Got my Aldi pants, got my smart telly Got my bad boy Bose, got my Noam Chomsky Had my porridge oats and my caffeine fix Got my walking boots, found my golfing sticks Got my new hair, got my new hair cream Got the mighty Spurs, they're my football team Got my training club, it's a pensioner gym Had the Labour Party but I've chucked them in Bought my Wainwright's ale and my Castro tee I'm stocked up on eggs and vitamin D Got my achy back from my achy bed Filling my shelves with all the books I've read Been writing letters about Julian A to my MP But she doesn't seem bothered from what I can see Got my exercise bike, got my Ferrero Rocher Diggin' my country music more each day I'm locked down tight 'cept for my shopping raids Can't quite work out if I should be afraid Got a snowman in the garden, I see a blue tit in the tree I'm waiting for the summer, I'm waiting to be free Copyright: FishyLyrics 2021
Mohamed, Zakaria, Ahed and Ismail
Four boys on a beach playing football in the sand Much the same as any others in any other land The fun and the laughter, the cheers and the shouts The goals and celebrations were joyous no doubt Four sons of fishermen sharing delight Unaware of the gun turret fixing its sight Their youth no protection from the evil of the imminent crime Their purity mattered not in the executioner's mind And as the metal casing trembled soon coloured became the sand With the blood of the boys playing football on the grave Gaza strand From innocents to martyrs within two mortar shells Please remember Mohamed, Zakaria, Ahed and Ismail Copyright: FishyLyrics 2021
My Little Girl
(This poem comprised part of my ‘Father of the Bride’ speech at the wedding of my daughter, Mollie)
1990 one February morn, in to the world a child was born Our first child, a special child as every child to every parent is Dark hair, tiny wrinkled face, tiny hands and feet Tiny eyes that could barely open, a tiny mouth that could not yet speak Six pounds two ounces of perfection, six pounds two ounces of beauty And with trembling hands I lifted her up and held her high Felt the tear run from my eye Who knew 'til then what paternal love could be Month by month I watched her grow And now a toddler off we'd go to clubs and playgroups 'round our way Toybox and Tumbletots and there she'd play While I stood by not far away in case her growing confidence should take to flight And Dad was needed to pick her up and hold her tight Until her fears would slip away And wo betide the playgroup worker who might seek to offer her a helping hand "Daddy do it, Daddy do it" she would firmly say Age five and off to school! Such a tiny tot it didn't seem quite fair And to find a uniform to fit was frankly a bit of a nightmare But luckily Mum's sewing skills were up to it And so she took her place amongst her peers in her Fernwood red and grey With a matching bobble in her hair From infants on to juniors and so the years would pass Come each and every September still the smallest in the class But they don't measure talent in feet and inches Nor spirit in kilograms or stones And your size will never stop you when your heart is so much bigger than your bones High days and holidays in Devon, Cornwall, Greece and France and Spain And a little brother to love and boss about Tell him off, then help him out Parties at Macdonalds and Hoods Hideout, sleepovers by the score Swimming, Football, Athletic clubs - no chance of getting bored! And with every race and every game came the fears and tears that competition brought to the child afraid to lose But come the starter's gun that will to win programmed within Would see that all that could be given was given Whichever would be the sport Theatre groups too were joined and performance in some plays While Mum and Dad did their bit as the unpaid Uber drivers of the day! The teens were a little tough, cross words and some heartache The bond was stretched and stretched again but yet it would not break And anyway, who could doubt that from a rebel's seed the rebel child might grow And what can a mother and father do but wait, Wait patiently in knowledge that the rose determined only to show its thorns in teenage angst would flower and bloom when father time allowed the chance Mollie was born with the work gene, no doubt inherited from her Mum And at fifteen years and four days of age she earned her very first Saturday wage At a dry cleaner just around the corner followed by a florists a little further down the lane Where flowers were cut and floors were swept and scrubbed And a life lesson taught - a little pain for a little gain Now on to Bilborough College followed by Nottingham Trent University With a spell of selling burgers in between And slowly the destructive energy that the teenage years had borne Was now channelled to create and learn And the fight that was always held within would now burn bright And start to show itself in its true form Each challenge now met and conquered, each test now overcome Each term, each year was a student's life filled with toil and fun So after three years of hard study and a little hard drinking too There awaited a 1st class