Carl Jung

Carl Jung
"To find a way back to source is a perennial human need."



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Tuesday, 20 February 2018

Taffi Triog

Taffi Triog

Treacle Toffee

Limbo land, purgatory, call it what you will.

 It is somewhere between Aberystwyth and Cardiff.

 Could be Rhayader or Llanymddyfri, depends what route you take.

 Maybe I should stay there instead of making for one of the compass points.

 East or West and on occasion North. 

For a Welsh Nationalist I am heartily sick of Wales.

 I know its roads and why's and wherefore's too well.

 "Ni allaf ddianc rhag hon" 

Well I'm not so sure, just leave, never too return because its never going to be how I want it to be with everybody speaking Welsh and full employment with interesting, stimulating jobs and those staggered throughout the day instead of everyone clogging up the roads at exactly the same time in the morning and the evening!

9-5 what a way to make a living?

 Well Kenny Rogers has retired and this is just an Island in the Stream.

 Every one speaking Welsh you say?

With English being so easy and sexy and available? 

Those words like 'Drive Thru' and 'Toys R Us'.

 The text talk seducing us like sirens on the quayside at Cardigan. 

The English Language is a whore, a piece of meat for sharks to nibble from. 

Solidarity Sisters.

 The only change that might come democratically is the single transferable vote. 

Welsh Labours' domination of the political landscape since 1999 and before that is akin to the Sicilian Mafia.

 There is more corruption in Cardiff Bay than in Palermo.

 Is he writing poetry or prose this time?

 Who cares? he's fucked off I can sense that. 

For a Welsh Nationalist, I am heartily sick of Wales, its sticky rock melting in the summer sun, its Castle Walls soothing the uncomfortable tourists' breast. 

Gwyl this or Gwyl that!

 Hwyl Fawr, goodbye to all the piss and pageantry of the Six Nations. 

The whining voices of pundits and commentators as if they were Gods but here in Wales they are. 

Bara, Bread & Circus butty!

 It's what I was weaned and suckled on.

 "Don't fight it wuss, give in to its sweet treacle"

 Taffi Triog! 

Wales is a piece of Taffi Triog full of Taffy diogs like me, all on benefits, waiting for the next hand out.
Bite too hard and you'll break your teeth and you won't be able to find a dentist on the NHS.

Siwgwr Brown ta Siwgwr Gwyn?

 Clefyd y Siwgwr.

Don't care, it's glazing in the spoon now and I will get the syringe to jack up my addiction. 

Sinking to the bottom of your Coffee Cup and sticking to the sides like a Westminster Power Grab because that is what we iz, a bit on the side, 
a bit on the left hand side of UK PLC.

 Taffi Triog yn toddi!

Sunday, 18 February 2018

Three Men and a Concrete Mixer

Three Men and a Concrete Mixer

This should be a play but a poem shall have to suffice because I cannot be bothered and that was the collective look on the faces of the three men and the concrete mixer who I aspyed outside the shop that used to be a charity in Bath Street, Aber.
'Stryd y Baddon' a native might say. 
Hang on, maybe this should be a play put on by Arad Goch. 
The faces were priceless but bored. 
If chewing tobacco was still a thing then that is what one would be doing, the one looking longingly out to sea, shall we call him Mick!
He would rather be the Captain of a Tea Clipper or a Pirate in the West Indies than mixing concrete in Ceredigion amongst the Saturday afternoon shoppers.
I'm giving them all old fashioned names because waiting for a concrete mixer to finish is an ancient art that involves the incantation of seaweed and salt. 
Sid was the one in the middle and the one with his hand on the tiller.
He would be tipping in a short while with a supreme but laconic confidence.
Builders and labourers the world over knew Sid, for they were him.
They were the Boss, the man with the invoice and the gap in the front teeth.
Jimmy didn't want to be seen, he was more your moonlighting thespian.
His back arched, you could sense his longing for the concrete and its mixing to be over. 
The boys could have done the sand dance or the soft shoe shuffle while they were waiting. 
Gone busking perhaps as the thrifty three but they knew as soon as they clocked me that I would be writing about the photograph that I had just seen.
"There is no privacy to be had Sid, is there?"
" No Mick, these Playwright Poets are bleedin everywhere! It wouldn't be a bad thing if they took a turn on the concrete mixing instead of trying to fix our lives for us"
"At least we're earning and time and a half at that, unlike him who has probably had to apply for a grant"
"Yeah he's a wanker right enuff and he shouldn't really be raiding our intimacy like this. Worse than the tabloids that we read with a fever over tea."
fellas, fellas, I'm sorry but I am going to publish and be damned because your faces should be set in concrete, a kind of Mount Consti for 'labrwrs' instead of Presidents.

