Alone is his pyjamas
After the sycophants
Are all in their beds
The dictator, silent
Examines his image
By moonlight
Wrinkles and lines
Cratered temples
And soft-joweled planes
Surrounded by wealth
In the marbled rooms
Of a haunted palace
He did not inherit
But strives to display
To best advantage
For diplomatic reasons
Dreaming of leaner,
Keener days
Before he became
A political prisoner
Trapped and tamed
By the violent success
Of his own actions
Diplomacy
Calais
Sangatte to Jungles
Our government mumbles
Responses to nations’
Incoming migrations
Now paperwork hoarders
Are challenged by boarders
In Eurostar tunnels
And motorway funnels
They’re stoning the crowd
Burning tyres, leaping loud
Until lorries are loaded
All holds are allowed
This stowaway stream
Set on chasing a dream
Shows no signs of slowing
Or stopping, but growing
Their numbers increasing
To challenge policing
We’re caught at the port
Over which we have fought
Now our tourists are static
Behind much stacked traffic
They’re losing their reason
In holiday season
As cars packed with kids
See their fun on the skids
With the clock ticking down
Mum and dad due in town
Though we hoped to ignore
Swimmers washing ashore
Counting costs in big bribes
And the loss of small lives
In a bid for asylum
We’d like to deny them
Perhaps we may find
What they’re leaving behind
My Big, Red Button
I could never be a world leader.
The world is full of wonders,
Filled up with far too many things
That make a big, red, shiny button
Too great a temptation.
For my own fuse, slow though it may be,
Once lit, I speed to anger faster than a bullet
Or a trans-Siberian express train
Trying to outrun an avalanche.
When fuelled by the flash of offense
In a truly selfish moment
Injustice swells to tear at my senses
Like halitosis in a lift.
I watch the last straw floating
A feather in the wind, waiting to settle,
Wanting to tip the scales.
I inhale, slowly, deliberately. Taste the poison.
At this point I am calm enough to kill.
Dispassionate, serenity masks the inferno within,
Stoking my fury to incandescence
As I clutch at sanity, taut as a bowstring.
All at once the straw lands, the scales tip
My fingers itch for a weapon large enough
To slay my nearest demon, wreak bloody
Vengeance to destroy the world that wronged me.
So despite my fondness for launch codes
And shiny discs marked ‘do not press’
For this reason I consider myself ill-suited
To the narrow corridors of power.
Also, I dislike crowds, helicopters and
Tedious, formal banquets with too many forks
Having no great need to pretend a liking
For dogs, pretzels, or other peoples infants.
Pyromania
Never burn bridges
You may need to cross
Your feet will get wet
As you learn who is boss
Never burn bridges
You’ve had to defend
From both enemy torch
And the blows of a friend
Never burn bridges
Just count down from ten
And step away slow;
Close the matchbox again
Never burn bridges
Face facts: I’m afraid
The river’s polluted
You’re too short to wade
Never burn bridges
You know that it’s wrong
As pedants with pitchforks
May visit ‘ere long
Never burn bridges
You can’t part the waves
Like an Israelite tour guide –
You’ll have to behave
Never burn bridges
That lead you back home
The ash in your pack
Weighs you down as you roam
Never burn bridges
That overhang rock
You can swallow your pride
Or prepare for a shock
Never burn bridges
A rule, I agree
Unless you can build them
From scratch in the sea
The odd one out
Thirtysomething, sane and settled
With a house, a partner, cat
Suddenly in hostile ground
‘Mid twentysomethings’ silly spat
No compassion, new companion
Spent a decade, getting fat
Understanding sorely lacking
Image all, or on the mat
Children playing games and cracking
Jealous, unprepared for that
Which comes to those who seek a reason
To offend a stranger, flat
And yet may age bring more than wisdom
Social skills, a bit of tact
To end a quarrel, out of season
Takes a woman, not a brat
Katherine Shirley 