honours degree And a career path chosen readily A teacher's life it was to be! A life that asks a lot but gives back equally in return Mollie puts in her heart and soul each day so that others now may learn As always no half measures, it's not in her DNA One hundred percent or not at all, she knows no other way So from babe to child to teenage girl to woman fully grown How fast the years have passed, how the time has flown The infant once so reliant on her parents' care and guidance Now fully independent with strong principles And firm convictions of her own With values to be respected and beliefs she's not afraid to shout out loud And an empathy with those for whom the cards have fallen less favourably, Those who suffer life's inequalities It all makes her Dad so proud So here today she sits before you now as the beautiful bride Our daughter Mollie And it is with a father's love and a father's pride I have given her away To the man she will now grow old with, to the man she will love And be loved in return To her chosen one, her husband, her love, her Tom Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020
For Barbara
Dementia didn't come knocking at the door It came like a stranger in the night Silently and out of sight And month by month and each year on It stole all that it could get its sickly fingers on Bit by bit it robbed for free Another slice of history But even this thief with intentions so malign Cannot steal the precious memories you left behind For those memories are preserved in other minds Of daughters, grandchildren, family and friends And they can be recalled by all of us Who held you dear and loved you Each and every year Recalled at will with fondness and with smiles All the happy times before your trials So rest in peace with easy mind Take our love and all thoughts kind And hold them with you come what may Until, if and when, we shall meet another day Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020
Love
Once love had wings that soared on high And flew breathless on the wind It had fire that could melt the winter ice That love's disenchantments oft care to bring It would roll and rise like the unchained waves Never daring to slow or sleep Only resting on the shoreline When its journey was complete Now love's edges are soft and round Its arrows glow pink not burning red It needs not wings, nor fire, nor ice Yet grows still with words unsaid It needs to race time no more But walks nature's path so true And wakes each and every morning In a bed that is shared by two Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020
Do You Really Know Us
Do you really see us Is it hard to hold our gaze When you glimpse us in the churchyards, The alleys and doorways Do you ever see us queueing As we struggle to provide Do you recognise the anger At the stealing of our pride Do you see us as we watch the silent meter When winter comes to call Can you see the vapour as we breathe From deep within our walls Do you really hear us Do you hear our voices strain Do you listen when we call out to you To help us ease our pain Do you hear the echoes from our empty cupboards Do the cries of hunger travel all that far Can you hear the clinking of the solitary silver coin As it drops from the cookie jar Do you hear our pleas for mercy From your imposed austere war Does the sound of our oft repeated eulogies Carry to your door Do you really know us Do you walk our streets and lanes Would you remember what we smell like Once our cross has been marked against your name Do you really know us Our hourly battle to survive For it seems we are forgotten, Ignored and cast aside Do you really know us Or is it time to pay more heed When you cut the cake please think of us We have only simple wants and needs Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020
Bring Him Home (For Julian)
The multi award winning journalist Julian Assange is currently being held in a British prison pending the outcome of an extradition request from the USA Governments, discover your spines Set him free! Parliamentarians, find your voices Set him free! Writers, unshackle your chains Set him free! Judiciary, honour your profession Set him free! Empire, search for your soul Set him free! People, wield your power Bring him home! Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020
The Truth Teller (For Julian)
(The journalist and publisher Julian Assange is currently being held in a British jail pending the outcome of an extradition request from the USA) The truth teller lies alone in his cell, all rights and freedoms to him forbidden For the crime of revealing that which would be concealed, unearthing that which would be hidden As vicious smears and wicked lies are formed to sully and defame To assassinate his character, to brutally scar his name Whilst with bitterness, with malice, with injured criminal pride An ugly empire coerces, bribes and bullies, casts morality aside And pays those pipers willing to play its sinful tune Orchestrates the dance for dollars from the devil's own ballroom Break the man, kill his message and may the truth go rot in hell The memorandum sent by bloodstained hands so that others dare not tell A chilling message sent to silence, a threat which plainly says That the just side of the law may not protect you if the empire gets its way If exposure of a crime can in itself as a crime be seen And if the perpetrator of that misdeed can as well the very prosecutor be If the innocent may wane in jail and the criminal may guard the jailer's key Then what mad fools have we become to accept such fantasy For those whose pens seem dry of ink, for those whose voices fail For those perched on the illusory fence of compromise, beware the rusty nail Truth is truth and all variants are but letters littered in a phoney text Throw Julian to the wolves and they're coming for you next Copyright: FishyLyrics 2019
