I like this one, has to be read with attitude, it's a response to being told by politicians that the economy is fine now.

What now? Britain doesn't float!                              
********************************
What now? What shall we do?
People somewhere must still don a tux'
We just walk, run or wheel and maybe feel blue   
Some still get that job, win the ruck
Be worth talking to, make one laugh
Run the show, know how it still all works?
Haven't they? I mean someone looks fun & free in a photograph
Don't they? Britain doesn't float...   
Did someone say it does float?
They'd have towed it somewhere hot and dry if it did
Or it would've been clamped

Robbed or Pinched, Nicked, Half inched
Does it all still work?
It still makes money for them
He tapped his nose bridge, winked, He's knowing
Of course, the one's in tuxedos
Their bank accounts are growing
What shall we do? We do care
They've made a fine trade in making torpedos
Banking too and dealing shares
The arts are big in this sceptered isle
They say there's a work in evererybody but it may take a while

***
FIN 

Gun USA
?$?%?$?
It's not the Wild West
But they still want guns
So get a good vest
Even the mentally ill
An unstable man shot his Mum
School child victims were the thing
At the end he felt the guilt
Ate a bullet and escaped punishment
Did any of this mans life matter
Until all that blood was spilt
Twenty children shot dead
What was the point
I can't get that out of my head

The Power Of Flight (UFO)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<
I wish I had the power of flight
I could get everywhere early, not late
The beak and feathers would not look right
But the timeliness suits me just great
I would fly around and round all day long
The birds would worry if they saw me up there
Airliners would panic about something wrong
I'd wear a superman costume to stop the scare
There would be frantic reports of this UFO
Passengers would think they were seeing things
Air traffic control could only shrug 'we don't know'
I have just got to work out how one can fly without wings
And how to get down I haven't yet passed go
I'm too high and I can't even sing

(Revised 2 lines added)

Writing competition

Hi all,

This is a competition site as mentioned that some of you may be interested in;
https://www.st-christophers.co.uk/live-your-life/write-for-a-night

Hope this link works!

Denise

TENERIFE CHRISTMAS 2012

It was Christmas.  Martin sat on a rock and stared blankly at the sea.  He didn't notice the beauty of the scene, the warmth of the weather, the gentle breeze.  Seeing nothing and feeling nothing he sat insulated by gloom and inertia from the world around him. 

He was jerked into attentiveness by a shriek and a splash.  A little girl had fallen off the rocks into the sea.  Her mother, holding a baby, was screaming hysterically at him.

Martin had become passive since his wife died.  He was an old man.  Nobody asked for his advice or help any more - yet here was this woman screaming and looking at him as if he could do something.  What could he do?  He saw the blonde curls bobbing in the water - little hands being cut on the rocks.  he forced himself to think.  There was no lifebelt around.  No boats.  No lifeguard . . . only him.  He used to be a good swimmer her remembered - won a lifesavers badge sixty years ago.

Christmas Poem

We three kings of Orient are

We ditched the donkeys and hired a car

To find the wondrous Christmas baby

We listened to the voice of the Sat Nav lady

Needless to say we got very lost

Bearing gifts at incredible cost

So how do we find this Bethlehem

Hello, we’re supposed to be the three WISE men!

We had no choice but to follow the star

But refreshment beckoned, so we looked for a bar

We ended up in friendly Formby village

Me leading, still proceeding with our pilgrimage

But the Gold was burning a hole in our trousers

So we ended up drinking for hours and hours

Should have gone westwards, but Woodwards was nearer

We thought a few scoops would help us think clearer

The Myrrh wasn’t pleasant with its bitter perfume

So the girls all left when we entered a room

The Frankincense aroma nearly sent us to sleep

We fell in Formby Pool, lucky it wasn’t deep

We ditched the car and found a Bay Horse

Do we head for Sorrento, no the Left Bank of course

Needed something to eat, so we went for our tea

Not sure who to ask, Quo Vadis or Don Luigi?

Soon our gift of Gold was all spent

We missed Christmas completely, didn’t arrive until Lent

But the meaning of this story is still very clear

Christmas only comes but once a year

And there is a moral to this tale

It’s not just about presents, food or ale

Don’t forget Christmas should be all about giving

Think of loved ones lost and appreciate those living

Spend time with neighbours, friends and family

Celebrate the Nativity; what it means to you and me

Now will someone please point us in the right direction

We need to go home for our own protection!

Ould Vince and the painting of the Cafe

Ould Vince and the painting of the Café

I remember, back in the late 1800’s, when my ould pal Vince, some people called him Billy, Willem was his second name, and I used to club around together. Ould Vince was a bit dotty quite a character, full of strange ideas always liked to take the mick out of associates. Born in the Netherlands he worked for some time in Paris, always had a way with the pencil, and got a job with an art dealer in London. I was staying at lodgings in London and boy did we have some nights out. Quite a lad was old Vince with his beard and cute accent he was a wow with the girls. I was doing a line with the landlady’s daughter Eugenie Loyer. One summer we went on a trip to some of Vince’s old haunts in France. I was with Eugenie. Vince had teamed off with a French girl, I forget her name. Anyway touring around France in 1888 Vince started painting some pretty weird pictures, one of a bowl of sunflowers, another of his chair. We met a guy called Gauguin and Vince insisted on painting an armchair Gauguin had sat on. What a waste of time I thought. Never make any money on them. Landscapes like that English guy Constable did were the pictures making the money.

One place Eugeine loved was the ‘Café terrace at the Place du Forum’ in Aries. We sat out on the star lit evenings in the warm summer air. They were great times.

 Shortly after returning to the cold and smoke filled air of London, Vince, out of the blue mind you,  presented Eugeine with a painting of the café and professed his love for her. He couldn’t live without her.  I was aghast, my good friend Vince going behind my back. We parted with some strong words. Eugenie and I got married. Ould Vince went and got religion.

We have a couple of Vince’s paintings in the cellar the sunflowers one and that stupid one of his chair. Wonder if they would be worth anything?

David R McCabe  10/10/12