests,

a good example to all the rest.

The ducks are raping their females

a gang-bang in the ditch.

The cat has no doubt about Thomasand a dog is sniffing a bitch.

The stallion stands proud and erect

waiting patiently for a yes from the mare.

His foreplay is meant to appease her

but he only gets an inscrutable stare.

The bull does his work sedately,

wham, bam and yet another thank you maam.

The sheep take off their clothes only

after having been serviced by the ram.

The fellatio miming of the fish

swimming around looking for food,

is an aphrodisiac to many of the impotents

who use their minds to get in the mood.

The bees collect all of the pollen

as a sacrificial offer to their queen.

The sweet seed of royal servitude,

the Plebs lick their Regina clean.

The animal kingdom is oh so beastly

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and Mother Nature is quite often bare.

Thank God for having invented us humans

we who walk with our noses in the air.

ODE TO BERTHA

Walking through the meadow

while the cows watch me, wonderingly.I look them full in the face and say:

You know I dont eat you, dont you?

Well never meet at McDonalds

Ill never decorate you with potatoes and peas.

Your children are safe in my presence

and your lowing is music to my ears.

Ill never break up your lesbian acts

you have a right to some fun in your life.

And if God had insisted that I became a steer

I would have gladly made you my wife.

Bertha lovingly returned my stare

then shook her head and turned away.

She said: You know my milk sustains you,

which I give for your custard, yoghurt and cheese.

In summer I parade the grassy catwalk

chewing the cud with my female friends,

while you cycle by on a Sunday, pointing

at us and saying aaah! before returning to

your comfortable home and to your

soya balls surrounded by pickle and mushrooms.If God had mistakenly made you a steer

I would have turned human, and

ate steak and kidney pie followed by a cold glass of beer.

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GOODBYE AND HELLO

Sitting on a rock near the sea

staring at the waves that approach slowly

like playful puppies

gamboling over each other,

and watching dogs walking their

masters and mistresses.

A burden is lifted from my shoulders

and blown away by the wind

to alight on another searching soul

far away

who might be in need of the joys

and glories

which this burden can bring.

However, liberation is not synonymous with

carefreeness

but with the

happy acceptance of responsibility.

Is this adulthood?

Is this goodbye to childhood?

Do I regret the loss

or am I mistrustful of the rewards?The wind answers:

fly dont flee,

cry dont mourn;

the gifts are yours

welcome to the human world.

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17/42

ANIMAL SENSE

Look at me, Im a bumble-bee,

Im a bumble-bee cant you see?

I dance round and round the whole day long

pointing out the things that people do wrong.

Look at you, youre a monkey in the zoo.

A monkey in the zoo with nothing to do,

but chatter away and look for fleas

creeping around on your hands and knees.

His brother is a donkey and his sister is a cat.

His mother was a vixen and his father was a rat.

He tried to become the leader of the herd

but a fool in the jungle is ignored not heard.

Animals kill but they never hate.

They eat and sleep and hunt and mate;

theyre born, they live and then they die,

bye, bye kids now its your turn to try.

Humans kill and they also hate.

They eat and sleep and work and mate.

Theyre born, they live and then they die

cursing God because its all been a lie.

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FLIGHT OF FEAR

Rampaging horses under a black sky,

driven on by torrential rains,

fear tensing their sinews,

exhaling steam!

Nostrils and mouths open to the elements

bound by a mutual urge,

albeit unknown.

The stallions leading the flight to

nowhere

being chased by tethered figments

of their imagination.

An unstoppable force;

until a mare dares to look back

and sees ..........................

nothing!

but rich pastures beckoning.

She calls her friends to a halt and

they stare at the foal

who had incited the fearful flight

when a fly had unknowingly crawled into its earand yawned loudly.

They eat

hanging their heads in shame.

