‘The Community Worker’

Abrupt, and cutting straight to the point,

For messing about with implied/idle threats, is not his particular style

Understand the man’s flaws: but judge him not, and he will not let you down

A flawed man in every-which-way but one: though the world has uses for both saint and sinner alike

‘Hurt her again, and I’ll cut your neck open and drink your blood’, is one of his direct quotes

You would be a complete fool, if you’d mistaken it for just words.

A hero to rescue a damsel in distress kept imprisoned in a castle (well, a semi-detached in Wales)

He’s no Prince,

Though she *is* arguably High-born,

He is more Shrek than prince charming, but she is rather comely (if a little too talkative given the chance!)

Alas, it did not end as a fairytale would and continues to meander on,

Shrek returned to his wife,

And, the Princess, to her comparatively pampered life,

Where she occasionally reflects on:

The unexpected Prince who battled through a wilderness of beasts & overcame a tower of sorts, to rescue her.

With each telling, the tale did grow and took on a life of its own,

Those few who were privileged to hear it, could not keep it to themselves,

And the tale of this unexpected princely rescue, by this Prince by deed, if not by birth, appearance or station, spread far & wide!

Eventually, all came to regard this Shrek as a Prince in truth & discreetly sought out his services for their own ills,

Over time, he has acquired a reputation for discretion (if a little rough and dishevelled round the edges) –

With an unpredictable propensity toward extreme violence, at times!

His charges are voluntary-

Though, he does not accrue many – if any – bad debts,

He is now not known by his own name, nor as ‘Shrek’ or ‘Prince’, but-

Simply, as ‘The Community Worker’

Though, in his line of community work, he’ll never win any praise,

For whatever praise he receives-

There will be others (so aggrieved by his actions), cursing him & openly calling for his blood!

There is now a heavy bounty on his head, that has introduced an additional layer of secrecy to his work,


If you have a problem,

And neither law-enforcement, nor the
authorities or (even) the mythical A-Team, can help!

You are welcome to seek out the much-in-demand services of The Community Worker in confidence,

Be forewarned, however:

He takes his own time, to investigate, to deduce  & consider your offer,

His discretion & decision in this, is, absolute!

And, in the end, justice, is, assured-

For all, save the guilty

Therefore, do *not* seek to waste his time,

Or, entrap him, with the reward in mind,

Because: this world does not suffer fools, in the end,

And, neither, does, He!

We be Rioting!

We be rioting

Cause nothing be changing

Police be wholesale abusin’

Left unchecked to get on with it

They say, the IPC be investigating

IPC: bunch of toffs paid to think up excuses

No more council housin’

Media be naming and shaming,

Public be melting down call-in ‘phone lines!

Asking po-lice to blaze out water cannons ‘n’ shoot brothers ‘n’ sisters who be lootin’, on sight

And they be calling us ‘the mob'(!)

Motha fucka – this is our version of striking!

Civil disobedience!

At government cut-backs & societal neglect!

‘Don’t mess about, son’, a copper says ‘no one will give you a job’

Isn’t that the point, though?

You gave us teachers who couldn’t teach,

So, we turned en-mas to idolatry-

To those we thought gave a damn; searched for meaning in lyrics, and taught ourselves (and each other) as best we could!

While filling our heads with unrealistic aspirations & dreams!

Suggesting an idyllic life was there for all to reach ‘n’ achieve:

When the odds of actually doing it (like the lottery) are 14 million to one!

They said we could be proud, now you’re saying:

That ain’t so, ’cause you ain’t got nothing to be proud about!

Yes, we are the disenfranchised, lost generation,

An over saturation of people chasing a buck-

Meaking out a penny or living, just hand-to-mouth,

We was born after your erstwhile Empire,

Previous generations frigging wipedout the economy, by draining all the bling in the treasury!

Now, we be in the trough, cause you been having your fill ‘n’ then sum!

Did we loot chicken shops? No- ’cause that’s all we can afford to eat (four chicken wings for a pa-nd)

So- we be sleepwalking into multiple heart attacks in our middle ages!

Will there be a free NHS, when we’ll be needing it though?

Or, will we just be falling dead on the pavement, yo?

The streets of inner cities will be crowded with corpses brov,

With folks just falling dead like flies in a sudden cold spell,

In any case, there ain’t no point working:

If you make it to a decent bracket of income, they’ll tax 40% of what you make,

State pensionable age will be 80 odd by the time we’re up,

Darn it kids, they’ll have to wire it straight to the hospital or the fucking funeral home!

