This is our fed up with life, but always fighting back section. All poems are by our good friend Shazzy, unless specifically stated otherwise. The above witch image is ours, used as the badge on our social media. We think she’s great on the microphone and also looks pretty good on our range of mugs, bags etc.
Feel free to comment, and if you want to send us a bit of poetry, we may publish it here if we like it. If we do publish, we will send you one of our mugs as a thank you!
Before the Poems, A Celtic Blessing for all who read our pages. From us all you you:
May your God’s cradle you in the protective palm of their hand, May the sun shine in your face.
May the wind be a gentle breeze on your back.
May the road ahead be clear,
with gentle gradients, clear divisions and surmountable hurdles.
May the spirit of love we share keep us bonded.
And may the force be with you.
And with your friends.
And your fellows.
And, yes, even our foes;
So they may be drawn into the light and walk there with us.
All Poems from now on (unless otherwise stated) by Shazzy – our resident anarchist and poet!
First up: Straight Lines.
My friend Graham told me to walk in straight lines.
As who wishes to walk in an endless square?
So today I walked and praised the Roman times,
Past the yellow fields of mustard seeds and rue
But there’s deadly nightshade, Belladonna,
That I will put aside for you, and you, and you.
The raven sits on the scarecrows shaggy head,
Bird of ill omen, but friend to me and mine,
I carried him on a silver ring, long ago
A prophecy in school days of what was to come.
One step in front of another, one day at a time.
The road still stretches on, horizon far away,
I walk ever onward, simply because I can,
No fence or gate to hold us, the planet mine to stroll,
And the sun is yours as much as mine
No-one here to take control.
I loved you absolutely, and every day still have,
But life can spit upon us, and too often has.
Fly (This one comes from an obvious love of Macbeth)
Fly False Thanes,
and see how they run,
Just as soon as they see the battle is done,
A knife in the back
so it seems is wielded,
always from the one you considered a friend.
Abandoned.
In the darkness of the night,
like those I knew,
or far from sight,
puscillanimity hides my thoughts of vengeance.
I refuse to write about the sun,
I curse the world and what its become,
on calvary a light diminished,
I’ve just seen how fraudsters spin it.
This next poem comes from my love of rather unusual Victorian nursery rhymes. I like when things go weird! You may, or probably will not, know “Dr.Fell” – this poem connects to Dr.Fell Syndrome where you just know you dislike someone the moment you meet them, but can’t quite say why. I reversed it, and note that I know exactly why! All in fun, bears no resemblance to anyone alive or dead etc. I kept to the 8 syllable to a line rule on this one.
Dr. Fell
I do not like thee Dr. Fell.
And Why that is I cannot tell.
But this I know, and know so well.
I do not like thee Dr. Fell.
I do not like thee you Ell Cee.
And why that is I sure can tell.
I hate you and cannot forgive.
Your twisted lies and fantasy
You fucked me up as all can see
But as I really should forgive
So Church and Bible tell me
I find it in my heart to say
Rot in hell and you stay that way.
This one related to the lockdown when elderly parents could not see their children or grandchildren. My father never made it through, and I was not there when he passed away. It will forever stay with me.
Relentless Days
Relentless Days crawl in another month.
August, Remorseless, grinds toward the end.
A diary of a madman, dangerous
imprisoned behind a door of blue steel.
Lockdown. The stress, the anxiety, woe,
I miss my family, they are punished too,
What crime committed by my own dear son,
he can’t see his parent, what has he done?
lockdown in so many ways
destroys my mind, takes away my days.
Locked Down, But I have the Key.
Old Mother Hubbard
You Know her cupboard
Where the poor little doggy had none?
Well I’ve been locked up inside
door locked, mind fried,
deprived of my family and friends.
Yet inside my head
I’m always so free,
a wonderful world of mystery,
where carpets can fly
and those I love are with me.
So in old Hubbard’s cupboard
I don’t need the key
It’s only as dark
As my mind allows it to be.
F it.
F*** this system,
F*** it all,
F*** these professionals, I hate them all,
F*** those who’ve done me harm,
Psalm 70, it says this too,
F*** all racists,
and the politically correct,
F*** the begging adverts,
they give me grief.
But my reader, let’s end on a plus,
It’s not F*** you,
I’ll send you love.
Meeting a Frog one day.
Alone on the rope that hangs my head
Driven by fear and distorted truth
Where faith in the system lies in shreds
I fight the deluded fantasist and lies.
The frog on a path away from the stream
A fraudster unleashed and accepted
So far from the cool water dream
Only if you know me do you know what I mean.
Lies, I can never envisage a situation
Where I would ever attack you,
What you need is segregation,
I’ll take the frog back to the water.
Only if you know me do you know what I mean,
Only if you know me can you see the scream
Only if you know me do you see the pain
As I’m fists up and fighting
Again and again and again.
BEFORE WE GET TO ANOTHER POEM, OUR CO-EDITOR USED TO HAVE A PODCAST DOING STORIES, THIS WAS THE POETRY EPISODE FROM IT. IF YOU LIKE POETRY AND ENJOY A PODCAST THEN FOLLOW THE LINK!
https://uk-podcasts.co.uk/podcast/mark-craster-chambers-podcast/the-poetry-episode
Broken:
For those who like a bit of background to a poem, this one is about how shit can fall on you and yet you find the fight if you can find someone key who still believes in you. All you need is one!
I based in on a one word, then following line with a regular 10 syllable metre. Enough of that, on with the poem…
Broken,
And do you have the glue that can mend me?
Decimated,
There can be no fixative strong enough.
Pieces,
Like a heart left in tatters once too often.
Hope,
As I reach out my hand to your safety.
Relief,
As I grasp the one life belt in the sea.
This next one came from watching that great movie “Hokus Pokus” where the zombie has bits dropping off all the time. It is a strange connection, but it became this poem.
Voodoo Doll
The living voodoo doll,
with body parts rotting away,
bandage them to keep them there,
as bits drop off day-to-day
I’m not feeling all that sad,
karma speaks and baggage leaks.
Wrapped up hand, stuck on with glue,
zombie flesh, the living dead,
I used to kind of like that film,
Until that reality walked in my room.
ooh er!
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