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19/42

THE GULLS

As the gulls fly past my window

looking in at the concentrated faces

of young people yearning for the knowledge

they think I posses,

yet unaware that in many respects

they surpass me in what they know;

my adrenaline-fed thoughts fuelled

by the adult accepted drug

orally administered in liquid form

four times a day and more on Sunday,

race away with my relaxation and

self-confidence. Until my power-centre

breaks free of its cramped bondage

and transmits its soothing massage

through the muscles and nerves

of my taut body.

My thoughts are as the gulls;

flying free and showing off

to the anchored spectators.Swooping and gliding, playing and racing

until they finally return to their nest ..........

and the day continues.

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20/42

SORRY WILLY

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Stuck in the toilet and the door is locked.

I suffer from claustrophobia luckily someone just knocked;

help, help, get me out of here please!

No, wait! My trousers are still around my knees.

Alas poor Yorick I knew him well.

Every Saturday wed go looking for kicks,

get drunk down the pub and chat up the chicks;

but then one day he lost his head in a fight

and ever since then he had never been right.

Romeo met his Juliet,

he raped her in the park;

he said he didnt she was against it.

He couldnt hear her in the dark.

I offered her a pound of flesh

but she took nine inches instead.

She said shed be my Cleopatra

and then she gave me head.

He thought their marriage was a tragedy

and she no longer spoke of we.

It was a comedy of errors when it started

but it will soon be ancient history.

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21/42

TABLE-TALK

Henry VIII he had six wives

and he died of a venereal disease;

but does that prove that marriage is unhealthy?

Excuse me, could you pass me the salt please?

The soup was absolutely delicious,is it a recipe of your own?

Did you read the latest on unemployment?

Here its going up and there its going down.

A beer? No thanks; Ill stick to wine,

it colours nicely with the meat.

If my daughter had come home with such news

Id have thrown her onto the street.

Fruit or yoghurt? Ill have an apple,

you know it keeps the doctor away?Oh, youve finally managed to see the specialist

and what did the well-paid gentleman have to say?

I should actually stick to coffee

were going home in an hour or so;

and I wouldnt like to smash against a tree

the car is still being paid for, you know.

No more for me, we really must go,

the babysitter will want to go to bed.

No darling, Ill let her go home by herself;yes, I remember the last time what you said.

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LUNA TICS

The schizo-phre-nia

of living or being lived

is due to the fear

which is always very near

often bringing a tearof giving or being gived.

The para-noi-a

of loving or being loved

is due to frustration

of universal capitulation

the physical taxation

of shoving or being shoved.

The deep-ress-ion

of dying or being deadis due to not knowing

God himself never showing

a candle no longer blowing

of reading or being read.

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AUTOBI ...........WHAT DJE ME CALL IT!

Ive got jelly in me belly

and whipped cream in me air;

theres dirt under me finger-nailsand you know what? I dont care.

Me teeth are black and so are me toes

me ead and me feet are bare;

I pick me nose and scratch me bum

and you know what? I dont care.

Me breath smells of garlic

me eyes dont look they stare;

me beer-belly makes me look pregnant


I wipe me ands on me jersey

and Ill belch anywhere;

me clothes are from the rag-and-bone mon


I aint had no education

in a brawl I never fight fair;

Ive never wirked for more than six months


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WISHFUL THINKING

Id like to punch your silly face

and kick you where it really hurts:

to break your arms and then your nose

stand on your back and then on your toes

tear out your hair and rip your clothes ..............................

unfortunately Im a pacifist.

Id like to go to bed with you

and make love the whole night long:

to start on the bed and then on the floor

carry on in the shower till you plead for some more

have you on your knees and up against the door ..........................

unfortunately Im monogamous.

Id like to give my money away

and save a few hundred thousand lives:

to give to charity all Ive got

share my millions Ive such a lot

help the poor, the sick, the orphans and what not ............................

unfortunately Im a capitalist.

Id like to tell the world the truth

and warn the people about whats going on:

to help the environment and stop a war

take from the rich and give the poor some morepass every day a fair and just law ......................................

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25/42

unfortunately Im a politician.

