* Sir David Attenborough’s call for population control.
Consumed in your darkest dreams.
And with scrambled egg you’re dead.
You see, “Full English” was never very “PC”.
* On news that the traditional English breakfast poses a serious health risk
A Rose is a Rose is a Rose?
The pearly dew drops you see dripping down my petals
– Are all my tears
I’m the rose who was born to be a lily
My lily-ness is clear for all to see
True, I’m a short snubbed shrub
Lacking elegant foliage or tendrils
There are thorns all about my neck
But I just feel like a lily
Down to the sap that courses through my green veins
I was born in the wrong floral body
“A rose is a rose is a rose?”
What do the poets know?
Surely, I have a right to be a lily
So, horticulturalists, please graft me.
I give all my petals to you
Transform me into a lily, do.
What does nature know?
A rose is a rose is a lily.
That’s an elemental truth.
“My guardian angel was sleeping that night”
We went to see a dreadful band
Classic or jazz are my thing
That you must understand.
My girlfriend’s birthday treat
So I had to relent
Even though I was not at all content
But now you see me in such parlous state
Thus is fate, and “God is great?”
A mangled wreck prostrate on the floor,
Face half shot off, with several more
Corpses strewn, all arms outstretched
As if swimming in our own thick gushing blood.
A curious tribute to the Great All-mighty.
The last name I heard spoken was God’s
Taken in vain as they inflicted their pain.
With such delight they relished hate
Now I’ll never hear laughter again
Life will never be the same again
If the world won’t mend its ways.
My girlfriend survived to rock again
Concealed beneath the agony piled high
She’s learned fast to groan discreetly.
I guess my guardian angel was sleeping that night.
They never even told us why we had to die
We’re reluctant sacrifices to a cause that’s all lies.
Even a savage God would avert his eyes.
*Inspired by a survivor of the Paris concert massacre who thanked her “guardian angel” for not being killed.