One year.
8th May 2021.
A two week lockdown,
to flatten the curve,
a two week lockdown,
to hold our nerve.
“Social distance”,
to stay out of harm,
one year later,
give us your arm.
The hospital worker,
Is now the hero,
they always have been,
no level zero.
Stricter rules,
“In this together”,
laughingly ignored,
by golf society members.
“Essential workers”,
everybody is,
divide and rule,
what a swizz.
Travel restrictions,
penalties imposed,
such contradictions,
to many lost souls.
“The new normal “,
it is anything but,
while we bicker,
stuck in a rut.
“Super spreaders”,
you are killing my granny,
selfish persons,
you are the few, we are the many.
TV and media,
keep watching the clock,
run along now minion,
get back into your box.
Don’t ask questions,
how dare you,
doubt the “experts”,
it’s not just a flu.
“Stay at home”,
don’t go for a hike,
polish the chrome,
on your Motorbike.
Clapping hands,
banging pots,
very quickly,
little masked tots.
“Hold firm”,
quarantine,
mass vaccination centres,
all will be fine.
Long term effects,
wait and see,
rule makers make rules,
with absolute glee.
Denied a voice,
this aint right,
pretty soon,
we will have no choice.
Stand in the queue,
and get the jab,
and before you know it,
your life will be fab.
Hurry up now,
you’ve got to be quick,
are you really afraid,
of a tiny little prick?
The End.
Mask your face (Big disgrace).
Before the masks,
walking down the street,
strangers passing,
staring down at their feet.
Neither a friendly wave,
nor a sociable glance,
a polite hello,
not a chance.
The masks came along,
cosy and snug,
all of a sudden,
the strangers are smug.
Self-satisfied and compliant,
staring superior into your face,
if you’re non mask wearing defiant,
you’re apart from the race.
A crackpot, an oddball,
deemed anti not pro,
considered a misfit,
not going with the flow.
Mask wearing, it is oh so brave,
Some day we all, are swept to the grave.
Excessive, aggressive, tough and
harsh rules,
Maybe, just maybe, we are being taken
for fools.
Freedom of choice,
lest it not be begrudged,
until the day,
we are no longer judged.
The End.
“Yet”.
It is not are you?
Or will you?
from people never met.
Expected to be injected,
no symptoms detected,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
The grounds seem feeble,
for succumbing to the needle,
not allowed to fly on a jet.
Limitless waves,
lives to be saved,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
Let there be no confusion,
no jab equals social exclusion,
a decision you may come to regret.
A swab up your nose,
going to get the dose,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
No aspect to be debated,
required to be inoculated,
government demands to be met.
Supposed immunity,
to rejoin the community,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
Your freedom it may impinge,
if you refuse the syringe,
the mandate is being set.
You will face token derision,
if you go with that decision,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
Invited you may be not,
if you don’t get the shot,
to some you will face certain death.
Lazily labelled a conspiracy theorist,
much worse to be a coincidence theorist,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
No signs of any infection,
you will suffer mass rejection,
on that you can hedge your bet.
There could always be some variant,
of its Covid parent,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
Talk now of a vaccine bonus,
on you is the onus,
to dine indoors you will be let.
Getting jabbed under pressure,
so you can have a bit of leisure,
“Did you get the vaccine yet?”.
To inject the entire population,
in this crazy situation,
that is the ultimate goal.
If you claim it is a fiction,
then you will come into friction,
they can stick the vaccine up their hole.
The End.
‘God Save The String’.
December 12th 2022.
Poem By Mike Bike.
Met at horseback Polo,
the young Prince still going solo,
She wore no wedding ring.
Known then as Camilla Shand,
She shook the Prince’s hand,
God Save The King.
Became much more familiar,
their interests were similar,
She a lady waiting in the wing.
But they both married other people,
amid fanfare under the steeple,
God Save The King.
He thought her a lively filly,
the attractive young Milly,
and all of the pleasures that she could bring.
never in plain sight,
God Save The King.
As his marriage began to unravel,
He turned to Jimmy Savile,
the degenerate decorated in bling.
But their union had reached it’s limit,
because his heart was not in it,
God Save The King.
His words he did not mince,
they could make the twisted wince,
for Camilla he had a peculiar thing.
In the expressions that followed,
they were hard to be swallowed,
God Save The King.
His lover Camilla Parker Bowles,
right under his Wife’s nose,
he gave her telephone a ring.
With his bedside lamp on,
said he would be her tampon,
God Save The String.
The End.
