The doctor knows best
And he cannot be bothered
To sit here and listen to you

The nurses are waiting
His workload’s frustrating
And frankly it simply won’t do

So smile and nod nicely
When told that the pain
That you feel is all there in your head

The GP was wrong
There’s no cause for concern
Just go home and relax there instead

And try not to worry
The girl on reception
When passing by, clutching the wall

There isn’t a thing she can do
To help you. She won’t catch you
If you start to fall

Yes, your notes have gone missing
All part of the system
We run here to keep you in check

For the old NHS
Is a roaring success
It’s the patients that drive it to Heck

Please do get up and go
Without causing a show
For the next fool that trundles in, read:

No apologies needed
With bleeding unheeded
We’ll send you the bill when you’re dead

Wardrobe Malfunction

The wire curls and coils its way
Around the gentle swell
While modest lace coverings creak,
Groaning before the channel bursts

Yawning wide, she opens herself
To release chaotic forces;
Relinquishes control over
Her quivering passenger

Goosebumps mar the skins surface
When warm flesh meets cold steel
Cheeks redden in embarrassment
A blush that casts a glow

So eyes suppress their twinkle
To allow commerce of other kinds
The cashier looks down then up
Surprised to find the curve outlined

And unperturbed, I fish in cleavage
Poking back to dormancy
The frisky underpinnings of
Our civilised society

Cannon and Fugue

Bang! A gentle tap that led
To crumpled zones and painful head
That spring-filled day of summer’s heat
Her car kissed mine on busy street

And gingerly we clambered out
To see what damage had been dealt
With sinking hearts and pressed for time
Surveyed the victim and the crime

Two cyclists, blithe and loose-limbed types
In matching outfits on their bikes
Went gliding past the wreckage wrought
When seats, appealing, her eye’d caught

The lady, all apologies
Excused her conduct, batting eyes
All hopeful, proffering insurance
Seeking grateful reassurance

From each newly injured friend
That but time would all things mend
And litigation not be sought
By parties damaged without thought

Escaping swiftly, each with proof
Of damage done and photo’s truth
We flew to put you on your plane
And she, to hide her face in shame

‘Tis fortunate, as point’s arising
(Though the law find me surprising
For my view is one that’s not
By greed inclined to claim the lot)

That little injury was done
To vehicle, luggage, brain or brawn
As fault was not in truth with us
They fixed my car without a fuss


Why is it acceptable
To offer unpaid work
Expect someone to carry out
The duties others shirk

Without the basic dignity
Of taking home a wage
To compensate them for the time
They’ve bottled up their rage

To cover bills and buy their food
And clothing, pay the rent
Do people somehow think
That volunteering’s time well spent

When everything around us
Has associated fees
(We buy natural resources, water,
Light, heat, air and trees)

Save workers from stupidity
And keep us free from debt
You can’t afford to go without
The things we do, and yet

You’d rather keep the cash
Than spend it on a junior role
So tell us why your profit costs
Another man his soul?

The Monochromatic Spectrum

Harbouring extremist views
May be a risky business
One is at a disadvantage
When campaigning for a change

If the world may side with Marxists
That religious propaganda
Is no necessary antidote
For all forms of decay

As a surgeon seeks advice
Before confirming diagnosis;
Finds the nature of disease
Before the scalpel hits the tray

If we view such shift as needful
One must first perhaps acknowledge
What the consequence of treatment
May effect before we pray

The Monochromatic Spectrum

Like a rudderless ship
On course for a starry-eyed
Midnight encounter
With a bit of rough

Thus, drifting closer to our end
Inch nearer with each swell
We wave our hellos and shrug,
Add smiles to the face of disaster

Waiting for the wreck and the
Reckoning, ravaged by neglect
Of a careless captain, so
Careful to pander to each whim

Rolling with the tides
Uncertain of his course
But still steering, blind
On his broken compass

Meeting some razor-edged
Rock ‘n’ roll artist
For a one-night stand
Until we too, are fucked

Internal Stereophonics

They tell me Joan of Arc heard voices,
Saw them as Divine
I wonder what that maid would think
If she heard some of mine

Instead of holy war, they preach
Of mischief; games of chance
When all is quiet and sedate
They call to me to dance

And bop along to songs it seems
That only I can hear
With lyrics flowing past my tongue
And pouring in my ear

The more I try to censor them
The louder they will sing
Until I struggle to accomplish
Much of anything

But let me keep my playlist –
As it helps me through the day
Encouraging each vibrant thought
While plodding through the fray

Technology’s no Idol
I don’t run on batteries
As smiling, I may mosh to keep from
Smiting enemies