ODE TO AN HOOLY GAN

Up the Reds

and down the Blues

Ill support the lads

whether they win or lose.

Here they come

spoiling for a fight.

The police arent here yet,

to me, that doesnt seem right.

I punched the guy

full on the nose

then kicked him in the ballswhile the blood coloured his clothes.

I stamped on his head

till he pulled out a knife.

Then I started to run

as I had to think of the wife.

We ran down the street

into the arms of the law,

who bravely protected us

from being beaten some more.

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26/42

We won the match

it was a good second half.

But Im terribly disappointed

because of the blood on my scarf.

FIRST AID

Pitiful, isnt it?

That black child with a big belly,

large round eyes which, thanks to Canon and Kodak,

stares at us shyly.

What! Lost his mother too?

Oh dear, buy two more raffle tickets.

Who knows, maybe well win the jackpot.

Well be able to move to a bigger house;

we can buy you a small car,

we can go to France in June

and Spain in December.

And our dream can finally be realised:a two-week safari, big-game hunting;

me Tarzan, you Jane

an elephant on an elephant;

pitiful, isnt it?

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27/42

VIRTUES

Oh Faith! Where have you fled?

In India, amongst the dead?

Or in London among the poor?

I know you not ,of that Im sure.

Oh Hope! Where do you hide?

Under the bodies of every tide?

Or in the cell where the tortured scream?

No! Youre definitely not what you seem.

Dear Chastity! Where is your face?Gone to the whores in disgrace?

Or between the legs of a teenage junk?

I Cant breathe, you smell like a skunk.

Yes Charity! I was looking for thee;

I thought Id seen you on the t.v.

But no, you were a mask for Greed

begging, but only using those in need.

Love! Are you tired? Have you gone to bed?

You shouldnt lead and you shouldnt be led.Possession is not a bed-mate for you;

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okay! Just carry on and screw.

Dear Innocence! Youve been left behind.

Look at that starving child, if you dont mind.

And the porno star whos seven -years-old

theyre not innocent anymore, or so Ive been told.

The final call is for invisible Humanity.

I didnt see you during the wars insanity.

You were tucked away in the purses of the rich:

sleeping soundly, growing fatter, becoming a bitch.

BURIAL IN AUTUMN

Lets listen to Mother Nature.

She is sharing your sorrow,

trying to comfort you, though she knows

its impossible.

The wind cries

and the trees shed their tears.

Not only weeping willows weep

but also the strong oak

bends its head.The clouds cover the exposed sun

with a grey shroud

and for a moment, the earth stands still

to say farewell.

But the colours return,

as will the happy memories.

The black earth, watered by your tears,

humbly offers its greens, reds, whites and yellows.

The fallen leaves become pieces

of gold-plated manna

and the wind whispers softly:hush ....................sh ...................here I am!

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DEATH

Is it a talent to die

to allow ones soul to fly

back to God knows where?

Or is it a talent to live

to use your life and give

all youve while were here?

Are people sad when theyre dead

or happy because God has saidthat we will never die?

Should we look death in the face

after knowing no sin but grace

our whole earthly life?

Or must we be the cowards we are

scared beings afraid to go far

away from Mother Earth?

Will the devil claim us as his own

or will God seated on his throne

allow us a glimpse of his face?

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SUNDAY AFTERNOON DEPRESSION

When the fog lifts

and the sun shines.

The flowers bow in greeting

and beckon us to admire

their colours.

The birds chat among themselves

and stare cheekily in at the window,

while the trees sway to the music

played by the windon its journey from the sea

to the mountains.

The clouds race each other:

the dragon fleeing from the sheep,

the monster chased by the bee.

The world grows,

a panoramic picture,

replacing the unlit slide

held in my hand.

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31/42

SUNDAYS TRAUMA

Oh so relaxing and peaceful Sunday

chosen by God to rest the working-mans

mind and body.

Why can you not be more like Monday?

Or even Friday, yes why not even Tuesday?

