I like reading poetry, however I also like writing poetry. Here is one of my earlier pieces.
The Birthday Card.
Damn the world,
Nobody cares about me,
Nobody comes round.
I’m ninety next week,
And I’ll get no cards,
As usual,
The government got in again,
No real opposition,
Same for forty years
In bloody power.
Everything privatised,
Next week, or so I hear,
They’re taxing the air we breathe.
I can’t sleep
without pain,
Bloody neighbours,
Their all night parties,
Music blasting so bloody loud,
Surprised the next town didn’t complain;
Police being privatised,
Couldn’t give a fig.
Need a thousand pounds,
Just to see the doctor;
You need a mortgage,
Just to get on the waiting list.
Have to hobble down,
To the bloody shops,
Only to be mugged again.
‘Live for today,’ they say,
Bugger it, how?
Hang on what’s this,
A bloody postman,
Haven’t seen one of them,
For over a year;
A bloody bill probably;
No its not,
It’s a birthday card;
What a bloody surprise!
