SOME OCCASIONAL VERSE
Over the years I have occasionally amused myself by writing verse. I soon learned that everything that I wrote with serious intent lacked anything of literary merit, but some of the more tongue in cheek pieces I have penned over the years still entertain me. I hope that other readers might find some of the following verses can at least raise a smile, if not a laugh.
***
HUNGER FOR PEACE OF MIND
I hunger for peace, and peace of mind,
But they are now hard to find.
The world has started to go down and down
And each leader acts like a self-promoting clown.
Demonstrators in Hong Kong have made the city
Dangerous and chaotic, which is a great pity,
And many streets are hard to cross
And shopping malls suffer financial loss.
The widespread bushfires way Down Under
Have made the states a smoking wonder
As houses burn and turn to rubbish
And the government’s response is weak and snobbish.
But as those fires subside when rain arrives
A virus comes and starts to take many lives.
That virus began in a food market in a city
And the local response was just duplicity,
For the city’s officials denied the virus
Could create a global crisis.
But after Wuhan claimed all was fine
The health of the world began to decline
As countries everywhere let their tourists
Spread the disease in cafes, clubs and florists,
Because they had never been warned of the viral dangers
For the Wuhan officials were all free rangers.
And while the virus has infected the world
American politics has fallen as chaos unfurled
As white supremacists do all they can
To support police for killing a black man,
And when thousands line up to demonstrate
The President promises to make America grate.
So while restaurants still serve delicious food
And the fragrance of flowers improves one’s mood,
International travel is limited
And families suffer from being separated.
I hunger for peace and freedom, which would revive
The peace of mind we need to survive.
***
THE FAILURE OF TYPHOONS
As the months move on, and June turns into July,
The typhoons come and go and rain pours from the sky.
The streets are full of water and the trees bend like begging monks
As the wind turns into fury and keeps people at home in their bunks.
The restaurants all are closed and there’s nowhere we can dine,
The shops are shut and we can only eat sandwiches with wine.
The planes that normally land on a regular local runway
Are all diverted to distant islands where the wind is a gentle sway
And the passengers spend the night in small hotels and bars
Until the typhoon lets peace return to earth and brings out all the stars.
The air is peaceful once again and the streets are clean and dry
As life returns to normal from the sea up to the sky.
But though the typhoon’s passing lets peace come back to town,
A flood of political egos spreads chaos from the top down.
No matter where they come from – East, West, North or South –
They love to have a loud and noisy mouth,
For their behaviour is controlled by a single drive –
The passionate desire to ensure their fame and power thrive.
They play endless games, denouncing innocent citizens,
Claiming they are defending the state against some dangerous netizens,
And never admit that the daily news is fake and just designed to give
Them the self-admiration they need to live.
They hate meditation and literature, and ignore Dickinson’s warning
Not to shout like a frog in front of an admiring bog every morning.
If only the typhoons could blow these ambitious clowns
Into the sea or sky, we would always have smiles and not frowns,
But so far the typhoons have failed to make the world a peaceful place;
And Presidents and Prime Ministers still desire to win some political race.
So maybe typhoons should blow along every global road,
And wash the streets and alleys and give humanity an ego-free abode.
***
BLUE GIRL BEER
If the reservoirs of Kowloon
Were full of Blue Girl Beer,
You'd only have to sip a spoon
To know why I'd still be here.
***
SATAN’S TAXING TIMES
'Tis time we all should understand
that behind every evil
there is the dark, sinister hand
of Satan, the eternal devil.
When Satan sees the population
on earth having lots of fun,
with food, wine and copulation,
he fears Hell will come undone.
So he contacts his covert agents
and expounds on his inner frustration,
with directives to Prime Ministers and Presidents
to escalate the rate of taxation.
For he knows when taxes rise
people feel depressed and unwell
and are lured by the tempting prize
of the tax-free pleasures of Hell.
But Donald denounced his directive
and reduced tax paid by the wealthy,
then sent a fake tweet that he's not a secretive
ally of Satan, the idol of all who are stealthy.
So no matter what games you play,
whether cricket, chess or hockey,
unless you go to Hell for the day
Satan’s hand will be picking your pockie!