Oh Palestine, dear Palestine
Oh Palestine, dear Palestine How my heart aches for thee So cruel a world we live in That permits such tyranny Your homeland signed away to another To provide a sanctuary Who could have known the persecuted Would so soon the persecutor be Oh Palestine, dear Palestine How my heart bleeds for thee Walls and wire now strangle the air Where the lungs of freedom used to breathe Your people incarcerated in human corrals Trapped like goldfish in a bowl A temporal jailhouse for their bodies An eternal prison for their souls Oh Palestine, dear Palestine How my heart burns for thee It burns with anger deep and red It burns with indignity But above all it burns with a peerless pride At a spirit that won't be quelled At a people that shall not be broken At a will of iron held At a life of resistance all consuming As the toll of martyrs yearly climbs At your honour and your virtue Your enduring faith in heartless times Oh Palestine, dear Palestine One day you will once again be free And a land stolen will be returned From the river to the sea Copyright: Fishylyrics - 2019
Tell Harry That I Love Him
(This poem was written on behalf of my daughter Mollie to the lifelong British socialist, political activist and NHS campaigner Harry Leslie Smith after he was taken in to hospital with a life threatening condition. Harry died shortly afterwards aged 95)
Tell Harry that I love him Please tell him that I care Tell him that I'm worried If not a little scared Tell him of my admiration Of how I respect his honesty How I treasure what he's told me About his life, his history Tell him that I've watched his Labour conference speech Until I know it off by heart That I carry it within me Though we are generations apart Thank him for his words that painted pictures So that I could be informed About a life almost unimagined Before I was ever born Tell him I'll hold him in my memory As long as it may last But mostly, please tell him that I love him Whatever may come to pass Copyright: Fishylyrics 2019
If I had my time again
If I had my time again, I often wonder what I'd be Not that I'm complaining, life's been pretty good to me I've earned enough to pay the bills and buy the kids some treats I've put in the hours, grafted hard, can show the blisters on my feet It's just that some folks seem to find it easy to bring in the moolah With cushy jobs that get them big pads and fancy cars Not that I'm the jealous type, but I still can't help but dream If lady luck had dealt different cards how life might have been Maybe I'd have been a footballer on three hundred grand a week Although I don't fancy all that winter stuff in rain and snow and sleet And what if I was only decent and not a superstar I'm not sure the lads at Accrington drive around in jaguars Or a DJ at the Beeb, that wouldn't be so bad There's a pretty penny to be made, just ask the ginger lad But could I really stomach Jedward or Donny and Marie And what if I copped the early morning shift to start at half past three A politician's life seems easy, all hot air, sex and booze And expenses by the thousands for anything you choose But I'm a bit rough around the edges and I think that it might tell And I'm not sure my debating style would go down very well I might even consider something dodgy as long as I didn't go to jail With big bucks, perks and bonuses where it's impossible to fail A no lose game, caviar, champagne and a guarantee of wages by the million So, ... if I had my time again I'd be a director at Carillion Copyright: Fishylyrics 2018
Persimmon, Jeff Fairburn and the unholy stink of capital
Jeff Fairburn, remember the name His life will never be the same again Caught in the spotlight of the camera's eye With a seventy five million pound bonus he couldn't deny Couldn't deny, could barely speak As he slithered out of shot so mild and meek Leaving unspoken words polluting the air With a gargantuan stink from capital's lair The lifetime earnings of seventy men Signed off with a casual swipe of the pen And another eight hundred million spread around his chums What houses that might build, just do the sums Jeff, I'm sure in your world you're held in much high esteem For the way in which you used "The Help to Buy" scheme To jack up house prices subsidised by the tax of the many And syphon off the profits to make the few a pretty penny But in my world you're a thief, simple and plain Abusing a rigged system for personal gain And from this day on until you meet your god You'll just be Jeff Fairburn - that greedy sod! Copyright: Fishylyrics 2018
