A poet such as I

 

A Poet such as I

You’d think a poet such as I would be able to describe today’s shit show, 

Ok, I’ll try.

Ya’all voted Brexit because you wanted to take back our Borders.

Well you succeeded in that, we’ve gone back to Postal Orders.

Petrol, Turkeys and Toys not on the Menu for Christmas.

HGV Drivers lured by visas and luncheon vouchers.

You really did believe what was written on the side of that bus.

You don’t like us slagging Eton and calling you Scum

Well what would you like?

Shall I call you Chum(p)?

You’re certainly threatening to turn this years festivities into a Dog’s Dinner.

I think I’d rather become a Buddhist and run the car on paint thinner.

You voted for a Clown because you were scared of free broadband.

You’d seen Corbyn in a Russian hat on Newsnight and had a fright.

You believed all that propaganda from Murdoch’s gutter press

And now there is no Brexit Ball, you’re sat there in your dress.

Conservatism is code for selfish and John Redwood eating shellfish

As you can tell Poetry is my forte

And I’m telling it like it is

Because the United Kingdom is going down

Without CO2, without the fizz.

Frame Frane

 

So, what’s happening in the Cardiff underworld Ken?”

“My life is in danger. I have been the ‘Caws Mawr’ in Welsh Television for a long time but other people are challenging for my crown and due to my advancing age and lack of height, I fear that I might be disposed of and might end up as just another body in the old East Dock.”

Terry Heston exhales deeply and exclaims aloud the old and often used Cardiff epithet

 "For fuck’s sake”

Frane and Heston did not see Youdes and Burrows as they walked past the stained-glass windows of the Packet but Youdes and Burrows most definitely saw them and got up without a nod or a frown and slid out the front door and followed them. 

“Best we keep a civil tongue in our heads Terry. We don’t want to end up as extras on Pobol y Cwm”

“I have made enemies gentlemen. On every film set and period piece that I have acted on I have had an altercation with somebody. Sometimes it has got physical and violent”

Terry Heston is on the mobile to one of Cardiff City’s soul crew of the 1980s. Big Malachi Moreno, Irish Maltese from Splott. Got his own gym and still working on the physique. The scourge of the terraces from the eighties and early nineties was getting paid. When muscle turns to fat you need your creature comforts to delude you into thinking that you have still got it.

“Where does he live in Cardiff?”

“I can’t give you that information”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know”

“Bullshit, Malachi what do you reckon?”

 

Britishness

What is it to you me old cock sparrow?

Grandad selling fruit and veg off his old Bow barrow?

It is Jacob Rees-Mogg eating a chocolate log

Stanley Johnson resting his feet on some slaves

Jeremy Kyle & Loose Women

The scummy sun and the daily heil

Britishness is a lethal cocktail of class and national resentment

The Scots hate the English who in turn hate the Welsh

Everybody hates the Welsh and who can blame them.

Beth ydy Prydeindod i ti cont?

"Joining the Army sir straight from school

It was your recruiting video, it was very cool."

Didn’t think I’d end up homeless with PTSD

but hey life’s a gamble, a betting shop next to fast food.

Britishness is break neck speed

Hurtling towards the grave, none but the brave.

It’s Dunkirk and Churchill and taking it on the chin

It’s the Miners’ Strike and Thatcher putting them in the bin.    

It’s being confused about your sex and your class

It’s about pawning the family silver to get some brass

I’ll tell you what it’s about, it came to me in epiphany

Britishness is about not being a cunt to your enemy

It is about loving your neighbour and being kind to kids

It’s about rebelling like a Punk and dancing to the Skids

You’ve got to have a sense of humour to be British

a natural disrespect for authority and government

You can be stoic and an oik

but never let anybody bypass your funny bone.

Carchar Cymru

Dwi newydd wario wythnos yng Nghaerdydd. Dwi'n Cymro gydag ail gartref chi'n gweld sydd yn dipyn o gampwaith i rywun sydd wedi bod allan o waith am un mlynedd ar bumptheg. Mi adawais fy nghartref yn Grangetown tua 2016 i ddod i Geredigion i fod yn gymorth i fy rhieni annwyl oedrannus. Fraint ond hefyd yn her. Her iddynt hwy ddygymod a dyn canol oed oedd ddim wedi gwneud dim gyda'i bywyd er y cyfleoedd euraidd a gafodd. Felli mi roedd rhaid iddynt roi'r gorau iddi gyda rhywun rhwystredig, blin oedd yn rhoi'r argraff i'r byd allanol roedd o'n dipyn o ferthyr oedd yn aberthu.

