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 21st Century Plagues

Ungodly Hour


Satanic sinful doorbell rings
A blasphemy from lips this brings
I resurrect myself from bed
With heavy eyes but vengeful head

Not yet half eight on Sabbath day
My sole lie-in stolen away
Begin crusade towards front door
Before I’m there it chimes twice more!

I open it and through the light
A man with book steps into sight
"My name is Zach, I’m here to teach"
Then bold as brass he starts to preach

Once warned by Nan about their style
"You give an inch, they take a mile"
When in your home, Jehovahs stay
And rant and pray for half a day

So with these thoughts I loudly say
"Please do one pal and keep away"
Set dog on Zach to save confusion
I'll pray he won’t need blood transfusion

           Space(book) Invaders



Tom likes Muse, Dick spraffs his news and Harry’s now friends with Kurt,
Chat online, friend request decline, Chloe’s feelings you’ve now hurt.
Tedious headlines of hung-over times; nonetheless, they have to share

Halloween invite, attempt at polite, but I’d rather wash my hair.

Friends who you may know? Millionth photo, on that Farmville have a play,
‘What’s on your mind'? Search and ye shall find, at computer stay all day.
Joe’s on Spotify, hearing ‘Jealous Guy’, Roxy Music’s greatest hits,
Checked in at school! Instagrammed a stool, highly captivating shit

Sue’s status change is a wee bit strange, for X factor she can’t wait,
It’s her ninth today and in its special way is as lame as the other eight.
Rosemary 'likes' this, Liam rips the piss, exchanging 'lol’s and smiley face,
Must remember to remove fucking Sue, she invades all Facebook space


And now you’re tagged with some munter hag in last night’s rancid club,
This will cause some rows and raised eyebrows, said I’d only been to pub.
Paparazzi freak, snapped me kissing cheek, where’s the God-damned privacy?
Bloody Facebook show resembles Gestapo in Nazi Germany

Bubonic Lol



Fatal disease, brought with rats and fleas in 14th century

Saw millions dead, doors crossed red, bleak time in history

Many swollen glands over Europe’s lands marked starting of the end,

But now a worse ill, though it doesn’t kill, sends me round the bend.




Three letter name is plague of shame, a moronic sickly slang,

The herd who use, language abuse, oh how their heads should hang

For it makes me ill, red mist does fill, blood pressure all-time high,

So hear my plea, society, and wave that ‘LOL’ goodbye

Generation Text



In parks, students sit together alone

No eyes are met, or voices heard, 

For heads are bowed and thumbs speak

Their lives rarely in their pockets


I welcome the barking dog

His rich rabid whines educate 

All these sad sim-card hearts…

With their poor manners  

Peck Out



One voice in the CO-OP you will always hear,
Twenty-four-seven and year after year
If I worked there it’d pickle my brain,
Unsure how the workers endure the pain.

Self-service tools bark like pre-menstrual girlfriend,
They probe and they peck, abuse and offend
Harangue with contempt, make you feel the retard,
Firing questions and orders, ‘SUPER DIVIDEND CARD?'

‘HOW ARE YOU PAYING?’ asks robotic hag
But note is too crumpled, supervisor looks dead,
‘Sir the notes go in that slot’… she wearily said

‘TAKE YOUR BAGS AND RECEIPT’ hollow voice just won’t stop!

5 other machines out of sync now all spout
Next time I’ll fill trolley and use normal checkout!

One day I’ll return with a ruddy great bat,
Self-service machine I will savagely twat
And silence that voice, stick the bags on its head,
Drop grenade in the place where the money is fed





A pit as deep as Alps are high?

Or hill too steep to even try

The view’s so dim you’ll think you’re blind

Down skid marked bog, ‘Great’ Britain find


Bleak barren winter all year long

Where birds won’t chirp their tuneful song

Just moss shall grow on cancered trees

And weeds make up plant family


Pungent defeat consumes the air

Polluted minds no longer care

For principles one can’t afford

All pride has been put to the sword


Now ‘life’s too short’ they always say

And ‘you must treasure every day’

But in recession months are years

Where tearful fears fall on deaf ears


I half die when I look back to

My childhood days when all I knew

Was summer sunshine picnic days

A warm, bright coloured, tuneful haze  


But dole is dismal reality

Come lose your soul fortnightly

For 50 notes such shame does bring

Stone’s throw away from panhandling


Blink Toll



Ten pounds in bank need three for bus

Just short with change, and so you thus

Locate cash-link, steer card inside

But two quid fee spells no bus ride


Get off the train, four pints on there

Now bladder wails in deep despair

Like Usain now you Bolt to gents

But toll to piss, pleasure prevents


Buy groceries at pricey Spar

It's quite a walk without the car

‘Five pence a bag’ are his demands

I’ve no cash left just a pair of hands 


We’ll soon be charged to fart and wink

Six pence a snore and three per blink

For Gail Platt grim times ahead

With twelve per second, she’ll be in the red!