For Razan(In memory of Razan al-Najjar)
Ask not which Private fired the gun
That sent this sweet child to Martyrdom
Neither search the Sergeant’s name
Who lined up his troops to kill and maim
Demand not investigation, nor seek any testimony
For the guilty party is already plain to see
No rogue bullet left its chamber, no errant shot was discharged
And no words should be written that serve as camouflage
Half truths are lies and nothing more and should not be set in print
And I bear no stain of prejudice when penning honest words in ink
This was killing by instruction, homicide as policy
Yet one more wanton, heartless act in Zionist history
So accuse me not of antisemitism for no race test do I fail
When I place in the dock for murder the State of Is-ra-el
Copyright: Fishylyrics 2018
The Angel of Khan Younis
Weep not for Razan Ashraf al-Najjar An angel now looking down from the stars A mother's daughter slain by a mother's son Picked off in the sights of an Israeli gun A white nurse's coat no refuge from the sniper's eye That fired the lead and watched her die Weep because she is just another one Taken in the blood soaked slaughter for Zion While a shameful, silent world looks on Copyright: FishyLyrics June 2018
An ill wind blows at Westminster(aka The Mother of all Farts)
Margarita Mayhem was a Tory Minister, the Prime one of the day Mayhem by name and nature too, even colleagues were bound to say She'd stumbled through her tenure leaving behind a littered trail But today's unholy stink at Westminster would surely be a step beyond the pale The PM stopped mid-sentence, her face turned ashen grey Her knees began to tremble and her hips began to sway And then it came from deep within, a force too great to stop Docking at the point of no return with first a moan and then a pop Clenched buttocks could do nothing and the pop became a mighty roar A natural gas eruption with methane at it's core The explosion echoed around the chamber while the PM shrank from view Her embarrassed eyes sought left and right demanding swift rescue Rise Grooling, Grunt and Fondle, faces a ruddy blush Like commandeered Quixotes and with voices very hush Mumbled meek apologies if they should be to blame Then settled humbly to their bench, heads hung in mock shame The blast at last was left behind but, oh boy, far worse was to arrive A malodorous funk so poisonous mere words could bare describe A punge so rich in sulphur, in rot and in decay A reek of pure malevolence passed through the House this day Hot air rises as it will and it crept from bench to bench MPs groaned, order papers waving, unable to take the stench At last The Speaker shouted "Order" and he held a steady gaze As the leader of The Opposition emerged visible through the haze Corblimey struggled to Despatch, yet determined for a kill And declared he'd had an email from Jean in Bexley Hill Who to put the matter bluntly was having trouble at one end And was there any remedy the PM could recommend Labour Members rolled in the aisles, huge cheers, rapturous applause Such wit and spontaneity from the leader of their cause What clarity of mind he'd shown in circumstances oh so dire This erstwhile Son of Sam was now the hero of the hour Cue Gable dancing lightly to his feet, his face still bore a tear Asserting this was just the type of hard exit that the British people fear The Greens cried "no emissions" while the SNP sat schtum And a voice from the back gave curt advice about a finger and a bum Enter a digit jabbing Skinnard, well known not to gladly suffer fools "Deeds speak louder than words" says he "and that one sums up Tory rule" Well, that sent the Tories in to frenzy and pandemonium ensued Insults were hurled and curses cast should a foe's face appear in view With retching still heard on all levels and no dispersing of the acrid cloud With bodies scrambling for the doors and Members tripping in the crowd With hands not knowing what they were groping - not unusual some may say The Speaker had no option but to halt proceedings for the day That evening the gig economy sprang sharply in to life Cleaners, Florists, Perfumers worked all through the night Lavender on every bench, scented candles, sweet bouquets By morning all was fresh again, no whiff of yesterday Also scheming hard that night the team at number Ten "Nothing has changed" squawked Mayhem but that didn't convince the men A cunning plan was needed to pin the odious blame elsewhere Especially as the whole Poohaha had gone out live on air Step forward Alexander Horace de Waffel Bilge, tousled hair and garbling tongue Who insisted he could come up trumps with an explanation for the ghastly pong "A draught of ale, a glug of gin and a few hours thinking time. That's all I need" said Horace while slurping down his wine Next day came Horace to the House, could he defuse this powder keg He'd consulted widely - GCHQ, MI5 and 6, and even Mystic Meg "I've unearthed the guilty culprit. I've had all hands to the pump" And professed it to be the Russians with a putrid cyber dump Even Bloomsberg at the Beeb didn't fall for that one and the PM's race was run Mayhem was ultimately done for after months of hanging on Crisis upon crisis had finally broken poor Margarita's heart But who could have guessed it all would end with the Mother of all Farts! Copyright: Fishylyrics December 2017
