Totally unexpected

Totally unexpected

Not what we’d foreseen

If we’d known that this might happen

Events quite so extreme

We’d have taken due precautions

And it never would have been.

It’s dreadful what has happened

And can not be explained

There are no due precautions

For unexpected things.




They called him parsimonious,

Miserly and mean

But didn’t know the life he’d led

The lean times that he’d seen.


The hard times made him careful

And canny with his cash

He’d rather money in the bank

Than spending that was rash.


You couldn’t call him generous

He’d rather keep his cash

But was he such a bad man

Or just shaped by his past?








Insidious, undermining

Sapping your morale.

You may not see it coming

But it lurks there all the while.

Insidious, unspoken

The elephant in the room

There’s no way to confront it

But it scrapes away at you.

You may not see the problem

Or where it’s coming from

But it attacks the very fabric

The core of who you are.

If only it would surface

Be named for what it is.

Insidious, undermining

That’s the way it is.

via Insidious

No doubt of his rectitude

No doubt of his rectitude

An honest, upright man.

He’d always do what he thought right

Refrain from doing wrong.

No doubt that he was righteous

A stickler for the rules

But compassion for us weaker folk?

Some thought he was cruel.

He’d never ever waver

Or give a guy a break

Some times being perfect

Is hard for folk to take.

via Rectitude

Guess that was its genesis

Guess that was its genesis

The place where the whole thing began.

You took a bite of the apple

Then things kind of got out of hand.


Back then we only had good times

We’d do pretty much as we chose

But you wanted a slice of the apple

And that was the start of our woes.


Up to then it had all been so perfect

Those good times are hard to forget

But the glorious vision of Eden

Is obscured now by tears of regret.


I dream of a day we’ll get back there

And things will be perfect again

Meanwhile there’s just toil and hardship

And all of our troubles remain.












via Genesis

Must you be so strident?

Must you be so strident

So forceful with your views?

Any chance you’ll hesitate?

Why so short a fuse?!!


Someone pressed your button

I find you have a few!

You’re not short of opinions

React so to the news.


Can’t you reign it in a bit

Think before you speak?

Sounding off the way you do

Will only bring you grief.


It doesn’t get your point across

Passion’s not enough

They’re not hearing what you say

Your tone has put them off.






Sometimes bravado is foolish

It’s just not the right way to go

But casting aside all discretion

Is sometimes the only way through.


If there’s nothing much in the locker

And more to be gained than you’ll lose

Striding out with a swagger

Can be quite the best path to choose.


Act with sufficient conviction

Look like you mean what you say

It might just be foolish bravado

But perhaps you’ll still carry the day.








via Bravado

Hip Op

If you liked Cucumber Rhumba you might enjoy this.

Andrew Green's Poems

CEEDF698-B284-4218-A6D5-A7BC534B13C8Listen up youth to what I’m sayin’
Cos I’m long in the tooth and I ain’t playin’.
Got a gammy knee been pensioned off
I ain’t Hip Hop more like hip op.
A burden on the NHS
Wastin’ my time with guff like this.

Get me a stair lift, zimmer frame
Too old n’ stiff for party time
Kind of past it – know what I mean?’
‘Get Down with tha youth’ just ain’t my scene.
Hate Hip Hop – am more into tunes
Dodgey dad dancing – playin’ the goon.

Kind of tiresome getting old
Past your bed time, feeling cold.
Shuffle off grandad, had your day
No one’s listnin’ to what you say.
Can’t quite cut it any more
Legs are tired and feet are sore.

Listen up youth it’s comin’ to you
Ain’t gonna tell you what to do.
Just make the most of what you got

View original post 66 more words

A Merry Dance

First published June 2016 – the football got better, nothing much else has.

We cocked up the Brexit vote, 

we cocked up at football

All we want’s another beer 

and tuppence in the bureau.


Their face is painted red and white, 

Their shirts are made of nylon,

They drape themselves in England flags, 

sing like their a moron.


It’s no go the muddied oafs

England beat by Iceland.

Tears run down the English face

We slink back to our Island.


David Cameron he messed up, 

He hid behind the sofa

Boris Johnson made a face; 

he hit him with the poker.

Feel a pain between your ribs

Maybe you’re in Labour?

Mister Corbyn all alone

Beggared by his neighbour.


Cock a snook at clever folk

Don’t believe in experts

We’d rather read the Daily Mail

And sneer at cocky Herberts.

No time for city types

No time for cockneys

Cheered up the northern folk

To kick them in the Hockneys.


It’s three cheers from Scottish throats

It’s three cheers for Sturgeon!

England is a basket case

So send out for a surgeon.

Grandad is a bogey man

Gave away our future.

Patch it up with sticky tape

Or mend it with a suture.


It’s goodbye the Polski sklep.

Goodbye to summer.

The country’s going round the bend

But where’s the Polish plumber?

It’s no go the NHS

The promises mistaken.

All the nurses on a boat

And all the money’s taken.


It’s no go my dear true love, 

it’s no go my  poppet,

Work your hands from day to day, 

the winds will blow the profit.

The glass is falling hour by hour, 

the glass will fall forever,

But if you break the bloody glass 

you won’t hold up the weather.


Last verse and inspiration for this piece, Louis MacNeice, Bagpipe Music, 1938.

Hurrah for Little England

From an original version published on the eve of the Brexit vote.


Hurrah for Little England

She cast herself adrift

Say goodbye to Brussels

We’ll head into the mist.


Don’t know where we’re going

The captain’s overboard

But we won’t be ruled by foreigners

Or people from abroad.


We’ll resurrect our Empire

They’ll surely want us back

So it’s goodbye to the future

We’re turning back the clock.


No need for foreign factories

No need for all those jobs

For life will just be perfect

With all the foreigners gone.


We’ll reclaim all our colonies

Take America back;

Canada and New Zealand

They’ll surely all want that?


Goodbye foreign subsidy

That’s not what we need

Londoners will pay for us

Let’s let London bleed.


Goodbye banks and bankers

We don’t need city jobs

Life will just be perfect

When Britain’s on its tod.


It really should be easy

Why the awful fuss?

Those beastly Europeans

Make it hard for us.


It’s really not your business

We won’t obey your rules.

Why do you think as customers

You have the right to choose?