Dead Friends




Old faithful friend once crammed with charm

Where smoke-stained walls guarded from harm

Worn pumps, frayed stools, dim light cocktail

Drunk lock-in nights on well-kept ale


Your old-school scent-reeked social den

Although less light, place brighter then

Silvers for pool, tall winding pile

While jukebox skip, knew tender style


Dear loyal friends, one-by-one died

No place to now leave world outside

Bad face-lifts came ending pub game

Now look at food bar with disdain


To young soulless foe I’m cursed to go

So removed from pal I used to know

Blinded by light, beer keggy shite

Nine TV screens, spell charmless sight


Sad point is that young foe does well

With sickly vibe and scampi smell

The prams and whines so grate on me

Dear jukebox died for Kiss TV


From frost windows to ponce décor

“Heart of country” to pulse-less whore

Less pints are drained, more bottles sipped

From pubs the bollocks have been ripped



           The Oz Pistorius

       Temper was notorious

    Reeva’s screams were shrill


         For when Pistorius

      Was on-one he got furious

        And fired pistol at will


        That Oscar Pistorius 

    Not-guilty plea was curious

    The Sawn-off man shot gun


          But then Pistorius 

     In courtroom was victorious

       Though no leg to stand on





         Oh Hellish racket, won’t you cease?

            Polite victims all pray for peace 

             As now the decibels increase

              When this brat balls alone


            For in a pram in superstore

          A little wretch decides to roar

      Aileen-Quinn-lungs you can’t ignore

         While Mum’s on mobile phone


      These crashing waves of tuneless chant

     Like a Janet-Street-Porter monotone rant 

        Invent mute-chip for quick implant

              Yet still it’s left alone


        Shit it, burp it, stop the source!

      Her dogged larynx shows no remorse

     This Urchin’s throat will end up hoarse

         As whispers start to moan

       Now in my brain a plan takes shape

     Ditch goods and head for fire escape

        But stumble on some sellotape

           Now solace can be known

     So dart to pram, ’now this should stop her!'

          Insert a hefty mint gobstopper

      Then tape around industrious chopper 

            As silence is now sewn

        I take a bow to rich applause

       New hero of Aldi’s shopfloors

     For shutting up that mutants' roars

       While ‘Mum’ changes…ringtone


'Call Me Babe'

        That snout of yours is like no other,

      You're Stephen Lee's repulsive brother

         Your humour is an oinking sin

      Which makes me reach for wellbutrin

       Your favourite food is braised pork thighs,

         Your favourite words are porky pies

       Your favourite book was 'Animal Farm'

     But less for morals, more Napolean's charm

    You embraced swine flu when it came to you,

    Only styes in eyes make your dreams come true

        No interest in dogs, sheep or cows,

 Though your cock heads north for the squealing sows


           A Villa fan or was it West HAM?

         Yet we all know that that's a sham

       In Oxford days your Bullingden rotters,

    Planned Burnden trips to cheer the Trotters
















Counselling Journal Week 35



Last night I awoke at around 2.30am with a burning question which erupted internally, I felt it needed investigating and after reflection I 'mused'…


‘Is it possible to be an authentic Person-Centred counsellor if you vote for/support the conservative party?'


While I am sure that the above would be more than able to practice self-care and have unconditional positive regard (for themselves), would they really be able to realistically sit in a counselling room portraying genuine empathy for whoever walks through the door? Could they really show true unconditional positive regard for others when for example they do not support a social welfare system but more a privatised alternative. Could they really be completely congruent, when in their real life they vote for a compulsive liar and accept that they do this? Surely they cannot be completely authentic thus the therapeutic relationship is not a genuine one and so HAS TO BE compromised? Or maybe they just don’t understand the real social implications of voting for the blue shite.

Maybe a pertinent question for the BACP to ponder in their acceptance to membership.


Songs of Praise

While Ukraine is dying and Boris was lying

M Greenwood was taped, The Met sexted and raped

Five Tories are whoring, inflation is soaring

Prince Andrew’s still grooming as Covid is booming


Petroleum riser, Liz Truss I despise her

A two-bit-part Maggie, but slightly more saggy

The trains are in trouble, the airport’s a muddle

Our Allies grow thinner as Brexit’s ‘A WINNER!’


Pack off to Rwanda, no gesture’s been grander!

NHS on its arse while lock-down was a farce

Contempt in that lie…‘I was testing my eye’,

With no worthy goodbye, someone’s mother did die


Global warming ‘non issue’, on streets more ‘Big Issue’

As houses swap eating to pay for their heating

The Queen’s Jubilee, the excitement the glee

Every bugger was there, every bugger but she


It’s all gone Brass Eye and Jonathon Pie

Bleached buffalo’s goodbye in that vile blue tie

Now I can’t watch the news, ‘Songs of Praise’ I will choose

But ‘Jerusalem’ miscues and the choirboys abused

songs of praise.jpg
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