Two Poems
FRACKEDY DOO DAH!
It just needs a dash and a splash, really,
a bit like a soda-syphon.
One quick squirt and everybody’s happy:
the makers, the miners, the market, the ministry,
Me.
It’s all down to the bubbles – the fizz that gives you whizz.
We’re working on a new gas boiler.
One pipe in,
one pipe out.
It only needs a bright spark to get things cooking.
Walla! Instant espresso!
What’s the problem?
Whinging windmill worshippers can sail away,
join the Dutch in a ditch,
tilt in a different direction,
stop getting their turbines in a twist.
So long Solar!
Anyway,
penguins and polar bears need to get with the programme
– it’s all about mobility in this day and age.
It’s been the same for millennia – the natural order of things,
dig it up, chop it down, set fire to it.
What’s not to like?
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Geology -
it’s the new rock and roll.
Ingenious Igneous.
Mega Metamorphic.
It’s deep man.
It’s Sedimentary, my dear.
Anyway,
when the layers converge and it all comes crashing down
and homes and playschemes sink into the magma,
we’ll be long gone.
‘Counting our cash in the Caymans.
It’s Cracking!
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ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL
I’ve never travelled on a plane
The likes of Spain is not for us
I’ve helped my uncle drive a train
I’ve been to Merthyr on a bus
I love the sound of railways more
The clack of points, the puff and shush
But aeroplanes just scream and roar
I’ve heard them at the Gaumont Grand
They’re loudest when they start to soar
But shocking when they come to land
We felt like one was way off course
All stood in pairings, hand in hand
Singing loud with voices hoarse
‘All things Bright and Beautiful’
Voices silenced by the force
Some heeded Mrs Williams call
And hid beneath some good Welsh oak
I stood and watched the white-washed wall
To see the cockpit as it broke
It bulged and cracked from floor to beam
And so in-seeped the rivered coke
The fissure widened like a seam
Miss Williams was the last to speak
I think I was the last to scream
Why has our Lord attacked the weak
The Chapel-goers, lambs of God?
No longer blessed are the meek
Twice interred beneath the sod
The blackness, black, black, stream from hell
Driven to the land of nod
Nostrils full of sulphurous smell
Suffocated, crushed and blue
Just twenty five alive, not well
A prematurely aged few
I left for school aged seven years
And went back home at twenty-two
The Queen, she called to mop our tears
‘Received a posy for her pains
A thank you from the little dears
With the posy came a thought
The children they were rightly taught
The words upon the card said ‘From
The remaining children of Aberfan’
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