Mercy

It is a bit frustrating to see my poetry all squashed together in a single block. It’s only after you click “Read more” that you can read it as I mean you to read it.

So this is a lengthy intoduction to a simple 4 liner that I rather like. Thanks Del and your dad.

There is meanness in the best of us
And sweetness in the worst
That cautions the rest of us
Not to throw a stone first.


Steve Blakesley  © September 2016

Banks

There are all sorts  of bank

That make our world much better

Food banks and blood banks

Where no one’s made a debtor

Seed banks ensure we have

A world that’s fair and  green

The profit is for all of us

To share when times get lean

The miracle of selflessness

Is not an idle wish

It started once in Galilee

With barley loaves  and fish.

© Steve Blakesley

Just Go For It

Astra was a tuna fish

 Who liked to swim at speed

The other fishes  laughed and said,

 “There really  is no need.

Don’t make a fuss and swim like us “

But Astra took no heed.

Tuna swim fantastically

 At speeds that would amaze

And Astra laughed while leaping through

The massive foam topped waves

Playing in the sea and feeling free

And thinking in new ways

“Why bother,” scorned the other fish,

 “Leaping for the sky?”

“Your jumping gets you nowhere,

 Because fish like us can’t fly. “

“I don’t just feed, my mind is freed

We don’t know where our futures lie.”

The nets they came from nowhere,

It seemed they just appeared.

Just go For It she told herself

That net it can be cleared

And so she leapt whilst others wept

She leapt both nets and fishing boat

And sang her freedom song

She turned and saw the other fish

So sad they’d not live long

So come on fishes, be ambitious

Being different isn’t wrong.

The School Report

I’m writing here a useful guide

For those who’ve never taught,

To help you understand the terms

Used in a school report.

Teachers are most careful  when

They write the terms events;

They’re honest but they’re careful,

So as not to give offence.

A “lively” child is often one

You peel off from the wall.

To call him bad or even mad

Just wouldn’t do at all.

Lacking motivation is a

Coded way of saying

He doesn’t lift a finger but

Likes gossiping and playing.

A child that’s lacking social skills

In terms both straight and crude

Is one who snatches what he wants

In fact, he’s bloody rude.

Lacking presentation skills is

Nothing more nor less

Than saying his work’s unreadable

It’s all a scruffy mess.

So when you open his report

Please stay that generous hand

Top of his class or sat on his arse?

Make sure you understand.

Steve Blakesley © June 2002

Votes For Slugs

I think that sentient animals

Can suffer awful pain

If we deny they’ve feelings

No one stands to gain.

We are human creatures

Who share our planet Earth

With all the other animals

And all have come to birth

We cannot claim a greater right

To live our lives in peace

So has the tortoise in her shell

The sheep clothed in her fleece.

A slug is sentient, they like the damp

And they react to pain

They also have their rights like us

Although they lack a brain

A chimpanzee has DNA

Almost the same as man

And some show more intelligence

Than a human baby can

That baby has her rights of course

In time, she’ll get the vote

Democracy for toddlers

So if child,  why not chimp- or goat?

So all that lives upon this earth

The birds and beasts and bugs

Need their rights protecting

So why not votes for slugs?

Steve Blakesley © September 2016

Fly Brexit Airways

The A220 aircraft

 Cruised through the stratosphere

But passengers in transit

Had heard of a new idea

For miles below at Heathrow

The atmospheric pressure

Was higher than it was onboard

And nicer and much fresher.

They had a referendum

To open up all the doors

Remove this cabin pressure

Some passengers clap applause.

If given independence

They’d get air from outside

Dictated to by cabin crew

Such rules they can’t abide.

The captain tried to argue

Outside they’d not survive

The cabin pressure had to be

To keep them all alive.

That was clearly rubbish

Trains don’t pressurize

Nor do our cars or buses

We’re sick of all your lies.

Both sides explained to passengers

And both were quite emphatic

This vote would change their lives a lot

But it was democratic.

They counted out the votes each way

Doors open polled fifty two

Doors staying closed just forty eight

This shocked the whole flight crew

But two back in the galley

And one deranged technician

Thought the air outside was good

And now they had permission

The passengers had decided

Closed door guys, let them bleat

We’re going to open all the doors

At twenty thousand feet.

The captain tried for compromise

Perhaps we’ll just land first

But openers they shouted back

Your cabin pressure’s cursed.

Traffic control were gob smacked

Who gave passengers a vote?

Even if you land at sea,

How d’you know you’ll float?

They chose a brand-new captain

The role was clearly bruising.

This new man though, was bright and blonde

And generally amusing.

“Oh come on, just get on with it,”

The passengers all cried

“Open all the blooming doors

Let democracy decide.”

© Steve Blakesley 19/10/19

Job Done

What holds us to this earth?

This plane of being?

It is love.

Love is strong

And it constantly amazes us.

But in the end we must relax our grasp.

Despite love

Because of love

We must let life go.

All of us must.

At our time, when it comes.

Say a fond goodbye.

It’s time to go,

Our job done.

Steve Blakesley © September 2019

Trust Me

My name is Doctor Shipman

I’m here to ease your pain

I hear you’ve not been well at all

And me- I’m quite insane.

I see you’ve had a birthday

You’re seventy is that so?

You’re really getting on a bit.

I fear you’ll have to go

I don’t suppose you’ve made a will

But it matters not my dear

I’ve got a spare one in my bag

You simply sign down here.

Trust me, I’m a doctor

I’d never do you harm

Malingering ladies are gladly fooled

By my easy bedside charm.

Don’t ask me now, to count up how

Many death certs  I have signed.

Be happy I scrawl my name at all

For the coroner’s simply blind

No, I’m not that good with figures

And my conscience has necrosis

So, the numbers that really speak to me

Are the ones for lethal doses.

You’re better off with a pain free death.

You’ll thank me one day soon

We’ll legalise euthanasia

And then who will call the tune?

So now I hold your hand and smile

I’ll help, though help you spurn

Relax my dear as I open this vial

Today it is your turn.

Steve Blakesley ©  May 2002