Yn fy stafell wely yng Nghaerdydd mi wrandawais ar sioe radio 'phone in' ar LBC gyda gwrandawyr yn ffonio mewn gyda storiâu personol dir dynol o ofalu am anwyliaid yn ddi dal a hyn yn sgil penderfyniad llywodraeth Lloegr i godi yswiriant gwladol i dalu am ofal oes ar ôl ymddeol. Yn dreifio dol i Aberystwyth, gwrando ar Any Questions a Peter Hitchens yn ddi flewyn ar dafod yn deud bydd dim o'r arian a godwyd yn gweld golau dydd yn y maes gofal cymdeithasol. Mi fydd o gyd yn mynd i mewn i bwll ddi waelod y gwasanaeth iechyd.

Mae Rishi Sunak a Sajid Javid a'r 'Pen Bandit' Johnson yn amlwg yn gwybod beth maent yn ei gwneud (eironi) ond dyma'r broblem pan mae treth yn cael ei gymryd 'at source'. Mae'r person sydd wedi colli'r pres yma ddim yn gwybod yn iawn ble mae pres nhw yn mynd. Addewidion gan fancwyr Goldman Sachs ag sach o datws (Johnson) fydd ei phres yn mynd at ofalu am yr henoed. Ni wnaethon y Torïaid job dda iawn o edrych ar ol yr henoed yn ystod y pan demig felli pam ddylwn ni cymryd ei gair rŵan.

Drist diddorol oedd gweld ymateb yr 'usual suspects' i'r awgrym o dreth cyfoeth. Yr un ymateb pan ddaeth Corbyn yn agos at furiau castell y sefydliad sef "Fetch the Boiling Oil"

Beth sydd i stopio'r arian yma cael ei ddargyfeirio i ryfela? Pam allet hwy ddim diogelu (ring fence) y pres yma?

Dwi'n sylweddoli fy mod i'n sgrifennu'r darn yma fel dyn sydd ddim yn talu treth oherwydd fy mod i ddim yn ennill dim a dim yw dim. Dwi'n amheus o ddechrau 'ennill bywoliaeth' eto oherwydd y maint a fydd yn cael ei dwyn mewn treth oddi aranai. Ble mae'r ysgogiad mewn difri i weithio'n galed ag rhoi’r mae'n i'r wal pan mae bws mawr y wladwriaeth am daro chi lawr gyda chelwydd arall ar ei ochor?

Mae o'n faith hysbys nid yw'r ddynoliaeth yn gallu bwyta brics ond dyna'r rheswm wnaeth adran gwaith a phensiynau rhoi i mi dros atal fy nghais am gredyd cynhwysol. Mi roeddwn wedi talu 'fy stamp' rhwng oedrannau 21-39 cyn i'r byd a'r betws cael y gorau o fy iechyd meddwl ond eto yn ol y llywodraeth mae rhaid i chi werthu eich eiddo a byw ar beth bynnag gewch chi cyn mynd atynt hwy eto gydag eich bowlen cardota a gofyn am bres y trethdalwyr eto i'w cynnal chi.

Scam ydy'r system dreth fel rydym ni yn ein hadnabod ond oherwydd mae o yn cael ei rhedeg gan dynion a menywod mewn siwtiau mae rhaid cymryd ei gair am bob dim ond pam rydym ni yn esbonio ein sefyllfa iddynt amheuaeth ddrwgdybus gawn ni yn ei ol.  

Dwi wedi sgrifennu at Lywodraeth Cymru yn cynnig fy nhŷ yng Nghaerdydd i ffoaduriaid o Afghanistan oherwydd mi roeddwn yn teimlo fel carcharwr gan fod yn ol yna, felli dyma fi unwaith eto yn rhoi'r argraff i'r byd allanol fy mod yn ferthyr sydd yn aberthu.  

Two flies on a radiator

 

Two flies on a radiator 

Bill & Ben

Tom & Jerry

Mutt & Jeff

Ben & Jerry

I’m not in the business of sexing flies

So they could be female

I was brought up in the super soar away seventies & enlightened eighties

and went to a single sex school (not girls)

 I do have a sexist mindset, no matter how much I protest.

It just leaks out.

