Rebel and The Royal
Investiture day was set,
'Jenkins' didn't want to let.
Because the 'pretender' to the thrown,
Was not 'home grown'!
Other events was to influence,
For the 'rebel' to stop the prince.
Drowned valley, MPs against,
Voices ignored, he resents.
July first, sixty nine,
He wanted to undermine.
Nothing happened,
Contrary to what he planned
Day come and gone,
Youngster, maimed by 'faulty' bomb.
Two of his 'own',
They died, bodies strewn.
Drastic action took,
The authorities it shook.
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Love can be.
Love can be there when we start,
Love can be there when we depart.
Love can be hot,
Love can be cold.
Love can be an unsure,
Love can be confident as gold.
Love can be good,
Love can be unkind.
Love can be mysterious,
Love can be blind.
Love can be endless,
Love can be short.
Love can be stolen,
Love can be bought.
Love can understand,
Love can be an art,
Love can be tearing apart.
Love can be spoken,
Love can be making.
Love can be broken,
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Where you live.
What's in a postcode? , of your humble abode.
Not just part of your address, information they possess! !
Browsing the net, pigeon-holed info'my eyes met.
Departmentalized, job and income, even what paper's I read, ‘Star& Sun.'
Ironic, me the‘tabloid stereo type', their web-page is static, not right.
So much for the world wide medium, on the day, I'd been reading the‘Guardian'!
This all explains'personnel circumstances'getting a loan and your chances..
Regards to my loan rate, dictated by‘Where You Live'it should state.! !
They categorize, label, stigmatize, so'they', your custom, can patronize.
Ticked off, a bit annoyed, at their criteria that's employed.
If only, I had lived in a ‘better location', maybe, gotten a better deal with my loan situation?
So if ever you're refused a card or loan, 'No'you're told,
Check your out your post code, and the data it may hold! !
28/05/06
poem by Guy Lipmore
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Loo-ney Time.!
Is it a tourist attraction,?
Loads of action.!
Easy to forget,
Its only a public toilet.
Is everyone dying for a pee?
The entire village wanting a wee.!
Maybe they've nothing to do,
Do they all think, 'Oh I'll pop out to the loo.'!
They're maybe nicking bog rolls! ! ,
Pretending to go for strolls!
Are all of them'spending a penny'?
Saving water in they're own lavtory!
Seemingly from miles around they flock,
The blooding road they'll block.
Are there no toilets where they live.?
Something has to give.
The bloody sewers will collapse,
A solution is needed perhaps.
Pose as an attendant,
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Cry Of The Dolphin.
Born into tradition,
generation gone by.
Mind of condition,
about to defy.
Years of skill,
honed in his mind.
Always ready for the kill,
the ‘hunt' is not hard to find.
Herd them into an inlet,
for the death spree.
Set them up for target,
to turn the water a blood red sea.
Spears raised for the deed,
repeated strikes to make them die,
No chance for the gentle breed,
slaughter, they still smile, silencing their talking cry.
He sees their blood as they bleed,
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Space Eyes
Sophisticated technology peer down from beyond our blue or grey skies,
Unseen by our human eyes.
They say that they are only for weather, communications and defence,
But they cannot win over our total confidence.
Twenty two thousand miles or more high above our heads,
Can they hear us while in our beds?
Do we really understand, and fully realize?
What the data devices are capable of doing with their electronic eyes.
They are able to spy on a cloudy or night of day,
The cycle of earth or weather doesn't hinder orbiting objects, no way.
We may think impossible for them to see us in the black of night,
But they can see us alright with their infra - red sight.
We can't even be too small,
To them, it's no problem at all.
With the aid of computerized enhance,
Do we stand a chance?
As the world becomes more and more computerized,
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Drowned Out.
Liverpool corporation, water they sought,
community, by surprise they were caught.
Not really consulted,
outrage and protest resulted.
Voices and banners went to the ‘foreign' council,
however, project goes ahead through ' private members bill '
Worries fall on deaf ears,
only to confirm worst fears.
Workers came to start their plan,
nothing could stop the dam.
Water is ‘required'
not true it transpired.
Not strong enough voice in their land,
their village was dammed.
Told to 'leave their dead, or exhume,
the water will be coming soon '
Open the graves,
or lose to the waves.
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Inquiry.
Oh'Iraq inquiry, What is it for?
Sheer publicity, Was it a‘legal war'?
Costing millions of pounds, bloody indecency.
To get answers good it sounds, waste of time and money.
The public were misled, media lies' were fed.
‘Sexed up' dossier, ‘true'they'd say.
‘Forty-five minute launch ability', they'd say insistently.
Resolutions by U.N', they had to stop'Saddam'
Blair and co', play the media show.
They talk of justification, ‘weapons of mass destruction.'
Inspectors on the ground, none ever found!
Death of Dr Kelly, ‘suicide'apparently!
‘Questions' were asked, depth they lacked.
No answers direct, truth was‘select'!
A few did squirm, nothing new to churn.
Odd one on the spot, no great shock.
One of the few highlights, yes best sights.
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Old Fashioned, Not Me.!
‘Old Fashioned' (Not Me!)
‘Old fashioned' they say,
"Who me, ? No way".
Don't like ‘Rave' or ‘Rap',
That's not music that.
Don't care for ‘Boxer' shorts or a Shell suit,
Maybe colourful and cute.
But it's plain to see,
They are not for me.
All those designer clothes,
Are only worn for laughs and to pose.
And the cost to buy a name,
We are the ‘mugs' in this fashion game.!
Small fortunes just to be able,
To wear a fancy label.
And the price of trainer shoes,
Would give your wallet the blues.
Now and then, an item may catch my eye,
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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Bruce Lee
Land of the ‘free' he was born unintentionally,
Away from his native home, returning at the age of three.
Back to a place uncompromising and tough,
Growing into a leader, in a twilight zone.
Thoughts of what would happen if no one behind?
For survival, others and luck were not enough,
When totally on own.
Will victory be signed?
Enrolling in an ancient art to better his way on the street,
Brushing with the law, they were dangerous days.
At times, his face is the only one his teacher would meet!
Totally in to all it's ways.
Frustration to get away,
To contemplate training and self scorn.
Floating in a boat, he lay,
Anger punched the water, which he sailed upon.
‘Water', the essence of what should be,
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poem by Guy Lipmore
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