***
Your hand in mine
and the scent of your hair
these are things
lovelier than wine
***
A Chinese poem can be beautiful,
and Fujisan is naturally divine,
a play by Shakespeare is always powerful,
the Mona Lisa is extremely fine
But though' the world is full of lovely things,
and life, I know, is rich and gay and sweet,
These joys are powerless to heal the stings
and wounds and aches which my heart can't defeat
So soft, so lovely and demure
that I can't leave you without great pain
A great pain for which there is no ready cure,
except for us to laugh and fuck again
So wait for me, my sweetest one,
and do not cry or feel despair
for though' today we are alone
you know my love is with you there
***
The earth freezes
grass withers
and trees stand bare
The icy breath of winter
chills the air
Winter grips the world
but still my blood and flesh is warm
the lust for you dispels the gloom
of any storm
***
I should be glad and smile
living in this enchanting place
but it seems like lonely exile
for I never kiss your nipples, or see your face
***
There was a new-wave Yakuza boss
Who went to live in China
But he suffered great personal loss,
Cause his Chilly Beans stayed in Waseda
He tried to think of other things,
Of work, of wine, of food,
But none of these could cure the stings
Of his longing, love-sick mood
And so this new wave Yakuza boss
Was left with no other means
Except play his gang a double-cross
And return to Chilly Beans
***
Pithecan Thropus Erectus
is Tokyo's new wave disco,
It's a lovely place that infects us
With a happy and carefree glow
The people who go there dress way out:
with weird coiffures and odd all round
but it's the sort of club you can stay at
for its music is a magical sound
I remember the night I spent there
as a pleasure too good to be true,
not because of the strange styles in hair,
but because I went there with you
***
Music in the night
Dancing in the light
When Victoria performs
The whole world swarms
***
A big white ghost
came home by post
It tried to scream
and make us dream
nightmares and all
We made it fall
in the washing machine
and now it's clean
but very wet
and we're brave yet
***
The search for a "launching-pad mechanism"
Led to "second-track" dialogue ad nauseum
But the monotonous tone
Of a Canadian drone
Revealed only one urge---Sado-Masochism
***
Sitting in the Deli Bar
Waiting for my flight
I watch the planes fly away
Completely out of sight
The people eating round me
Are from every distant land ---
from Singapore and Chile
Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand
But though they each express the lure
Of some far-off exotic place,
My mind still finds they can't obscure
The magic of your face
***
There was a researcher from Pyongyang
Who spoke with a socialist twang
That those round the table
Were barely able
To stop themselves resorting to slang
***
Departure lounges of modern airports
seem built with boredom aforethought
The music is a bisexual drone ---
the gutless voice of the xylophone ---
and people all wear Hawaiian shirts
***
His chairmanship seemed so sloppy
That his brain could have been fired with poppy
But it soon became clear
That it was not even beer:
His mind was just an FYI copy
***
"To liberalise on an MFN-basis"
Said the man with the polka-dot braces
As he pulled out some data
On the growth rates pro rata
"Could challenge the regional stasis"
***
Golf is an Asian value
Extolled by Harry Lee Kuan Yew
Who said that the thought
Golf was a Western sport
Was a product of Huntington's view
***
A joint-development zone ---
The product of lawyers on the phone ---
Turned out very funny
Because it gave all the money
To the side that said it belongs to us alone
***
A joint-development zone
Propounded by lawyers by phone
Enabled a master of international law
To prove himself an earth-breaking bore
***
The man with the charisma by-pass
Ran the workshop like a Sunday-school class
But idealistic monotone
Turned the JD zone
Into a boring nugatory farce
***
We never wanted to shirk
The dangers and problems that lurk
In North-eastern Asia
But feared we would trigger the erasure
Of a conference-building perk
***
He would draw in trade and crime
To formulate a paradigm;
His exposition's lack of brevity
Matched its surfeit of levity
***
Now, alas, we're back from Staunton,
where our days were full of fun,
The cooking passing that of Canton
And matching the Tang in venison
Beneath its gracious castellations
We talked the old year to its fate,
And under the Bruce's ministrations
Welcomed the New Year, '88
Surrounded by kabuki scenes
And eastern art which always blends
With family portraits of those with means
We met a brand new gang of friends
The company gathered there that night
Was skilled in every human venture
From dentistry to "shoot on sight",
From politics to aquaculture;
Liz told her tales of the IMF,
While lovely Diane (who brought her dog)
Heard Amos expounding on the INF,
And all imbibed Bird's famed Egg Nogg
But pleasures of the palate soon fade away
And wit and wine can't thrill forever,
So on the morn of New Year's day
Euphoria turned (for some) to hangover
So now we face another year,
Far from the walls of Staunton Hill,
But the coming months can't make us fear,
For the magic castle is standing still
***
Whisky and wine
Make me feel fine
But lack the bliss
Of the taste of your kiss.
To touch your lips
To hold your hips
Are fruits more sweet
***
Oh to be with England,
Now she's in Abu Ghraib.
She wields the whip with force and pleasure:
She's a truly brutal babe
Oh to be in Iraq
Now that Lyndie's there:
When she wields the whip and caque
We can masturbate in air
And now we know that Rummy,
Despite that apology,
Is a secret devotee
Of De Sade, the Devine Marquis
***
If girls were wishes
and wishes came true
my nights would be delicious...
If only girls came through
***
Our Schedule, which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name,
Thy agenda come,
Thy will be done on earth
So that it’s never heaven.
Give us this day our daily planner,
And forgive us our delays,
As we forgive those who never rush,
And lead us not into procrastination,
But deliver us from pleasures primeval.
For thine is the diary, the hour and the date,
For never and never,
O!!! Lord ... I’m late!!!"
***
© John Byron - 2021