669 - Freedom's yoke

Fourth of July, old anniversary
Of independence from the British rule
With similar feelings in Zimbabwe
Yes, colonisation it sure ain’t cool
But freedom brings responsibility
The kind that we all face when leaving school
When left to ourselves we can’t always see
What our next move should be, and can be fooled
By short-term gain, paid for expensively
In later years, as long-term debt accrual
Devours that freedom, causes enmity
And hardship, civil war, long-running duel
Between future wealth and immediacy
Yes, freedom often is a tarnished jewel
Fri 4 July 2008

662 - See Nelson Mandela

Nelson Mandela’s ninetieth birthday
Frank Lampard’s going to AC Milan
The pollen count is high, watch out for hay
Seeds falling down and out at Wimbledon
The school barbecue, burger-eating fun
A glass of wine or two, the rain eased off
And afterwards at home, some dancing done
Watched the Mandela concert - he looked rough
He shuffled on and off stage, aged, gruff
But everybody cheered him anyway
Perhaps they naively assume one man
Can really change the world, though not enough
In fact, apartheid had just had its day
But well done Nelson, applause for the man
Fri 27 June 2008

658 - Mugabe shots

Mugabe mug shots fill the TV news
Mugabe thugs shoot to kill in village
Or beat them up with metal bars because
Inflation eats up money in rampage
And nation can’t afford bullets. Damage
Must be done on cheap. Gored gullets, hacked off
Limbs, acts of lust by sons out on forage
For things for their mums and siblings, real soft
Hearted Zimbabweans, family and stuff
The rest of them. Mugabe men abuse
Mugabe men eat well and they manage
MDC men go hungry, it is tough
But their fault for their angry nasty views
Mugabe mighty warrior, pay homage
Mon 23 June 2008

539 - St Augustine at the open mike night

St Augustine of Hippo was so hip
Around the year AD 370
He went to Carthage and used tongue and lip
Expertly on rhetoric and lady
Him and his mates even wrote poetry
And entered open mic nights (without mic)
He spoke fluently, rarely did he slip
Up in love's language, satire's barb and spike
His mother Monica, though, did not like
His worldliness, praying it was a blip
And that he'd jack in being a Manichee
Before God's hellfire-starting match could strike
A mother's love will eventually pip
Things at the post, and he became saintly
Mon 25 Feb 2008

469 - Boxing clever

I started reading a new book last night
(Well, from ’75, but never mind!):
It’s by Norman Mailer, it’s called ‘The Fight’,
And three reasons for reading it I find.
One is that its author has now declined
And fallen, naked, back among the dead.
Two is that boxing, unless you’ve been blind,
Has been in the news a lot lately. Read
About Mayweather / Hatton? And then third
Is that this book’s the last of a set. Might
As well read ’em all, then sell ’em. Enshrined
Within its pages, the clash of two dread
Fighters, Ali and Foreman, shining bright;
In Africa’s dark heart briefly confined.
Mon 17 Dec 2007

463 - Fears in Algiers

A massive loss of life in Algiers
Al Qaeda is suspected, naturally
The usual focus of the media’s
The death toll, of course, but what’s hard to see
Is why they attacked a Muslim country,
And UNHCR which helps their poor.
Maybe they see it more symbolically,
A western branch cut off by Muslim saw.
Or are the causes internal affairs,
One group against another? Could it be
The smouldering embers of civil war?
One thing’s for sure: expect to have your fears
Built up about all Muslims generally.
Tue 11 Dec 2007