May The Fourth Be With You

From Rhymes With Orange

Her name was Yoda

A showgirl she was.

 

Brian Bilston

Life In The Fast Lane

From Bound and Gagged

This was the year that was not the year

I repaired the bathroom tap

or emptied out the kitchen drawer

of a lifetime's worth of crap.

 

This was the year that was not the year

my lottery numbers came up.

Once more a BRIT eluded me,

as did an Oscar and World Cup.

 

This was the year that was not the year

I spent less time on my phone,

Nights of passion were not enjoyed

in a boutique hotel in Rome.

 

This was the year that was not the year

I became a household name.

Action figures weren't sold of me.

I wasn't made a dame.

 

This was the year that was the year

I didn't get that much done:

much the same as the year before,

much like the one to come.

 

by Brian Bilston

Tried and Tested

From Speedbump

The Day My Dog Spontaneously Combusted

 

there he was –

chasing sticks,

doing tricks,

and all that stuff

 

next minute, woof

Brian Bilston

While You Were Sleeping

From Reality Check

A Traditional Family Christmas

It wasn't until that first Christmas with your family
that I realised how we all do it differently,
how every family forges its own traditions, as bright
and distinct as any giant, shining star.

The way you laid out coal sacks instead of stockings;
the recital of a limerick before the opening of each present,
Christopher Lee's heavy metal Christmas album
playing quietly in the background; the pre-breakfast snorkel;

the Dance of the Seven Baubles; the festive epaulettes;
lunch with its ptarmigan fritters in milk sauce,
the suet potatoes, and the sweet and sour popcorn;
the replenishing of glasses with red turkey wine;

sprout-rolling in the park; the posting of a tinsel stick
through Mr Jennings' letterbox; and back for an evening of TV
(some classic episodes of Panorama) and games
(Hoist the Pickle, No Elbows Please!, Speculum) then bed.

The following year you came to my family for Christmas.
You said later that it was weird.

From Brian Bilston

Bad Job Prospects

From See Mike Draw

A Short Poem for #StarWarsDay

 

Her name was Yoda,

A showgirl she was.

From Brian Bilston

If (Eton College version)

If you can keep your job when all around you

Lies ravaged from what it is you've done;

If intellect and common sense confound you

And if integrity you have but none;

If you can lie and not be tired by lying,

And pretend you act for the public good,

But then leave the people to their dying

And say you did, sadly, all you could:

If you can dream - of nothing more than power;

If you can think - but only of yourself;

If you believe this country's finest hour

Is when the chosen few can gain more wealth;

If you can flout the law with bluff and bluster

And not care whether you are believed,

Or deny with scorn every single blunder

And not care how many you may deceive:

If you can stir up hatred, fear and violence

To create division to suit your ends;

And answer cries for help with silence,

And then laugh about it with your friends:

If you can stretch this country to its limit

Or until it is you've had your fun,

Yours is this land and everything that's in it,

And - as you wished - you'll be PM, Johnson.

Brian Bilston

From Brian Bilston

Fixtures

I'd love nothing more than to go outside

and commune with Mother Nature.

But what can I do? It's out of my hands:

Czech Republic are playing Croatia.

 

Yes, I know that the work is piling up.

Bring it on! Couldn't be happier!

Just ten minutes more (plus time added on)

of Poland versus Slovakia.

 

Sorry that I'll miss Gran's party today.

I do hope you'll save me some cake.

It's just the Swiss are taking on Turkey

and there's an awful lot at stake.

 

Sometimes I hear life as it goes on outside

and I couldn't feel any lonelier.

But then I remember, it's the big game today:

Ukraine - North Macedonia.

 

Brian Bilston

Robert Smith's Lockdown Diary

I don't know if Monday's blue.

It could be Tuesday. Wednesday, too.

Or Friday, I don't have a clue.

But Thursday's when I clap.

Monday, I don't want to blame.

Tuesday, Wednesday not defame.

Nor Friday - every day's the same.

But Thursday's when I clap.

The weekend's scrapped.

No Saturday, Sunday. It's left a gap.

Thursdays, I never cease to clap.

I don't know if Monday's black.

A weekly schedule's what I lack.

My sense of time's not coming back.

But Thursday's when I clap.

Chronologies I disavow.

Tuesday's Wednesday, I don't know how.

Friday's just like Monday now.

But Thursday's when I clap.

From Brian Bilston

On Tender Hooks

On Tender Hooks

 

Let me cut to the cheese:

every time you open your mouth,

I'm on tender hooks.

 

You charge at the English language

like a bowl in a china shop.

Please nip it in the butt.

 

On the spurt of the moment,

the words tumble out.

It's time you gave up the goat.

 

Curve your enthusiasm.

Don't give them free range,

the chickens will come home to roast.

 

And now you are in high dungeon.

You think me a damp squid:

on your phrases I should not impose.

 

But the spread like wildflowers

in a doggy-dog world,

and your spear of influence grows.

 

 

Brian Bilston