Zero Hours Contracts – come join the queue
One million people at your beck and call To come running when summoned and fill your shortfall One million people waiting for your horn to sound For a chance at a grab at your phantomlike pound One million people waiting for your whistle to blow To play in the game for a few hours or so One million people with a life put on hold Standing in line like the dockers of old One million people with no peace of mind On a merry-go-round of corporate design One million people just one text away From the message that reads "No Work Today" Copyright: Fishylyrics - March 2017
Meet Joe…
See the eyes, the lack of pride The self-reproach felt deep inside No welcome here, no gaze returned Head bowed, glances spurned See the smile, lips tight drawn It tells a lie, the face is torn It hides a soul too hard to own A camouflage for truths beknown See the shoulders stooped and bent The weight so heavy it can't relent A load long carried in the mind No pause or respite can it find Feel the stomach cramped and tight Hands are cold, head is light Last pickings fed to smaller jaws Tonight much like the night before He reaches in to memory For answers to his misery Recalls only wages earned and money spent Bigger bills and higher rent Feel the humiliation as he stands in line Two years now since the very first time He signs for his boxed up charity And wonders how this came to be This throwback to an age gone by The daily battle to survive Work's safe refuge turned on its head Employment's safety net in shreds Feel the confusion, feel the pain Feel the anger rise again What crimes or wrongs were committed here To be served a punishment so severe A sentence crafted by corporate pen To impoverish the worker once again To have him servile, keep him tame Know his place and know his shame To strip away his dignity Exploit his vulnerability And lay the blame at his own door The fault all his for being poor See an existence cruel to bear See a future full of fear Meet a life born out of another's plan Meet a 21st century working man Meet Joe... Copyright: Fishylyrics - February 2017
Homelessness – the devil’s cocktail
The abused who from the abuser hides Her nerves don't hold for long She starts at every nascent sound She has to keep moving on The doorway sleeper beside his dog One blanket torn and wet His face now shows the crooked scar From the boot that followed the threat The child whose home is now a B&B A cot his new playground Mum's zero hours became zero pay And the rent just couldn't be found The veteran in his wooded tent His mind bears long a stain All night he roams for fear of sleep And the dreams that bring the pain The unloved teenage girl who runs Into a world that may not care Now choices of the street are hers She learns too soon that life's unfair Add the addict and the migrant And poor souls yet to learn their destiny See the devil's cocktail for the homeless In our disunited Kingdom 2017 Copyright: Fishylyrics January 2017
Orgreave
The 18th June Nineteen Eighty Four A date that The State had been long planning for Revenge on it’s mind, heart filled with hate No chance that Orgreave would be Saltley Gate No diversions or…
Source: Orgreave
Orgreave
The 18th June Nineteen Eighty Four A date that The State had been long planning for Revenge on it's mind, heart filled with hate No chance that Orgreave would be Saltley Gate No diversions or road blocks for pickets that day Just escorting of miners along their way For those men their fate was already sealed As the Bobbies led them down to the corn field Battle lines drawn, plans hidden from sight Horses and dogs to the left and the right Five thousand Coppers armed up to the teeth Community policing this wasn't to be The order was given, mounted police charged Then short shield units commenced the barrage Blows rained down to the head and the back As the pickets they fled from the brutal attack The beatings were savage, injuries many Broken limbs, gashes, bruises ten a penny Policemen delivered what their masters had yearned Expenses and overtime dutifully earned That paragon of virtue, the BBC Doctored the film that the public would see Footage reversed, truth bent like a bow Government and broadcaster had their ducks in a row Shamefully, ninety five miners charged with riot and affray Their crime it appeared was just running away A potential life sentence for these men of coal The state had bloodied body but still desired soul Ninety five acquittals eventually served Collusion and perjury exposed by lawyers No officer prosecuted, nor yet disciplined For the lies that were peddled about "the enemy within" "The enemy within" who works deep underground In the damp and the dark with no natural sound Whom with each breath of dust reduce their life term As in retirement they wait for the dreaded "e" word And now a public inquiry denied by the Home Secretary A stockbroker's daughter, a Cheltenham College lady No need then for justice, no search then for truth That's a privilege reserved for a more genteel group A word for you Amber, it doesn't end so Politicians will come and politicians will go But working men and women no longer bend at the knee The truth we will have it, whenever it be! Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016
