Posts Tagged ‘plastic’

Close Shave

February 18, 2015

In my dad’s dad’s time

A Sheffield steel blade

Would have been honed

Against leather strop.

Cut-throat. Clinical. Clean.

Sans hyperbole.

Cared for, it would endure.

Now, I wield a wondrous

Five-bladed monster.

The latest technology,

Shaped by focus groups,

Sharpened by adverts.


Encased in pointless

Plastic packaging.

All style,

No substance.

Tiny bars to imprison

The cutting edge.

Aloe vera lubricates, protects.

No irritation, guaranteed.

So why am I bloody irritated?

£10 for four measly blades!

My skin may be safe

But I can’t help feeling ripped off.

Overpaid, over-hyped, overblown

Promoted by a prancing primadonna

Waltzing across a field of green.

Enough to make me

Wonder. What went wrong?

Why do we need such waste?

I might as well grow a beard.

little red little green

If you have enjoyed my poetry on this blog, my new collection, “Little Green Poetry” is now available from Lulu – – £4+P&P (paperback) or £2.50 (for e-book readers)

You can still order copies of my first collection, “Little Red Poetry” from or – again for £4 (pb) or £2.50 (as a pdf for e-readers).

I hope you enjoy reading my poems, and, as always, all proceeds will go to help build the fightback against corporate political parties, to build a voice for the millions, not the millionaires.

To find out more about my politics, visit the website of the Committee For A Workers’ International, which is engaged in struggle in around 50 countries worldwide.

The Famous Sperm Whale (after William McGonagall)

December 31, 2013

‘Twas in the month of March, in the year 2013,
That a sperm whale was beached, due to plastic debris.
It had voraciously feasted, when it was at sea,
Not on plankton but on sheeting, meant to grow tomatoes for our tea.

Oh! it was a most fearful and beautiful sight,
But we must all be aware of the whale’s sad plight.
To see it lashing the water with its tail
Should make us all weep and wail.

They bravely cut up the whale without delay
And found 59 items of plastic in its stomach, all in disarray.
The stench was revolting, some would say
But most revolting of all was the stench of money.

So Aldi, Carrefour and Tesco,
Exotic fruits can’t be grown al fresco.
Consumers want their fruit out of season
So greenhouses use lots of plastic sheetin’.

And supermarkets know they can make plenty of profit
By ignoring health and safety, not caring about the vomit-
Inducing tale of the famous sperm whale,
Never more to lash its ugly and mighty tail.

Then the people did descend on the supermarket bosses
To make sure they did the right thing, never mind any losses!
The people were angry and put up a good fight.
Will the supermarkets ever listen, or care about our seas’ plight?

Then the people together in crowds did protest
Resolved to change this messed-up system, with civil unrest.
To protect our planet, as it’s the only one we’ve got,
To fight for a decent future for all, is that such a naive thought?

On the beach of beautiful Andalucia, the dead whale sadly lay
And so I will conclude this awful and terrible lay.
There’s a petition to be signed, which here can be reached
To protect our seas, no more whales to be beached.

You can read some more of my poetry in ‘Little Red Poetry’. All proceeds go to build a new party for ordinary people, against cuts and privatisation. Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

Copies are also available from Left Books

Rebellious Green Writing – ‘Militant Seagulls’ 16th March 2013

March 16, 2013

Until this wasteful system of profit and exploitation is ended, such suffering will endure.

Poem inspired by the above video, written at a poetry workshop with Lydia Towsey and Tim Sayers.

The Curse Of the Albatross

Wanderers of the seas
Mistake our plastics for food.
If only they could understand.

Instinctive – the chicks’ beaks
Plaintive, upheld,
Call for vital sustenance.

Instead – the head of a
Long-forgotten toothbrush,
The hand of a child’s doll.

Flotsam and jetsam of modern life,
Bought to stifle
Clamouring cries of our own offspring,
Impatient for the latest fad.

Many miles from the city,
Our rubbish is transported,
Washed out to sea.
Tragic circles of plastic debris,

Gathered in the gullets and the gizzards of the gulls.
Inscribed by fragile feathers,
Bones of wings that never had a chance
To exult on the soar of an updraft.