NEW CITY RADIO

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Playing you the best of 60s, 70s, 80s, right through to the now!

 

Playing you the local hopefuls! Who are legion!

Distracting you from reality in the course of your day!

 

Non-stop, non-stop, non-stop, non-stop,

Non-stop, non-stop, non-stop, non-stop!

 

Offering slants on global situations / injustice!

 

Self-absorbed,

the great, lyric ‘I’

goes on and on,

impervious to the outside world,

unimpressed by other people and their travails.

 

The New City Radio

proclaims the abolition of pain

by our new civic leaders,

swept into power

by a mandate of the majority

of 28% of the voters.

 

The other 72% were working,

drinking,

sleeping,

watching television,

driving,

away on business,

on holiday,

disinterested,

or incapacitated.

Against The Pricks

 I used to kick against pricks,

But then l logicked the pricks

Out of existence and now,

I have no reason to kick.

I have no habits to kick

I have no demons to shift

I have no burden to lift,

I have no reason to kick.

 

I’d write a letter to you,

I don’t have time for that now.

I’m far too busy today,

I don’t have time for that now.

 

I’m in a hurry to state

an unequivocal case,

It’s just that money is time

and time is money.

 

It’s in how I see myself.

Am I here to please others,

Or to act for myself?

 

It’s like a battle of wills.

If you have an agenda,

You have the initiative

On unsuspecting opponents

Who don’t know how to play.

 

Fall over themselves to help,

Because it’s nice to be wanted.

It’s a dangerous game to play,

Cos folks are explosive,

 

They blow up in your face

And you lose all that you’d gained

And if you’re badmouthed, you’re dead,

So just accept it.

 

You have to give if you take

Or you end up on your own,

It’s a simple equation

that becomes so complex.

 

A person looks pretty simple,

 from the outside at least.

If you get yourself sucked in,

you may not ever get out

 

And you can drink all you like 

And you can drink all you like

And you can postpone your life,

It will still be happening

 

And you can miss all your chances, 

You don’t have to succeed,

Which is why most people don’t,

It’s pretty simple.

 

RED WINE

It looks like blood,

but it’s red wine,

that slash across the wall.

A faded scarlet sash.

 

I piss

and shake my head

to chase away the nightmares.

What happened in the night

 

to send me hurtling,

hurting,

in the throes of visions,

vivid

 

emblazoned

unconscious?

It is so different,

there is no control.

 

Involved in a private show

and unable to leave.

There is a switch-off,

but I cannot throw it.

 

At some point,

I am beached,

ejected by the raging miasma,

 

left gasping for air

and fresh water.

Confidence

If I only dared say what I think.

 

Why the aversion?

Why litter the path towards me with diversions?

 

A man should be assertive,

impose his will upon the situation,

state his case clearly,

 

firmly and with the charm engendered

by the keyword to the world,

confidence.

 

But what if I’m not sure?

But I was sure.

 

What if I am wrong?

Then I will find out.

 

What if it isn’t true?

Then I’ll get over it.

What if it is true?

Some day, it will not be true.

Protest Song

If there is to be another war,

I will oppose it.

 

It will not matter,

because I am not at the controls,

 

not a shot-caller.

No leader of men,

 

I am one of the herd.

I will march around uselessly,

 

shouting half-heartedly.

Ringed by policemen,

 

I will walk from one place to another place.

My dictated movements

 

will be monitored,

filmed.

 

I will move on,

volitional or otherwise.

 

I will end up in the Gardens,

where I will be part of a gradual dispersal.

 

Drink will seep in

and dope.

 

Angry young women

will shout through megaphones,

 

their messages lost to the wind.

What good does it do to take part?

 

To blithely say,

in future months,

 

‘I marched against it’.

So what?

THE DAY IS ENDING

In love with order

but earthly order is never enough.

 

Spirits moving

behind the curtain.

 

The sun is setting,

the day is ending.

Alone with truths

I have to combat,

 

with pain that is nothing,

with words that mean nothing.

 

The sun is setting,

the day is ending.

Christmas!

CHRISTMAS

Tis the season for consumption!

Sit on yr fat arse and eat too much,

 

then shit it out!

Yay, no work for ten days,

 

Give thanks, give praise

For a respite from the shite.

 

I can’t wait for the break.

Bachelor Pad

BACHELOR PAD

£50 a week.

 

Intermittently,

Heat.

Water,

WC,

 

Fridge / freezer,

Bed,

Door,

False wall.

 

Disorderly,

Furnished cheaply,

Fish expiring

in a dilapidated corner.

 

Stereotypical art garret,

Clothes strewn,

Empty bottles,

Fags.

 

Draw the curtains

and block out the night.

Under artificial light,

rage against nothing

in a calming zone,

an ocean of freedom,

 

of clutter and contentment,

of overruled resentment

suppressed in support

of the greater good.

Communal living

is never easy,

 

but these are the days

I will always remember.

The trivialities,

the little things,

I will forget

and gloss over.

Honesty

I knew that she wouldn’t stay.

Where would someone like her belong?

 

Not with the bantamweights

and cheap entertainers,

 

The drab holder-on-ers,

smoke-infested muddlers.

 

I can only guess where you’re heading next.

You will be loved wherever you go.

 

You will not have to suffer much.

You will have to decide who is really of use to you

 

and who you will have to leave behind

as you step into a golden future,

 

Gliding down catwalks and clean city streets.

Up in every elevator.

 

You will see money and success.

I cannot go with you.

The Red Pool

The Red Pool

 

Emitting from the earth,

but faintly,

Nature pushes forth green shoots,

slender ideas,

until poison smothers them.

 

Incessantly,

nature tries to find a way,

but it is dosed and dosed

with yet more lead.

 

Fumes pumped,

gases sprayed,

development

delayed.

 

I was raised in the hothouse

under strong lights,

in fertile soil,

then sold to a middle man

and transported to town.

 

I was hawked around,

but no-one took the bait.

I ceased to be a priority to my owner,

who sensed profit in others

and so could hardly be blamed

for forgetting about me.

 

Money’s all there is,

it makes the world go round.

Money must be got,

or you can’t survive.

 

No matter what you will to do,

if it can’t pay, then you

will inevitably slip away from it

to take up more profitable concerns.

 

It can’t be helped.

The paucity of our mental condition,

the corpses on the television.

 

I saw a man shot in the head,

I didn’t know how to react.

It didn’t feel real.

 

It looked real.

Still bones, hair

and the red pool.