IT ONLY TAKES ONE, MANIAC WITH A BOMB.

It only takes one,
maniac with a bomb;
to cause such grief
a love and life thief.

Mothers, Fathers, Grandparents too,
Aunties, Uncles, Brothers, Sisters...
Decent people like you,
 all suffer; Why? Give us a clue.

Children, innocently enjoying,  short life,
it only takes one maniac, with a bomb.
Someone's sister, someone's brother, husband or wife,
Just one, maniac, to take all that life.

Millions, and millions live a good life,
but it only takes one maniac with a bomb.
And then another with a knife,
taking innocent life.

Love stealers, hate mongers, it only takes one,
maniac, with bomb; or knife.
It takes all sorts, they say, some hate some love and love life.
It only takes one to take hundreds of lives,
so much grief with bomb or knife.

Why, why, why? You don't know? Nor do I.
Just one cause, causing many to die;
many broken hearts cry.
No never will understand, we try.

It only takes one maniac with a bomb,
Forever the love of your life, has gone.
ONE RACE, THE HUMAN RACE.
ONE RELIGION, LOVE, NOT HATE.

The Death of an old soldier.

July 1948 was the date,The NHS was born; to Tory scorn.
from the cradle to the grave, something for the brave,
who'd fought in World War Two;
for me and you.

Walter was young and bold, now he's old and cold.
The heating bills are high, He counts his meagre pension with a sigh.
He feels ill, did he take that pill?
He needs a break, his arms ache.

His chest begins to hurt, he grasps at his shirt,
grasping for breath, sweating - near death.
Voices, 'Granddad!' 'Hold in there old lad.'
Sirens and lights. Walter's old, but he fights.

Recovering, good, eating his food.
Low budget cleaning, private firm.
Somehow Walter picked up a germ.
MRSA the scourge of the day.

Low budget Nursing home; some don't have to pay;
unless like Walter, they worked every day,
saved up hard all their life, to look after children,
along with the wife.

Kids sold his house to pay for his care,
whilst scroungers didn't have to pay any fare.
Walter died of MRSA and neglect.
A weakened old man deprived, without care; bereft of respect.

In the end Walter suffered, confused, alone, and in fear,
He was loved by family but, the Government don't care?
Low budgets, neglect for privatisation;
A terrible abuse of those who saved our Nation.  

The Great Nature show.

Leave your TV, Game Boy PC, Wii, come with me,
away from all modern triviality.
Without plastic beams and plastic brass;
in disco clubs with writhing mass.
 Where birdsong is top of the charts
and creatures have the starring parts.
Hedgerow, stream, meadow and tree,
make up the stage scenery.

The curtain rises on part one  SPRING.
Music arrives on feathered wing.
Robin Hedge-sparrow, thrush, dipper, wren,
are trilling in hedgerow, wood and glen.
Skylarks liquid melody flows from high;
crystal clear tune from clear blue sky.

yellow hammer flutters among the trees,
singing, 'little bit of bred and no - cheese.
Squirrels and dormice in acrobatic acts,
with death defying leaps, they land intact.

In athletic games hares run and jump.
Toe to toe,  they grunt, hiss and thump.
The dipper curtsies and bobs enthusiastically.
What a great show; and its all for free.

The scenery changes with a more splendid hue.
More performers fly in.  SUMMER is due.

Now we have part two of the great nature show.
The stage radiates in a magnificent glow.
In cobalt flash, Kingfisher dives'
producing a fish; before your very eyes.

Dragonflies in limpid blue,
are on the aerobatic agenda too.
Moths and butterflies flutter gaily by;
sublime with splendour that makes the audience sigh.

Rabbit and hare run at a rapid pace;
performing in the great nature race.
But the faster hare reaches sixty miles an hour,
with long muscular legs as springs of power.

The stage struck pheasant struts in regal attire;
the cock of the north; plus any southern shire.
Watch Otter slide down the slippery bank.
An aquatic show of graceful, spiral, supple flank.

