21st Century Plagues
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
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.
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
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
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?'
‘SCAN YOUR FIRST ITEM, NOW PLACE IT IN BAG!’,
‘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!
And ‘THANKYOU FOR SHOPPING AT YOUR LOCAL CO-OP’
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
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!
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