Thursday, 15 February 2018

Casineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law

Casineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law

Wnaeth ddim byd stopio bachgen gyda chasineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law.

Iechyd Meddwl mai'r diawl Donald yn deud?

Sut mae iechyd meddwl yr Unol Daleithiau tybed?

Dim ond ni'r unigolyn sydd gydag iechyd meddwl nid y wlad na'r gymdeithas ehangach?

Dydyn ni ddim ond y canlyniad i gymdeithas ehangach ac os yw'r gymdeithas yna yn deud mae gynnon ni'r hawl i gario arfau does dim ots am y gwenwyn sydd wedi cael ei thywallt i mewn i'r twndis cyn hyn. 

'Nineteen' ganodd Paul Hardcastle am oedran y milwyr aeth allan i ymladd dros yr Unol Daleithiau yn Fietnam. Oedd hwn wrth gwrs yn rhyfel cyfiawn yn deillio o gymdeithas ag gweledigaeth iach?

Tybed beth rydym yn gweld bob tro mae rhywun yn lladd fel hyn ydy rhyw fath o 'Karma' yr oes newydd. 

Rhyw fath o 'payback' i ddefnyddio gair Hollywood am beth ddigwyddodd yn 'Wounded Knee'? 

Claddwch fy nghalon yn ben-glin clwyfedig.

Mi fydd na sawl claddedigaeth dros y dyddiau ac wythnosau nesaf ag mi fydd rheolau arfau ag iechyd meddwl yn cael ei thrafod trosodd a throsodd. 

Efallai beth sydd yn dod yn fwyfwy amlwg ers 9/11 ydy fod y wlad ag y cyfandir enfawr yma wedi cael ei felltithio, ddim gan gan (song) na chwedl y brodorion cynhenid ond gan ei weithgareddau ei hunan ers Datganiad Annibyniaeth nol yn 1776. 

Beth ddaeth y dyn gwyn gyda fe o gyfandir Ewrop?

Casineb yn ei galon a dryll yn ei law.

Bardd Cocos ta Bardd Talcen Slip?

Bardd Cocos ta Bardd Talcen Slip?

Fi ddim yn un o'r beirdd go iawn

Rhy’ clyfar, rhy grefftus, rhy fedrus

maent yn rhoi fy efforts yn y shade ond wyddoch chi fod sgrifennu Wenglish fel hyn ddim mor hawdd.

Mae cael y cyfuniad cywir o air Cymraeg ag un Saesneg yn rhethreg

Rhegi dwi eisiau gwneud bob tro wrth foddi da'n tomen o lo.

Dyna ein hanes ni yn y bôn.

Gwneud mor a mynydd o benderfyniad y ref.

Pryd ar ddaear galwyd ef yn TMO, gobeithio fod cynnwys ei ginio yn GMO.

Dwi ddim yn dilyn y bel hirgrwn bellach ar ôl sylwi ar ei phlu, after all gyda knighthood neu tri, dydyn nhw ddim yn cynrychioli fi!

Rydym mewn rhiw 'limbo land' hyll o fyd ar hyn o bryd.

Neb yn siŵr beth i wneud na dweud.

Dynion a Menywod yn really afraid o'i gilydd.

Dienyddio dyddiol ar y sianeli digidol

Ysbryd Beca yn cuddio dan sgertiau Gang y Llawes Goch.

Pobol yn dadlau dros dal am ddarllen y newyddion

Popeth yn fras a phobol yn gas.

Mae bywyd fel ras, un yr ydych yn siŵr o golli.