Apparently to relax one must conform

to the church, or to the neighbours,

or to the family, or one must unpack

the celibate cloak to placate the silent,

yet heavily-felt, matriarchal murmurings.

Why should mans leisure time be shackled,

albeit metaphorically, by wasteful words

on lifeless pieces of parchment?

Is man a monster to be kept in a cage

only to be let for arbeid or

the occasional mating?

The sabbath must be kept holy because

God rested on the seventh day.

Does that mean that we lie down,or are we tied down?

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32/42

Surely bound by a string of pearls is no different

than a ball-and-chain of black metal?

Both will cause pain when pulled tightly.

LOOKING FORWARD TO THE PAST

O nameless muse, Old Father Time,

your hair, what is left of it is grey.

And yet you go out alone into the world,

the sky your blanket, the grass your carpet,

the nature your home.

An ageing body holding a youthful heart,

and fears, undoubtedly, you have known.

You have loved and hated and learned to love again,

you have been scared of dying and scared ofbeing alone.

And now while your earthly journey

still runs its course.

Its duration a secret to all but the Gods above.

You refuse to just sit and wait for the call

determined to prolong this voyage of love.

When you are cold and tired do you feel lonely?

Dont you ever need a companion or

even a friend?Dont you ever feel like scurrying back home

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becoming three again and wishing it would all

just come to an end?

Where did you find this peace of mind?

And the strength to carry out your plan?

You sit surrounded by your possessions,watched by a fascinated, elderly, young man.

WAR AND PEACE

If God was watching telly

this morning at 2 a.m.

Im sure he would have started to cry

and crawled off into bed again.

The planes started to roar

the mothers started to cry.

The bombs started to pourthe people started to die.

The presidents gave a speech

the children gave a shout.

The dying gave a screech

the missiles gave their clout.

The parents offered their sons

the wives offered themselves.

The west offered their guns

the mortuaries offered their shelves.

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34/42

We won the war but lost our sons.

The president gained immortality

and we sold a lot of guns.

Make love not war

the hippies said,

as they dived into bed.

Well give you peace

the NATO cried,

as their soldiers died.

THE PATRIOT

Hell fight for his king and his country,

hell even fight for a queen.

Hell fight for the red, white and blue,

hed even fight if it was green.

He sings his national anthem

which he was taught while still at school.

He learnt to love his country there

and to follow the golden rule.

His flag hangs in the bedroom,

he salutes it before going to bed.

Hell never trust a foreigner

especially if their black or red.

He supports the national football team

and his sole drink is the national beer.

His car was made by his neighbour

and he goes abroad every other year.

He doesnt like wops or dagos

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35/42

and he thinks Abdullah should go back home.

Hes a narrow-minded senseless bigot

and he loves his home-sweet-home.

THE FORK IN THE ROAD

It seemed so easy

to walk together along our chosen path.

Yet I forgot that I had a road of my own

which, through no fault of mine,

had become overgrown and potholed.

Many milestones have we passed

and much have we achieved.Days of sun eclipsing the days of storm.

Bravely we strolled side by side,

laying out a trail for our children to follow,

clearing their paths,

giving names to the trees and the birds

and the other gifts of nature.

Till they veered off,

carrying their own rucksacks,

bulging with the equipment

they thought necessary to pick up,

when pointed out to them,and some of which they will discard

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on their future journeys.

Up ahead is the fork in the road,

yours to the left, mine to the right.

I have all the tools needed to repair my path,

should this ever be required.

Who knows?Maybe well have an easy passage.

Who knows?

Maybe our paths will run parallel.

Who knows?

Maybe theyll finally merge and become

a one-way, two-lane, tree-lined avenue.

GOVERNMENT HEALTH WARNING

SOME PEOPLE MAY CONSIDER

THE FOLLOWING FEW POEMS

CYNICAL.

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READ AND ENJOY

THE NEWS

S.O.S., S.O.S., Mayday, Mayday,

Oh Christ! Were going to crash.

No! Fuck! Flats, Oh God, no..............

were going down

Mooooooooom...................................!