May be they’ll pile up all the destitute dead, dying or aged in all them dilapidated derelict tower blocks,

Then napalm the fuck out of it to celebrate the Monarch’s second jubilee!

It’ll be another whitewash!

One rule for the rich, well-positioned (with better jobs and a range of options to choose) and another (the breadcrumbs, with no choice) for the rest of us,

The bare minimum,

For us to fight, kill & die over!

For your sheer entertainment value-

To their wild manic applause, like the gladiatorial pit of the Colosseum at the height of Rome!

A crime most foul, with the complicity of the better off & the affluent!

Hasn’t it, though, been forever thus?

Tears of Winter

These winds cause bitter fright,

This unseasonal-season of cold spells leaving one with goosebumps, when one should be bathed instead in sunlight!

Record rainfall & more overcast days ahead in store,

Hailstorms in May, who would have thought?

Am I over-reacting or scaremongering when it’s actually just ‘one of those things’?

But, isn’t that what the majority of the characters said in that film, 2012?!

Right- right- that was ‘just a film’, and the Mayans apparently may have got it wrong,

Though- I remain baffled & beg the question:- why am I freezing my bits off in mid-to-late spring!

I hear the birds-

Yes- the flowers have begun to bloom-

And, yes – the mornings are brighter and the sun doesn’t set until about 9 or 10!

And- the gardeners among us are keenly waiting to get out and plough their respective lawns (if only the incessant rains would stall),

But, I ask you:

What happened to the days basking in the sun, 

Where everyone wore shades,

And the girls wore less and less,

It was oh so much fun!

So: rain rain go away! 

Give a chance at least to all them bikini clad women to re-populate our spring days!

Shroud of (Invisible) Silk

This shroud is actually a quilt of many weaves

Each weave is a compliment or criticism, turned into embroidery!

Each competing for your attention – 

In a dance of shifting, rippling, coalescing, translucent shades of mist, 

Kept together with a weave made of your sheer spirit & propelled by the strength of your conviction: 

A pattern – growing one way or other, as your popularity peaks by word-of-mouth or otherwise (along with your developing reputation),

Striking an equilibrium between these competing forces is however nigh on impossible,

And it is a folly to expect this delicate balance to be maintained for all time- 

(It’s an inconsistent weave in earnest to be appreciated in retrospect rather than in the present),

For all the stars in the sky, save for optical illusions, shine the brightest before they begin to decline, 

Therefore, do not seek out fame for, if you are true, it (& it’s counterpart) will eventually find you,

On that day & time, do not forget that it did not come to you overnight & stay true to the aforesaid, whatever else you do or have in mind,

My words are simple, the concepts less so, 

Hopefully, this sonnet, does not leave you overly troubled, for that it is not its intention-

But, just, simply, to enlighten you!

Addicted to the End

I have known you all my life (mother’s milk given a slight kick & a spike!)

Though we were not properly acquainted till I was well into my teens: 

Our skirting/casual acquaintance has admittedly turned addiction over time-

You kept me company through my ills, never disappointing- 

Each time, delivering what the bottle described

My kith, my kin have long since abandoned me: wanting nothing more to do with me

Now my friend, they say our friendship is killing me: each sip, turning my blood into vinegar & wine- what bittersweet irony!

They say I was once a bright glistening star: And, casually remark – 

(When they believe my wits and hearing have abandoned me) – 

‘How the mighty do fall’

Alas, I may smell like a stale pitcher of some backwater brewery, with slurred speech, in beggar’s garb…but, my hearing yet remains pin-drop sharp-

I have become a cautionary tale; maybe that is my misspent life’s begotten  aim! 

I have fathered two beautiful children & was convinced of my fidelity to their beloved mother, until my indiscretions caught-up with me-

Though I still love her, she is no longer my wife;

Having, understandably, turned bitter, antagonistic & hurtful – to the extent that she can no longer stand the sight of me (taking along my daughter to her side)-

As I lay dying on that hospital bed (near comatose, each breath a tortuous labour), I did somehow see:

My wife, looking at me with hostility & detachment from the foot of the bed (whatever happened to all the good things we did?);

My young son, in another corner, shedding tears of loss- 

For the miserable soul who had fathered him & tried to over-compensate for all the woes he had witnessed, with gifts-

When all he had needed was love!

I finally understood & regretted:

But, was the thought actually mine or a fever dream brought on by lack of drink?

A last thought, if not a final goodbye, to a ‘friend’ who was not truly a ‘friend’, but your greatest enemy in disguise!