Come Blow Your Horn

Little boy blue,

Come blow your horn,

Tell us how wonderfully

Everything’s gone.

There’s sheep in the meadow,

There’s cows in the corn.

Our death toll’s the highest

The problem’s not gone.

There’s chlorine in chickens

There’s hormones in beef

But where is the boy

Who looks after the sheep?

Where is the man

Who will make Britain ‘Great’

He’s under a haystack

fast asleep.



Little Jack Horner stared in a mirror

admiring his puffy white skin.

He stuck up his thumb

and was proud as they come

that the white pallid likeness

was him.

Now the thing about skin

is it’s a very good thing

for keeping our insides tucked in

but the colour and hue

is not down to you.

You pretty much get

what you’re given.

It’s pretty good stuff

for feeling and touch

and helps keep our bodies

real cool.

It does all that stuff

quite well enough

but what it is not

is really that hot

for deciding

who gets the best job.

A good enough reason

it’s certainly not

for someone to kneel

on your neck

so unable to breath

you’ll soon be stone dead

and all cos

your skin colour’s black.

Your skin’s really not

a license to kill

or even assume you’re

the boss.

So get used to seeing

whatever their colour

that others are really like us.

The years of oppression

enslaved, a possession

are really not

how it should be.

It has to change soon

which could take

some doing

but let’s start with you

and with me.

Sad among the cinders

Little Polly Flinders

Sat among the cinders

Toasting her pretty little toes

Anger at injustice

Prejudice and hatred

That’s the way a bonfire grows.

Little Polly Flanders

Sat among the cinders

Watched the burning embers glow

Who has stoked the hatred?

Who should be berated?

How does such a big fire grow?

Polly’s mother caught her

Scolded her daughter

For spoiling her pretty little clothes

Liberty affronted

Human rights confronted

That’s the way our freedom goes.

Little Polly Flinders

Sad among the cinders

Watches conflagration grow

Cries in consternation

So sad for her nation

Tearful as the bonfires grow.

Locked Down at Home (Like a Rolling Stone)

Once upon a time life was just fine

You thought it would last, but good times passed, they’re through.

Viral infection coming for all, feverish, coughing that’s how we fall.

Guess you thought they were kidding you?

And you’d laugh about

How they said it would all turn out

Now you don’t scoff so loud

You’re avoiding the crowd

Emptied the streets, it’s all so unreal.

How does it feel, how does it feel?

To be on your own

You and your nearest, stuck in at home.

Normality gone, kids out of school, locked down lonely

But you know you’ll have to get used to it

What if they caught you out on the street?

And now you’re gonna have to get used to it

You say you never realised

You’d only get out for exercise

All the people down on their knees

Staring into the vacuum…

(From an original by Bob Dylan)


Once God sent a lightning bolt

An angel or a plague or two.

That’s fair enough cos then you’d know

That God had got fed up with you.


Now it’s an idiot in a truck

Or with a knife to carve you up.

I wish to God that they would stop;

These beasts with nothing much up top.


God’s rules are for the good of man

You shouldn’t mess with His great plan.

But is it part of God’s great plan

to leave his work to such a man?


It’s through the ‘work’ of such as these

We shame to say that we believe.

If you must work for God above

Then set your self to work for love!


Why do they think Almighty God

needs them to shed an innocent’s blood?

If God should choose to intervene;

it’ll be on them he vents his spleen!

The right kind of bombs


We hate chemical warfare

Dropping the wrong kind of bombs.

We’re taking retaliatory action

Because chemical bombing is wrong.


Our smart bombs will all hit their target

Make sure no civilians are hurt

But if we hit any women or children

At least they’re the right kind of bombs?


We still sell conventional weapons

We don’t care who they’re sold too

We hope they won’t kill any children

Though the ‘right kind’ of bombs sometimes do.



They’re dropping gas

So now they’re dropping gas on kids.

How do we put up with this?

Turn your back just look away?

Can’t think of such a thing today?

People dead from Sarin gas

Civilians helpless; air attacks

Suffocating, can not breath,

Convulsion and paralysis

How can we put up with this?

Beyond belief it’s such a mess

Dropping bombs on women, kids.

So much for the Arab Spring

Hopes of better things back then.

Must we deal with this today?

It’s got so bad what can we say?

Who’s fighting who, what for and why?

Why must all these children die?

Russian or a Syrian bomb?

Terrorist arsenal ? We don’t know.

Who dropped the bomb, what for or why?

All we know is children die.

The powers pile in, it’s such a mess

Why must children die like this?

We scarcely know who’s on what side.

Why must all those children die?

Who builds the bombs? What do they cost?

The cost we see is human lives.

What’s it about? How will it end?

It has to end that’s all I know!

How can we put up with this?

They’re dropping gas on women, kids.

This is for Allah

“This is for Allah.” Slash your throat.
We mow you down, we thrust, we gloat,
Condemn your brazen western ways,
Condemn your carefree summer days.

We bomb, we maim, we kill small girls
For so God’s purpose is unfurled.
We’ve no time for a God of peace
We’ll wipe you out like some disease.

Our minds are closed, we’re full of hate
We wound and kill for God is great.
We show no pity; slash and slay.
Compassion, mercy what are they?

Don’t speak to us of peace and love
We’ve clear instructions from above
Seems God who did our world create,
Now wants it filled with mindless hate.


Samantha’s Poem – I knew that you were different.

A poem by my niece and god daughter Samantha Mayhew.

I knew that you were different, from 18 months old
But don’t worry about tomorrow, or so I kept being told.
He’s just being lazy, he’s just a typical boy,
But Mummy knew best, I wasn’t going to sit by.

I can only count my blessings, for the life I had been dealt
For your diagnosis of autism, I knew a little bit about.
The Medics, did not scare me, sometimes I had to remind them of their job
At times if felt so hard, I was taking on a lot.

A letter of diagnosis was written in June 2017, I remember thinking YES!
This is EXACTLY what we need.
For thinking the fight was over, I admit I was a fool
By the time we got the paper work I knew you needed help in school.

Through a blessed work journey I experienced the perfect setting,
It had my full approval, but I needed your EHCP in.
We did not receive letter of diagnosis until February 2018
If we had it timely, how different could this process have been?!

I was a Mum on a mission, I had to get things done
‘I will not let him fail, my beautiful, perfect son.’
The paperwork abundance, flying over the desk
‘I WONT let my boy fail!’ resounds in my head.

Meetings, meeting, meetings, doctors’ appointments and all
Just to give evidence that you needed help – and could attend the perfect school
But why?When I knew you were different from so young, did we have to wait so long?!
They said ‘Don’t worry about tomorrow, face the day, let’s carry on!’

So that is what I decided to do, trust the professionals and relax.
Now I’m stumped, for precious time, that we’re never getting back.
But we must not look back in anger, time is never on our side.
But my boy please know this, by God I’ve tried and tried.

I will always keep strong, for you, and what I believe is right.
I will try to be a warrior and not lay down without a fight.
‘With knowledge comes power’ Will always stick by me
My mission is to be an ambassador for people with ASD
So: I keep on learning, each and every day
Let’s make a stand together and show the world the way!


Pistol Packin’ Teachers

I posted this first on Wattpad where it provoked an interesting discussion.

Pistol Packin’ Teachers

I’m a pistol packin’ teacher
It’s best you don’t forget!
Mess around in my class
You know just what you’ll get!

There is no corporal punishment
That wouldn’t make no sense.
Just be sure you don’t commit
A capital offence!

Will be no use complain’n
If you’re reported ‘late’
We teach em Christian values
And fightin’ hate with hate.