SPANNER

Tags

BREXIT, Britain, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, satire, wordplay, writing

SPANNER
“I call him after grandad
Who had a feathered brain.”

John Lennon, A Spaniard
in the Works

Dan is on his way
with spanner and hammer
hurtling as fast
as fat legs can carry him

down with it to
sort out all who
fail to
comprehend, don’t
understand

and you
can be sure
(that fish and
chip English
being pure)

that nothing
will be lost
in translation
(even a fool
with a
Ph D
can
easily follow

no problem
to understand)

DRIVE THROUGH

Tags

Capitalism, commercialism, consumer society, Counter culture, dream time, fast food, poem, poetry, satire, THE BEATLES

DRIVE THROUGH
“he hadn’t noticed
that the lights had changed”

life is
fast food

life is
a drive
through

life is
man
dressed like
a machine
flipping
a burger

was
meditating on this

when
clock stopped
and I just could
not get it
started again

upon which note
a philosopher of note
stepped
up to
the plate

pitched up to
give me time’s
brief history and
footnote to Plato

having reassured him
that from this inconsequential event
I did not, could not,
infer
time
was
dead
(albeit in a poem)

at which he gave me
that graven-faced look
(like Medusa
had set
eyes on him)
freezing all his ideas
into books of stone

ah, but
we will always
have the
dream time

to escape
contingencies of concrete:
not the
kiddy meal
dream time of
Wonka sweet rainbow
sprinkle and
sugar sparkle

everything in
primaries or pastels
creamy
or soft-centered

no, here I’m contemplating
the real Lennon-McCartney McCoy
of yellow Lucy submarine
in the sky
with diamonds and
a strawberry walrus

day in
the life

revolution number
nine
kind
of thing

MR LENNON

Tags

Hamburg, Inagine, John Lennon, Lenin, Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, poem, poetry, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, THE BEATLES, wordplay

MR LENNON

I thought you
were a
lowly insect

but now you tell me
you are the
Working Class Hero
interred in
Red Square

my brain
reeling from this, and
from smudge of
Hanoverian in
your saucy scouse accent
gone turned
pink and white
and bubble-gum blue marshmallow
(top ingredient in the pies
rocking-horse
people like)

yes, I read of your death
browsing the backseat
in a newspaper taxi

“imagine that!” the taxi-driver cried,
they were all
in dress uniform
waiting for outbreak
of war
or some vaudeville event

and Alice, through the mirror, out
in one of your deftly landscaped gardens
wondering, as we
we will
all be
wondering forever and ever

as aliens
in distant galaxies will be wondering
what
it all
meant

what “Day in
the Life” might have
done to our heads.