Does 'na ddim gair am "immortality" yn Gymraeg , byw am byth, byth yn marw
oh oes bollocks anfarwoldeb, diolch byth achos

Ti ddim yn gallu cael dau byth yn yr un frawddeg.

Mae hwnna yn gwneud o dri.

Rheolau, dydyn nhw ddim yn berthnasol i fi.

Ffeindio pwrpas mewn bywyd heb golli dy hun ydy'r unig beth all cwblhau'r llun.

Felli pop pickers yn eich barn chi,

Pleidleisiwch am

1) Bardd Cocos


2) Bardd Talcen Slip

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

Populist Poet

Turn up every morning in flowing robes and spin a few odes for the gathering crowds.

Populist Poet

It turns out that I am a populist poet
not popular because nobody has ever heard of me,
but like these politicians apparently
they go after the largest block vote
It's about having the biggest following.
I could become a cult poet, yes with an L, no you're not going deaf.
The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, the Osho of Poets.
that would be good, I'd like that.
Turn up every morning in flowing robes and spin a few odes for the gathering crowds.
Go on chat shows and have my bottom licked by Piers Morgan
and maybe I could return the favour to somebody else's organ.
Get voted into the Welsh Assembly as the Leader of the Poetry Party
Hang on Tonto that didn't rhyme!
You're a populist all right, you're committing crime (in broad daylight)
What about all these poor poets who take their work seriously,
you know the ones who can actually write,
when they see me coming, they flee into the night.
I will charge by the word and claim strict metre on expenses.
I will flaunt my wealth
I will turn up to the Senedd in a Rolls Royce and on the CD I'd be playing Max Boyce.

I will turn up to the Senedd in a Rolls Royce and on the Cd I'd be playing Max Boyce.

I'd be wearing so much bling, the accountants they would sing,
give this cult (poet) with an L, the First Minister's Ring.
Carwyn with head bowed leaves for Bridgend a broken FM and instead of the usual suspects,
the Speaker offers me some biscuits and I'm up there giving it large.
After an afternoon's sail round the Bay in a barge I give out the orders to the others.
Dafydd El and his huge tongue is given lavatory duty.
Labour's Terracotta Soldiers are run ragged round Mermaid Quay.
UKIP are disappeared, concrete slippers and fish in the knickers.
This Populist Poet begins a riot.
The Homeless from the back of Debenhams are allowed to stay scot free,
they have the run of the Senedd and are made tea
by Tory assembly members who don't know whether they are coming or going under the FM with the skeleton head cane.
No British Royalty is allowed anywhere near.
Mrs Windsor I fear is not very dear.
Every AM is paid the average wage of Wales namely £19,000 and the £48,000 saved per member goes into teaching poetry.
The Poetry Programme will be broadcast every day out across the Bay.

The Poetry Programme will be broadcast every day out across the Bay.

North Korea will envy the totalitarian state run by PP.
This will be Poetry for the People by the People.
Unfortunately for this Populist Poet he began to believe, like Welsh Labour that he was untouchable and didn't realise that anti-bad poetry sentiment was spreading throughout the land.
So with the next election, Populist Poet was thrown out
but not before the erection of a golden statue, summat with a bit of bite,
a life like representation of flies around shite 💩
The Prose Party had won a landslide, it was time for short stories and novellas to be heard
but all was not lost for populist poet, he got a job penning odes in a Christmas Cracker Factory.
Before disappearing into anonymity
he turned to the press and gave them the bird
and announced in pidgin Wenglish "Fe Godwn Ni Eto"

