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.
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.
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!
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.
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.” 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.
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!
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.
Andrew Green's Poems 