How one cat likes to scare another

It’s too cold to go cooking in the kitchen
So I’m sitting here frozen on the mat
To tell the tale of the twitching, bewitching
The tale of the impractical cat

Who would flip a cat flap in a flicker
As a boxer would beat up a body bag
But one night its cold draught it was drinking
Draining the blood from his big-eyed head

Paying jolly games like a gymnast
Every mealtime, mauky and pawing
-Then shooting out through the cat flap
-Then shooting back for a cat nap

Then in the haze of the silvery moonlight
In the hallway hanging icicle white
Was the ogre all cats dread in their sleep
A hedgehoggy, ghost-moggy, sight

As icy as an icicle ice-sheet
That likes to frighten naughty cats to the teeth
Producing that effect of electricity
You imagine but never see

Cats running faster than a train at high speed
Like bolts of lightning through clumps of pins
Oh, the impractical cat never left the mat
After such a scare as frightful as that

Always From The Life Boat

Always from the lifeboat
I watched my life sinking,
Hanging on and floating,
The foaming waves linking.

Even on a safe ship
I kept the lifeboat near,
In case un-sinkable liner slip
Into the ocean clear.

I’ve seen icebergs floating,
Distant storms approaching,
Enemy torpedo,
Sabotaging weirdo.

I’ve watched captains go mad
And mutineers change flags,
The plague kills all on board,
Pirates put all to the sword.

Like sleeping with lights on
I keep near the lifeboat,
For anything that man made
Is hard to keep afloat.

Socks Aren’t Easy To Wash

Socks aren’t easy to wash
As tough as leathery alligators
Like wrestling with big snakes

Socks aren’t easy to wash
Tangled like weeds in the Sargasso sea
A steely wreckage of rusted U boats

Socks are swallowing socks
Into the wash they go
Never to be seen for years

Socks are a danger to the public
They turn up like killer sharks
And bite off your foot

None Of Your Affair

When your train’s been cancelled
You’ll be angry and irate
When your ship’s been hijacked
You’ll complain to the state
But when your friend doesn’t turn up
You don’t seem to care
For the trouble that he’s in
Is non of your affair

When your coach’s been delayed
You wait impatiently
When the underground’s on strike
You complain endlessly
But when your friend goes missing
You don’t seem to care
For the trouble that he’s in
Is none of your affair

When the postman’s late
It can lead to complaint
the T.V. stops working
It can bring you out in hate
When your friend stops coming round
You don’t seem to care
Obviously his troubles
Are non-of your affair

When there are wars started
In a far way state
You phone up the home office
To find out their fate
But when your friend goes missing
You won’t return one visit
So I tell you my friend
You’re such a hypocrite

Do you think you’ll change the world?
From your warm armchair
When your next door neighbour lives
In grinding poverty
Do write letters to The Times about crime
To say you care
When half the criminals live in your locality

Open Prison Day

Into an open prison
I let my feelings go
But no one there seemed to care
No one seemed to know

Behind those four walls
I became a man of stone
Who sat all day and night
Afraid to go back home

Sister, oh sister
Hear what I must say
Let me talk it over
On this open prison day

But those inside these four walls
With those open prison doors
Did not show any interest
In any outside chores

I could roam around for hours
To play any game I chose
Do I win or do I loose
No one even cares

if the hunter wounded me
I would sit and bleed
While they sat in self-absorption
Watching their TV

if I shed a tear or cried
No-one there would hear
In the open prison of the night
No one dared draw near

The hunter trapped me dead
I fell into his snare
For many years I hid the tears
While imprisoned there

So don’t treat your young so coldly
Talk to them each day
Let them know you love them
Stay with them and play

For in a darkened corridor
Guards of bitter dreams
In life’s open prison
Nothing’s what it seems

We want you to spy for us

We want you to spy for us
We want you to visit the dark wood beneath the skyscrapers and tell us what you see
Yeah, and what do I get out of it said the cleaning lady
Upon completion of your mission, you will be given a state-approved sex-life
Grasshopper woman put on her tuxedo and set out.

In the middle of the skyscrapers was the dark wood with a mass of thick twisting branches where no light could enter and no human would venture. It had been there for hundreds of years, growing in what was once a peaceful city square.

The cleaning lady entered the gap where the wood met the office wall.
Emails appeared in the box of the woodland king from his own spies in the office blocks. He threw a switch and all the lights went out and the sun went dark. The woodland king took a vacation.

The cleaner was crawling in and out of the wood towards the centre when it all went very black.
The office workers watched on giant screens in their offices as the grasshopper woman moved in.
At the centre of the wood was a stone statue of a long-forgotten man and in the plinth of the statue was a caretaker’s room. She fought her way in it was a library.

The world exterminator corps herd of these events
Why did she agree they asked?
We promised her a state-approved sex life they said.
What nationality is the state-approved sex life they asked?
It’s ours they replied, compiled by scientists and state scrutiny panels and one approved for the lower class workers of our great nation. He gave a salute.

The world leader sat in his office of the renovated acropolis. All around the plateau, the slaves dragged marble statues of the great and the glorious to the ships for transport around the world.
He eventually learned of the incident of the statue in the tangled wood, he looked at the big screen to see. There was a face half-hidden yet somehow familiar. Tell her to cut away the branches from the face. She did so. – It was his brother. Hide him, remove the cleaner, kill her, no one must know he barked into his microphones. His attendant saluted.

A secret policeman was asked to go in. he did so, but he had a plan. He would take on the identity of the cleaning lady and claim the state-approved sex life for himself. He would burn the tangled wood, demolish the statue and even burn down the city if he had to. He did so.

A year later a traveller walking through the ruins came upon a plinth, inside he found a library and in the library he found books and in the books, he found the truth.

A wild horse galloped across the flatlands

A wild horse galloped across the flatlands
And on the horse sat the ghost of many words

What kind of sex life do you have?
It’s a matter for the establishment
Do not lie, we will find out

There was a great fire spreading thru the dry scrub towards the galloping horse; the horse galloped into the flames.

The authorities sent the secret police to find the horse and its ghostly rider.
A thousand strange archers stood head and shoulders above the flames and let loose a barrage of flaming arrows at the secret police.
The secret police stripped off their clothes and removed their disguises.
Who were they really?

A photographer came upon the scene.
He was not interested in the secret police.
He too wanted to know
What kind of sex-life do you have?

The question does not appear to have been asked of the wild horse or the ghost of many words. They had trotted out of the flames unharmed.

There was an oak chair, very heavy and hard and into it was strapped the prisoner.

The state telephony service began to click into operation. The state telephonists began to type. The judge came in, he was a giant rock of a man 10 feet tall. He walked amongst the clicking clockwork or the machine operators.

Now there was a change in the situation.
The prisoner had escaped his bonds and flown away.

The white horse ridden by the ghost of many words appeared at the city gate, it was time to remove the oppressor.

The green-finch man sat in the branches of the tree watching the city burn.

A world obsessed by itself is a world oppressed by itself.

Sometimes you are no part of the world

Sometimes you are no part of the world
And the world passes you by like an empty sack
Sometimes you are part of the world
And it picks you up like a bag of grain

And when you are not part of the world
Where are you?
And without you, where is the world?

Sometimes the world is not part of you
And you pass by the world by like an empty sack
Sometimes you are the world
And you have many sacks of grain to give out