Tuesday, 13 February 2018

On Ilkley Moor Bar Cat

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?
"I'm now a Shoreditch 
Hipster Bar Cat baby
buzz off back to Batley daddyo"
Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?
Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee?
I'm a Shoreditch 
Hipster Bar Cat baby
I'm a Shoreditch
Hipster Bar Cat baby
I'm now a Shoreditch Hipster Bar Cat Baby 
Tha's been a 'tomming' Mary Jane?
Now trendy boutiques and vintage shops are more my  thing
Tha's bahn' to catch thy deeath o' cowd
"Shoreditch is an arty area adjacent to the equally hip neighborhood of Hoxton. Young creatives and trendsetters fill the fashionable clubs and bars that surround Shoreditch High Street, Great Eastern Street and Old Street. An eclectic dining scene features everything from trendy chain restaurants and smart gastropubs to artisan coffee shops and noodle bars. Vintage and design shops are plentiful."
Then us'll ha' to bury thee
"Offering a unique Kung Fu kitsch setting, this bar/restaurant is known for its great cocktails and Dim Sum. Expect all of the classic Chinese cuisine, including wontons, spring rolls, tofu and prawns."
Then t'worms'll come an' eyt thee oop
"This bar features exposed brickwork and has a hip decor that is complemented by mismatched chairs. There is a food truck in the garden, while it also has a large selection of craft beers."
Then t'ducks'll come an' eyt up t'worms
"This large venue has a lot of graffiti-style artwork, giving it a very unique feel. It has a comprehensive snack menu, while there is also a gallery space where budding artists can showcase their creations."
Then us'll go an' eyt up t'ducks
"This Brazilian-inspired cocktail bar serves an array of beers and tapas-style food. At the weekends there is a live DJ who plays until late into the night."
Then us'll all ha' etten thee
"Taking you from day to night, Shoreditch High Street is lined with independent shops and an eclectic mix of restaurants, gritty bars and pubs."
That's wheear we get us ooan back
"Oh Christ of Cats take me back to Yorkshire and get me away from all this pretence" 🙀

Monday, 12 February 2018

The Hobo from Hoboken

The Hobo from Hoboken
How many homeless sleeping under the stars?
How many drunks cursing the stars?
Got people going way back in Cambria Wisconsin and then Oshcosh, then last heard of in Fessenden, North Dakota.
That's a hell of a name ain't it, Sarasota?
One of my favourite books 
' The Autobiography of a Supertramp'
William H Davies of Newport riding the box cars and losing his leg, selling matches and writing poetry
"What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare"
Walking the lanes or rather hobbling! 
Staying in Doss Houses and Writing
Hobo short for Homeless Body? Dunno
Tramp, vagrant, bum, these guys were heroes to me and then some.
Taking the trails, vague memories of Wales, meeting the indigenous,
white man disingenuous. 
They provided the fire water to drown sensitivity.
Making native American's rootless, 
their plan was to bring others to Turtle Island to pick cotton.
From Tubman to tub thumper, 
"I have a dream" echoed down from Mount Rushmore leading to civil war.
Perhaps it's a good thing that we don't live very long,
you gotta find your own way,
write your own song.
The Buke and Davies the Duke described the hustling amidst the bustling.
Always just one step ahead of authority and conformity, slavering like hounds who wished to squash the spontaneity out of them like a beetle on a sun drenched sidewalk.
I doff my cap to the Hobos of Hoboken
I hope that my few words spoken will salute the spirit of the open,but not broken.

Saturday, 10 February 2018

Anglo Welsh Verse

Anglo Welsh Verse

You're probably beginning to wonder by now if the Clown Bard of Bridgend is starting to lose his grip on reality (again)
You can't help noticing that he's penning some doggerel that should really be floating down the Seine because if I really did have some delusions of grandeur I'd be penning me poems in Paris and the Louevre
In a garret not in a turret of one of Edward I's Castles.
They start off bright and breezy but tail off rather sleazy.
"You're not hurting anybody that's true but you are making us rather blue churning out ode that should be forbode"
My aim is to find that Anglo Welsh verse which will make people reverse, park their cars and listen up to someone, previously considered perverse.
'A fo ben bid bont' say the words of the old chant.
'If you want to be a leader be a bridge'
that one's on a magnet on my fridge.
I'm one of those guys who is hoping not to be noticed in real life,
I don't want to end up with a trouble and strife who is with me because of my words.
It won't be my dress sense because I am really rather scruffy.
It won't be my bank balance but it could be my kindness because I'm still renowned as a soft touch.
Some people suspect I might be gay, but that really isn't for them to say.
They really shouldn't speculate as to over whom I ejaculate.
Physically and sexually with women but emotionally I relate to some men,
namely other bad poets and billy no mates.
I am not the strong and silent type.
They tend to kill themselves.
'Syrth y cryf ysgeulus, saif y gwan gofalus'
I think that I am more anxious and neurotic and withdraw from intimacy because of its simplicity.
Being with one person for the rest of your life is something that was a problem for Camus and his wife.
"If you want monogamy, marry a Swan" but I would imagine that those down at the Liberty would have something to say about this polyamory. 
I don't want another man's kids as my own although at my age the seeds are probably sown.
I could be Jaffa although it wont be shown because I practise my sex saffa.
I lost all my hair in 99, the chemotherapy was a symptom, not a sign.
Then to cap it all I lost my mind in 2005. What rhymes with that?
Oh yes Prison
I am a prisoner once again now because I am a carer although I can't see how shouting at the elderly out of frustration for £62.10 a week can be considered anything close to care,
but I am there because my conscience won't allow me to be elsewhere.
Who knew that this poem would end up autobiography but again it shows my homespun philosophy.
Tell em a little, give em a clue because anything I write has little value.
I'm not being modest or self effacing but if people rated it, they would be chasing, me with their cheque books and bank cards and demanding that I sign my books of so called poetry.
That is for another day because suffice to say
today is the North London Derby and Wales play England at Twickenham.