Trickle or Trick
For those not cognisant with "trickle down" Please allow me to explain It's a form of macro-economics From which we're all supposed to gain To spread the wealth around, it's told When The Rich make their vast sums We follow with our pan and brush And sweep up all the crumbs Or put another way, perhaps So the theory goes We all drink up the spillages From the cup that overflows Now I've been waiting patiently For a nibble or a sip But to be quite honest with you I've seen neither morsel, nor seen drip I'm no trained economist No Smith, no Marx, no Keynes But I can spot a mighty heist With just a poor boy's brains No trickle down, instead a mighty geyser spurts It's riches hidden from our view A volcanic spewing forth of wealth To satisfy the greed of few But let me offer a word of warning To you beneficiaries of the scam The game doesn't last for ever Enjoy your exploits while you can For come the day of reckoning The world, it turns around King is pawn and pawn is king When the walls come tumbling down When we come, we'll come in numbers When we come we'll come with strength We'll come with jurisdiction We'll come with clear conscience When we come, we won't be asking No polite requests, no subservience Repossession, fair and just No deals, no recompense Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016
White hats, black hearts
The Marshal was rockin' in the chair When his deputy arrived Somethin' was playing on the deputy's mind His eyes they couldn't lie The boys, they're askin' questions Said the deputy with a sigh How come he's still alive You know it don't look right Boy's 'ud sure like to take him down You only gotta give the word They're feelin' kinda all riled up From the stories that they heard They reckon he's meaner than The Kid An' Wesley Harding too He's been runnin' with the James gang The boys they swear it's true Folks say he's got a real bad place Right in the main town square They tell there's hands an' feet An' such scattered ever'where Been told he's cruel to womenfolk Don't treat 'em like he oughta Don't let 'em dance or sing or nuthin' Won't give 'em any quarter You know, we' been huntin' down your outlaws In towns where folks didn't seem to pay a mind How come this real bad hombre Has lasted all this time? The boys, they tracked on down The Butcher Got The Colonel on the run Let 'em saddle up, head east again An' end this lousy, lowdown sonofa gun The Marshal looked up from his desk Fixed the deputy with a stare Rose real slow to his feet While kickin' back his chair You tell the boys to pipe on down It ain't their job to think You take 'em down to Sally's place An' fix 'em up a drink Remember this, you listen good An' keep it kept inside There's them that is an' them that ain't An' them that do decide It don't count if he's bad as bad Or white as driven snow The only thing that matters Is if he's friend.....or foe Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016
The itchy finger
Theresa says she'll press the button That got a mighty cheer The thought of an apocalypse Didn't seem to hold much fear She blurted out the affirmative With clarity and speed Such sharp decision making Is surely what we need What strength of character she shows A lady made of steel No messing with this English rose No doubting what she feels No pussy footing with our foes No dither and no qualms She lets them know just where we stand When it comes to using arms Just one request, my dear P.M. If it's not too much to ask It'll help with any sleepless nights And those scary dreams that last Before the bombs come raining down Before the earth is scorched Before the limbs fly here and there Before the world is torched Before the gas fills up our lungs Before the skin burns black Before the blood boils through our veins Before the heart attacks Before the endless pain endures Before the eyeballs glow If you get an itchy finger Please would you let me know Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016
Banksters
You banking boys still at liberty You think your crimes just devilry Allowed because of whom you be And ne'er a sign of your identity The protection from your club is free It's handed down each century Along with your Oxbridge degree And trust fund treasured in Jersey But take care with your complacency Us working boys hold memory Of your imposed austerity When the bell tolls, it will toll for thee The law is yours, it's plain to see The jailer waits with rusty key But there are plenty who will work buckshee To lead you to the hanging tree Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016