But the cameras were quickly there,

the correspondent gave a cough and combed his hair;

for ages he looked for someone crying, with

in the background sounds of people dying.

Move that ambulance, its spoiling the view!

Excuse me officer, can you spare us a minute or two, to

tell the viewers all that you know;

its as important as the pictures were going to show.

That mans lost his son, switch on the sound you fool!

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Were not paid for silent movies as a rule.

Lets go closer for an award-winning shot.

Well take off your bloody coat of its too hot.

Dear viewers, this is a terrible tragedy;

well-informed sources expect that there will behundreds of dead. Well let you know all that transpires

well ask twenty experts and well show you the fires.

Right, cut! Lets call it a day and pack up or stuff.

Weve been filming for one and a half hours and we have enough

film for the national news, and if we play our cards right

theyll give us a prize for our work here tonight.

LOT ONE HUNDRED AND TWO

The auctioneer ascended the platform

his hammer held high, waiting

to perform its expected execution,

when a Caesar would raise his thumbhaving beaten his many challengers.

My Lords, ladies and gentlemen,

we have now come tot lot one hundred and two.

It may be sold only to the highest bidder,

but once bought it has no value

and can only be resold at a loss;

but who will give me a hundred for this

original work of art entitled, Love?

Seated at the back of the hall, pensivelywatching the proceedings, the once owners of Love

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lowered their eyes and looked at their own thoughts,

in black and white, while dirges

played their inexorable soundtrack.

The mother, the father, the husband, the wife,

the doctor, the priest, the whore, the pimp

and many more, including God himself, sat, wonderingwho would be able to afford, Love.

I gave it to my children, whispered the mother;

the price I asked for it was small.

Just a cheque-book full of obedience and

a collection-plate in which I could pour

my fears and anxieties for them to turn into respect.

And when I asked for the return of Love

they had passed it on to someone else.

The husband started to weep as heremembered the tarnished Love.

It was gleaming bright when offered; it had become

his world, his sun, his breath of life. But

it was used to blind him, to bar his way

and to trip him up, until, battered, bruised,

naked and needy, he was forced to throw it out.

He himself following the dustbinmen, hoping

they would return his Love, but it was gone!

The auction started and the excitement grew

except in the back rows, where even God

was quiet, meditating on how he could

regain lot one hundred and two, which,

had been squandered by his son, who,

had not learnt from his mistake.

The bidders raised their arms, imitating

Heidis on Swiss clocks, but the

auctioneer kept raising the price, smiling

and waving at the lethargic losers, until

he himself broke down, crying and shouting

that this lot was not for sale, that

Love was priceless and that it would be

returned to the vault, unsold, unused, unseen;

and standing like a modern-day Thor, he ended the auction.

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NO MORE CYNICISM

Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye!

The Queen has abdicated

and the Prime minister has resigned,

the treasury is emptyand Ive got piles on my behind.

This is London calling! This is London calling!

The army has been disbanded

and the bombs are being defused.

The archbishops are now mitreless;

I asked the missis but she refused.

Friends, Romans and Countrymen!

Your leaders are in disrepute.

Your country is going down the drain.Your women are harlots or killjoys

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and my back is giving me such pain.

THE END

Birdie, birdie flying in the air.

Spring or summer you really dont care.The cat is preying and you are the prayer.

Dont come down youll be safer up there.

Pussy, pussy prowling around,

your eyes in the air and your feet on the ground.

Keeping watch, a silent mound,

cautiously waiting, hearing every sound.

Telephone ringing, shes not coming home.

Her bags are packed and theres a flight to Rome.

She needs the time to be alone;Pizza, spaghetti and a chickens wish-bone.

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The house is empty and the bed is cold.

Every day the mirror grows old.

The charm, the body, the strength so bold;

the book is closed, the storys been told.

Wine, spirits, cigarettes and beer,

every memory a falling tear.

The bird flies from the cat in fear;

looking out the window but no one comes near.

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