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Calculating Cat

Fat Alice

Drop-in Centre

Survivor Guilt

Prime Ministerís Question Time

Lessons from Viet Nam

The Airborne Museum, Hartenstein, March 2023

Early Morning Walk


Communication ii

Sock Drawer Poets

Diplomatic Dancing

Old Bill And Me

Debits And Credits

Organic Farming

Whiskey The Cat

Fettling The Garden


Those Washday Dreams

In Povertyís Hell

By Steam Train

Road Hog Blues


Yorkshire Red

This New New Year

Priory Woods 2022



Two Thousand And Twenty Two

Ginger Whinger



More Poetry >>

Rule Britannia

I am a member of the working class
In this enlightened land
Which has its disadvantages as I have
Come to understand.
I will earn less monies than those
Of any other classes;
I will age physically so much sooner
As life quickly passes;
I will of necessity eat food that is poor
But that bit more cheap;
There's much more chance that I will be
thrown on the scrap heap;
My children will have materially less
Because of my low role;
Effectively being sentenced as the next
Generation prole;
Their schools will be caring but very
Old or very run down;
Very much amongst the worst of those
There are still around;
In times of emergency or all out war
We will have the thrill
Of being selected by our betters to fight
And to learn to kill;
If I do some how grow old, struggle on to
Retirement age
I'll be expected then to live on even less than
At any other stage;
And as a special Christmas treat once a year
On my TV screen
Be allowed to watch the current version
Of king or queen;
It is expected I must and will humbly learn
Not to hate,
Be thankful for the few remaining remnants
Of The Welfare State;
In the fullness of passing years and time
Bye and bye
I will hopefully, eventually, dutifully,
Quietly die
Leaving very little
If any trace
Of my ever being of
The human race.

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Rule Britannia



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