Poetry is a bit like a fart...

[Redundant]

Well, there's good news...whilst rummaging for something completely unrelated I came across several poems of mine which were written  somewhere between thirty and forty years ago, from their content it's clear I was a fairly angry man with leftist tendencies.   But you don't have to take my word for that, and that's the bad news.   Once I find one or two that are the least cringe worthy, I plan to share them here...

This cultural experience is sponsored by "Je t'aime Crème" the pile cream for discerning and caring lovers 

[Redundant]

Okay, this one didn't make me too nauseous, governments have never treated their armed services well, frequently sent into dangerous situations ill equipped, dumped in time of peace, the list goes on, so I apparently wrote this.   I was dearly tempted to edit it, but it's "as was" from whenever it was written [circa 1980]:

Don't let them steal your heart away

Will you play the drums slowly
As we march through your town
Will you play the pipes softly
With a smile not a frown

We're off to Flanders Field this day
And most will not return
It's not war but that which causes it
That gives us most concern

All the lawyers and the leaders
Safely hid behind the men
Yet they send us into battle
Not once but once again

There will always be disasters
While we let the wrong ones rule
They use our lives completely
Make each of us their fool

Marching ever marching
To the sounds of the devils cry
No more of wives or sweethearts
As we lay down to die

And when the war is over
And the politicians rise
To sing the fallen praises
With false tears in their eyes

Don't let them steal your heart away
Don't listen to what they say
I'd rather die in Flanders Field
Than live my life their way

[Redundant]

Before my next trip down the poetic timeline, I have never claimed to be a great poet, nor a good one, nor even a mediocre poet, just a poet.   Inspiration is drawn from everything, and is often defeated by the same thing.   One of my all time favourite inspirational pieces, which cannot be named as anything other than sheer genius:

…I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil, that men do, lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar.
The noble Brutus hath told you,
Caesar was ambitious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it,
Here, under the leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(For Brutus us an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men;)
Come I to speak at Caesar’s funeral.
He was my friend,
Faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransomes did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see, that on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse.   Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?

[Redundant]

This is probably the last one, I'm off to take some photo's shortly, stock car racing, first time for me so g-d knows what the pictures will look like.   Not much of a shock to anyone hear I should imagine, but this one clearly highlights my love of all things Thatcherite, I think this one was written somewhere around the time of the miners strike.

The struggle

And in the days that come
And in the days that pass
The struggle will continue
The struggle of men and class

Rich men in their mansions
Will thrust and weal their power
Will lie and cheat and even kill
Safely in their ivory tower

They finance political parties
Control the popular press
They twist the truth in order
To subjugate, cover and oppress

If a man comes forward
To fight for mortal man
They smash is reputation
Destroy whenever they can

They manipulate elections
With bribes with lies with hate
Dishonour any honest man
And cast him to his fate

They make puppet politicians
And cry democracy
State police and riot squads
How small can freedom be

Yes that's your Mrs Thatcher
Puppet oh so grand
Multinational puppet strings
Lashed to bind her hand

The countries course is set
Thus we hear her cry
As the puppet masters jostle
To see the people die

Perhaps there is no answer
Perhaps no one can see
The damage multinationals
Do to you and me


https://youtu.be/Q3bbsDJWlXQ

[Roger Kettle]

Bizarrely, Red, my wife was clearing out some junk recently and came across some stuff from my school days. Among the photos and "must do better" report cards was a poem. It went...

The chances of a comeback
By the dinosaur are slim.
And, anyway, I'd rather dance
With you and not with him.

I have VERY vague memories of writing this. I was probably 15 or 16 and it was intended for a girl I was besotted with. I'm assuming I gave the "poem" to her at some stage and that would explain why my love was unrequited.
Red, some great stuff from you. It would appear that my early work wasn't quite as eloquent or intense as yours.

[Redundant]

Bizarrely, Red, my wife was clearing out some junk recently and came across some stuff from my school days. Among the photos and "must do better" report cards was a poem. It went...

The chances of a comeback
By the dinosaur are slim.
And, anyway, I'd rather dance
With you and not with him.

I have VERY vague memories of writing this. I was probably 15 or 16 and it was intended for a girl I was besotted with. I'm assuming I gave the "poem" to her at some stage and that would explain why my love was unrequited.
Red, some great stuff from you. It would appear that my early work wasn't quite as eloquent or intense as yours.

     It would have been epic if it had worked though, I know some of mine did!   Not sure on the eloquence but was I pretty intense.   I think at the time I fully intended to set the world to rights, I still believed socialism would work for g-ds sake.   Now I'll settle for a hot cup of coffee, a good book and the occasional fellowship with my fellow man [and woman].  The poets not dead, just slumbering :-)

[Mince]

I think at the time I fully intended to set the world to rights

The world is a car out of control and heading for a broken bridge, and we're all passengers spending the remaining time redesigning the steering wheel.