This one must hit the target,
After months and years,
Of being fair and square,
It seems my silly poetry,
Has its teeth falling out,
Just in a flicker and 20 years have passed,
More of a beard and less of my hair,

Just a speckle in a universe,
Things just could not get any worse,
Then one idea pops in your head,
Makes you jump up out of your bed,
So explosive it’s like a shotgun blast,
This has got to be it, even if it is my last,
This is going to be the best poem of the year,
So holding out on the blue language,
Has still kept me in the red,
Trying to satisfy the tea and scone folk,
Who’re busy burying corpses in their bed,
When nothing ever so delicate swims in their mind,
Do not know what has hit them,
And never content for a line or two,
Only on a Sunday when they lip sync a hymn,

(so where is this poem of the year then?)

So for lots of people who don’t believe in rock n’ roll,
They are just happy
playing billiards with their sagging balls,
They think that all the daily news is the total truth,
They don’t know what shit is, until it’s leaking through their roof,
And they tread water between four wall of reason,
Even if they are drowning into the silly season,
When journalists are liars and priests are scum,
When you can trust no one in any authority,
Because they think we’re so damn dumb,

(and this is the poem of the year?, don’t make me laugh)

So why must I ramble on to make some poetry,
Got to give a shock to the people who are near,
The whole world has gone to pot and we’re lazier than before,
And the bang on the head from Mr. Truth has never been so sore,
So we all hide in books and on the Internet,
Not realising we are getting deeper into debt,
The so-called money men in London and New York,
Are playing Russian roulette with our hard-earned dough,
And when the shit hits the fan,
And you and me have to pay,
Those bastards in the skyscrapers,
Are dealing for another day,

(we’re falling asleep here, get to the point)

Cut to the ex prime minister of Italy,
Is still banging every surgically enhanced slut,
The economy is in tatters and all the monuments fall,
Where roads are broken roller coasters and every shop is shut,
Here businessmen are hanging from the rafters,
As they cannot afford that amount of tax,
While the government sit in five-star restaurants,
Burning our money just to relax,
All this shit I collect and distribute to you,
Not for you to get upset or to start to feel blue,
It’s about honesty and being absolutely true,
Just bringing this heap of a poem to you,
It might,
Not quite,
Alright may be not,
Be the best,
Or brightest,
Shinny new poem of the year,
But I’m showing you,
Telling you,
Inciting you,
That us,
All should care,
We should demand the truth,
We should demand all to be fair,
We should demand all to be honest,
We should be equal and totally sincere,
What you demand you shall have,
Truth is, this isn’t the poem of the year,
So stop being pussys demand your rights,
The governments should be the ones shaking in fear.


©D.Hobson November 2013