There are no excuses.

 I am not an Alpha male, a hunter gatherer,

I think my sexism comes from being an inadequate male.

If men just admitted to feeling not up to the idealised

 instead of projecting on to women,

 that might cut down on the mansplaining

which is just us explaining to you our inadequacies in code.

I wonder if the two flies are aware that I have used their appearance to write a

kind of poem about sexism and inadequate men. (Me)

Perhaps they are re-incarnated English Teachers who if they knew,

would go to great lengths to explain that this was not a poem.

“Just Words Boy”

I get my gold plated fly swat from ‘the cwtch dan star’ 

and stand facing them ‘full scwar.’

If I kill them will it stop me being sexist?

The Mostyn Strangler

 

My name is Ken Frane, I am known as the last of the Cardiff Docks’ Detectives. Terry Heston and I were the last police officers to leave the old Butetown police station before it was demolished. The Cardiff Bay police now inhabit the spot with a lighthouse outside as an art installation. You might be of an age to remember the Lynne Black case of the late 1980s where there was a huge miscarriage of justice, well myself and Detective Heston fell the wrong side of the internal investigation so after doing various jobs unrelated to policing just for a rest and change more than anything we decided to set up a Private Detective Agency together on our old patch. It is an office above a Massage Parlour just off James Street, Butetown.

Frane spreads an OS map of the area out beside his plate. A splat of brown sauce alighting upon the town of Hollywell where he was now sitting. Just as he is focusing on the different towns and villages his mobile phone goes off.“For fuck’s sake, there is no peace to be had” “Ken, it’s Terry” “Yes Terry?” Frane swallows a sigh “There are some right double headers in Cardiff mate, some right double headers” “What’s happened mate?” “One minute you think they are on your side, the next, they’ve done the dirty on you” “I’m having me breakfast Terry; can I ring you back after I’ve finished?” “Relapsed Ken didn’t I, ended up going into a bookies”

Frane inhaled the estuary air as he was back beside the Dee. The local police were not being very forthcoming, in fact,since the Snake of Splott affair, word had gone out from Cardiff for forces not to engage him or entertain him in anyway whatsoever. He had been black balled by the Bizzies. He was getting information from local reporters and journalists who had been told by Craig Standish to give the old man any and all help and assistance he required. 

“Well, I was returning from the Dining Room and I looked up the corridor towards the kitchen and there was a figure standing there looking at me, a shapeless figure, I couldn’t tell whether it was a woman or a man. I could smell the River Dee. There was a smell of the foreshore and then the eyes on the figure turned red and I fell to my knees and screamed. In all my years here, Reginald in all our years I have never, ever seen anything like it.”

Clown Country

Remnants of an Army, depicting the British 1842 retreat, presents an imagery commonly associated with the sobrique

Graveyard of Empires

By Elizabeth_Thompson" "British artist (1846-1933)"

 Scanned copy of the painting in the Tate Gallery, Public Domain, Link

 

I've been having a bit of fun on my twitter account with the concept of 'Clown Country'. Clown Country is the United Kingdom. Great Britain. The Union is a great big circus bell-end tent and intermittently our Prime Minister who most of us didn't vote for enters the Bull Ring in his clown car with enormous shoes and revolving bow tie, sartorially dressed in a patchwork jacket with trousers that keep falling down.

I've known that this man is a clown for a long time. Before he was Foreign Secretary.

Maybe that's why he left Dominic Raab in position, so it deflects from what a ridiculous job he did in post. The States got rid of the Ring Master in Donald Trump and now his old Etonian Lapdog poodle has to go straw boater in hand and ask Oirish Joe Biden for an extension to the 31st August Deadline to get out of Afghanistan. Uncle Joe told him where to go.  

Are the Taliban going to keep the promises they made in the graveyard of empires? Did Boris Johnson & his Brexit Army keep the promises they made on the side of the bus? Can you believe anything that a politician tells you? They only tell you what you want to hear.  

The people who have been let down are the families of the servicemen and women who have died in Afghanistan and the Afghan people who were pawns in this game. 

There is a lot of self hate out there in clown country. The clowns in their cars complaining about Extinction Rebellion, waiting for their McDonalds milkshakes that never come.    

The final scene from Disney's Dumbo personifies the burning building that is the United Kingdom. The Monarchy & the British Upper Class will always be fine.

If a clown says that they are on your side, don't believe them.