What the Dickens?

Unfortunately this week Lara is unable to write a blog. Her replacement, Vicky, then went and got herself all broked up and everything. So, 'ittle peeps, you have me again.

This time I will attempt the subtle art of nonsense mixed with Dickens. A sort of Lewis Carroll / Charles Dickens mash up but without using their original texts. So nothing like a mash up at all, which is a good thing. Though it has given me an idea for a later blog.

So, standing in for Vicky, who was standing in for Lara, who had taken over from Vicky...

Here is the Thursday Blog.

What the Dickens?

 Did you know that Charles has chickens?

What the Dickens? Chickens?

Yes Chickens, and Kittens.

Chickens and Kitten?

What the Dickens?

He also has Rats.

Rats? in his flat?

Yes rats, wearing hats.

Rats wearing hats?

With Chickens and Kittens?

What the Dickens?

Yes Charles has rats,

And Chickens and Kittens

What the Dickens?

Charles also has snakes.

For goodness sake!

Make no Mistake, he has snakes.

Snakes in a flat with rats wearing hats

on top of chickens and kittens?

There is a petition.

A petition? What the Dickens?

To get rid of the chicken,

And the kittens.

What the kittens?

Yes the kittens,

Well they had lost their mittens.

Kittens losing mittens in a flat full of chickens

with rats wearing hats? Where's the sense in that?

And make no mistake, he has also got snakes.

Snakes with rats and Kittens and Chickens

And Mittens and hats in a flat?

What the Dickens?



Turned out more Dr Seuss in the end.

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When enough is enough... Political poetry.

Good afternoon readers,

When I discovered that the theme this week was politics, I nearly danced. I have long been an admirer of those who don't shy away from it but stand up and deliver their messages in poetry. It must be tough, having climbed the ladder to break through only to then be labelled as a leftie, a feminist, a commie, a liberal, a soft touch or whatever else you choose to speak about. I like the old adage write what you know, so you can rest assured you'll never get the Tory manifesto in my poems... I'm a leftie, a vegan and getting ever more offensively socialist every time I watch the news. 
Well what do you know that we don't, Shaun? I know I've had enough. I've had enough of the pandering to the one percent, of the hikes in living costs and flatlining wage packets, of the ridiculous way our elected (hmppph) Prime Minister has stood at his box for three years now blaming Labour for the downturn of the world economy, and that he continues to get away with it. We're peddled half-truths and shortcomings instead of credit where it is due. I know we're being told nothing, absolutely nothing, is the fault of the bungling twerps in the Conservative party and if you don't agree with that view, well the leader of the opposition's dead father was a socialist, so don't vote for them, he could never do any good. 
Don't get my back up. My parents met at a young socialist meeting long enough ago to have played a part getting Jack Straw elected and I'm not a bad person. My family aren't bad people and my friends aren't either. None of us rob, cheat or fiddle our way through life and none of us, not a single one, is taking the piss out of the state. 
It is a shame the same can't be said for Dave and George. They've been dragged up, silver spooned in the washrooms of elite public school and turned out as near hateful wannabe Thatcherites. It isn't their fault that their parents weren't socialists. They can't be blamed for not understanding why people were striking in Grangemouth. Rather, they took Maggie's view that it must be the dirty poor workers taking the piss. When they failed to back the workers last week, I wasn't surprised. They've never really known people that work to live and feed their families- no, in their world you work to get free shares and favours and if the job isn't a good one, there'll always be the dividends to fall back on. Don't get me wrong though- I don't and can't speak for Dave here- he hasn't had a real job in his life.
Yes, people are political. Yes, poets can be political. Yes, poets should write to be heard and then shout it from the rafters. There is a voice of reason to be controlled at the end of the day, and I'd much rather it came from the arty, understanding side!
Here's one I prepared earlier.


Enough is enough

It may not seem right demonstrating with rats
outside family homes to start a spat
but newsworthy? It seems funny that
when the country can see their pain.

With a government war against the 'shirkers',
backing bosses that cull jobs to flood their own purses
show me, what is the bloody purpose
ask yourself- can you trust them again?

For the unions represent the workers
they're a blessing against the owner's curses
standing up for their rights when staff feel worthless
the blame isn't theirs, nor the shame.

So someone tell the great PM
that we've had enough of this us and them
and we'd all rather be Len McClusky's friend
for at least he can understand us.

He gets that the country is getting hacked off
and that most normal people don't give a toss
were it not for being dealt such a savage loss
on the pensions, careers and lifestyles

So now is the time to stop battering people
regardless of class, regardless of steeple
if there's war to be had then until we're all equal
there will always be room to unite.

For despite what we're told about needing a pay squeeze
The company bosses don their holiday skis,
we've a chancellor claiming we're not on our knees
and that Britain is hiring, not firing.

Tell that to the hard working fuel poor
who bring less back in real terms now through the door
than they would have done every year before
show them where the salaries are rising.

Yes, it may be so for the top fat cats;
the ones still evading their super tax,
stocking up on their margins whilst wages lapse
I say all hands to pumps, get the rats out.

Thanks for reading,
S.

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Did you check under your bed?

Whether you believe in fairies or not, one should never take the chance. Because what if you're wrong? What if all those things are real? That as you sleep Trolls come and try to steal your breath, or monsters as big as your room come to feast on your eyes.

What if every nightmare you've ever had wasn't a dream, but just your way of remember what actually happen that night? Is it worth taking the chance? For five minutes of your life each night, is it worth risking your very soul?

Take heed of the lessons of old written in the texts of tales. Centuries have morphed them into children's stories, rhymes of amusement. Read them and remember their lessons, for these are not just fanciful yarns designed to induce imagined creatures dancing in the shadows of the fires light. These so called 'fairy tales' are a warning to anyone who will listen. 

As the night draws near and dusk begins to snuff out the days sun, remember to doubt what you think you know, take the safe option. 

Are your sure your windows and doors locked?  Are the draft cracks covered? and...

Did you check under your bed?

When you lie alone at night,

Just before your eye shut tight,

And the journey of your dreams takes flight.

Did you check under your bed?

Make sure the monsters aren't hiding there,

In-between boxes discarded without care,

Waiting to jump out to give you nightmares.

Did you check under your bed?

Using your torch the examine the corners,

For wee little beasties and nocturnal marauders,

Often found in the pages of horror authors.

Did you check under your bed?

That scratching sound is it a cat?

Or maybe a giant mutated rat?

Looking for a new habitat?

Did you check under your bed?

Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies and Demons,

Ghosts, Ghouls and creatures of legions,

You could be moments away from being eaten?

Always check under your bed!

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