From Polls to Election

Oh Jeremy, Oh Jeremy,
what have you done?
No wonder your oppo’s
are looking so glum.
From Keir to Aneurin,
from Harold to John.
They’re scratching their heads
as to where it went wrong.
But your tribe, we still love you –
the left’s favourite son.
So hoist up that red flag
and keep staggering on.

Oh Jeremy, Oh Jeremy,
what a to do!
All of your oppo’s,
they’ve returned right on cue.
The streets of old England,
they no longer run blue.
And if only those papers
weren’t gunning for you,
you’d be dusting off cobwebs
with your socialist broom.
And that coward in kittens,
she’d be seen off real soon!

June, 2017



The Saturday Saunterers

‘We’re the famous Saturday Saunterers,
hitting the open road.
Through the fog, across the bog,
into the hills we go!’

‘Hey! there’s a pub!
Ain’t that good luck!
Let’s go and sup some ale.
We’re the famous Saturday Saunterers,
so we aren’t going to pay!

2012, April

Missing You

Getting up at 4:0 a.m.
Looking down at where you’re led.
Having to tear myself away.
Wanting to stay with you instead.

Driving down that motorway,
Trying to get you out my head.
Thoughts of you won’t go away.
Want to be back with you in bed.

Looking across a crowded bar.
Glimpse and intimate meal for two.
Knowing something’s very wrong –
It should be me and you.

Driving back up that motorway.
There’s one thing I want to do –
see your face, and watch that smile
saying ‘I’ve been missing you.’

2003, October

Painted Face

Well, I want to get to know you
like I’ve never done before.
Want love and lust to dance together.
Embrace, entwine, then soar.

Want to talk some dirty talk,
then taste the air you breathe
And I want to see your painted face
Come smiling down on me.

2002, October

The Bonny Bridge

By the bonny bridge
where all is calm.
I sit and watch
the silent view.
I throw a stone
into the stream
and watch it sink
while I think of you.

For the bonny bridge
has bridged the gap,
the clan divide,
so cruel, untrue.
The bonny bridge.
The silent view.
The flowing stream.
Remind me of you.

1973, June

The Hunt

The courtyard’s filling up.
Coming from miles around.
The village squire’s hunt.
Riding with the hounds.

They plan to bag a fox.
Sport for a summer’s day.
Knocking back their tots.
And keen to get underway.

The scarlet gents all mount.
They’re geed up for their fun.
Calling to their hounds.
The hunt has just begun.

Charging through the vale.
The terriers sniff out a fox.
The riders join the trail.
Keen to bag their pot.

Cornered inside a copse.
The hounds are closing in.
A fox lets out a yelp.
The hunters’ turn to win.

1973, May

Mister Jones

Put your shoes on
Mister Jones.
It’s time to start
another day.
The sun has risen
over the town.
It’s time to walk
to work again.

Down the lane
to cobbler’s yard.
To earn again,
some humble pay.
Your day is long.
Your work is hard.
To feed your family
for another day.

The sun is setting
over the town.
It’s time to return
to your simple home.
Take your shoes off
Mister Jones.
Until tomorrow
at the break of dawn.

1973, May