The morning mist lifts to reveal the next scene,
silvery laced webs bordering a golden sheen.
Its AUTUMN, part three, the trees wear a new suit,
the hedgerows and briar's offer free fruit.  

The dawn chorus strikes up' all the community sing,
Starling, robin, finch, sparrow, red-wing;
also the thrush, wren field-fare and tit.
Every species does more than its bit.

Jackdaw does his funny mime,
then mischievously turns to his thieving crime.
Raven does his funny walk,
Mallard laughs, 'Quark, ack, ack, ack.' He should talk.

Overhead there's an amazing sight,
Geese and Swans in arrowhead flight.
At dusk the choir gather again;
closing part three with a beautiful refrain.

Virgin snow covers the stage.
Part four WINTER. Frost bites, the winds in a rage.
Mistle-thrush provides the music now;
determined to out whistle the wind somehow.

Stoat dresses up this time of year;
the party gatecrasher in ermine fur.
Adults only for this part of the show;
signs of struggle, blood stained snow.

Through the still night air glides the ghostly Barn Owl.
Did he commit this deed so fowl.
It may have been Foxy; he's so sly.
He was seen skulking around nearby.

Was it Weasel? If you would like to know,
get out and about for the Great Nature Show.

War. (A Ryme)

Death at their hand,
fight! Religion and land.
ideals of hate, murder and mayhem,
us and them.
Get in first,
do your worst.
We are right,
 they are wrong.
Make history, glorified in a song.
The Glory of your God,
Use an iron rod.
No talk, murder is the way,
Misery is your pay.

The NHS is in a mess.

The NHS is in a mess,
Who's to blame? Guess!
Is it me? I'm an oldie,
Once known as a Goldie Oldie,
Respect is what they got,
Not us lot.

Living too long,
that's what's wrong.
Taking up beds?
What fat heads!
If we live long,
 that can't be wrong.

We done our bit,
we're fit!
We're not ill,
bit over the hill.
Not in Hospital,


 Out in the Cold,
Because were old.
From the cradle to the grave,
been through a war;
brave!

Paid our dues,
Now we have Tory blues.
Rich men,
in shadow of Big Ben.

Look after their own,
put us in a home.
Pay for our keep,
whilst relatives weep.
Massive bill,
nothing left in the will.

No hospital bed,
No care!
That's what I dread.
Terminally ill?
Pay your care bill.

Hospitals for young,
we're bottom of rung.
Care on the cheap,
Cash for Toffs keep.

A country for hero's?

Tyrants come Tyrants Go,Where? We all Know... History!

Tyrants come, tyrants go,
they blow, erupting words of fire,
Volcano!
Spouting; Red hot rhetoric,
Hatred; are they sick?

Weapons firing in the air,
Where bullets of hate land? they don't care.
Spreading hate in tyrannical rage,
banging fists upon their stage.

Hating, Ranting Tyrant, roaring Bull,
Giving us a good earful.
The flag of hate is flying high,
woe betide those who don't comply.

War is declared, many die,
many maimed, many cry.
The Tyrants ranting days soon done,
killed in anger, by bomb or gun.

Changing Times.

 There'd been a war

we were poor.

Hand me down

we didn't frown.

Not new; but clean.

No money, not mean.

Flat caps for lads,

one of dads.

Girls in mums skirt,

Boys in dads shirt.

Violins? Its sad?

No not that bad.

No pleasure?

No pressure!

Make do and mend,

No up to date trend.

A stitch in time,

saved Mam nine.

No pressure,

all pleasure!

Grew our own food,

it tasted good.

No credit,

No debit.

We didn't complain,

No cars, just a bus, sometimes a train.

Grew up, its Rock,

parents in shock.

Rock and Roll,

Blues and all that jazz.

Punk and other razzmatazz.

Young no more,

Grim Reaper rapping on the door.

Today we have Rap,

I'm in a generation gap.

Left behind without a map.