Friday, 9 February 2018



Why do you look at me in that tone of voice? 
If I had my way I would march you round to the vestry to listen to performance poetry at spud gun point.
You have the incredible knack to make everything black, the mood not the colour.
 You wouldn't say make everything white, now that would be shite.  
You use the word Scientist and Freemason as if they were poison. 
Got to be careful because the half trouser legged chief architect to the Pharoes want to be seen as heroes.
I don't know enough about them to pass comment but that doesn't stop you and your verbal vomit.  
You've been on the acid drops, there's ashes on your tongue, you're always complaining till someone offers you a bung.
You pretend to be nice, perhaps that's your biggest vice.  
You booze and schmooze, make sure you never lose. 
How we got together I'll never know, you looked quite attractive in the neon glow. 
But I realise now that the word you hold so dear could not be more clear to describe you.
Ex-pert in Welsh means someone who used to be pretty.  
Watching Hans Blix used to make you sick.
You were convinced Saddam was packing em. 
You're meant to give people the benefit of the doubt but as far as you're concerned, they've all got gout.  
You flout your ignorance and prejudice as if its going out of fashion, maybe it is, others don't realise you have me on a ration (of love) 
If only they knew with Valentine round the corner how much of a Saint you pretend to be.
You'll get your comeuppance, calling me a cheapskate. 
here I've got threepence go and fetch the pet python something for tea.

Thursday, 8 February 2018

I shall never wear tweeds

Melancholic alcoholic on the anabolic carbolic
folic acid attacks on pregnant muvvers
leading sons to become muggers.
Authority, Conformity, Banality
It's all here in what you call reality.
I'm passing the buck, I don't give a fuck.
You take relish in saying
"The world doesn't owe you a living"
after taking my exams and failing.
I'm just a name, a face in the crowd
Barcode Brexit Britain
cos I'm claiming benefits
I'm a stain on your reputation as a global imperial power
Your royal blue bloods are turning sour.
You want me to shop my arse off at Christmas
vote for your party, obey all your laws, I step out of line you show me your claws.
The Peelers and Coppers of whom I could be one, stop me "the name's red" with a Tazer Gun.
beaten blue and black cos I dared to fight back
Hushed up, covered up!
What goes on in the cell, stays..
"Don't touch that bell."
Appropriate restraint, it ain't.
Don't look, don't touch, you don't want much!
Girlfriend and me going in for the immaculate conception so I don't labour under the misconception that I have any right to bite her neck when I'm feeling lustful and boastful
There's nowhere to turn so I pull my hoody up and sit on the bus and watch all the fuss.
I blaze like there's no tomorrow,
I wish that there wasn't
I'll have to borrow your sanity and probity
I need a lobotomy
I can't live in my head
I wish you weren't dead
Why do I think that going to bed will solve all my problems?
Do you know the reason that people don't fear mortality?
Because they are tired and remarkably are ready to rest
The older you get, you run out of zest.
I'd rather go at 27 than 69 but it's whatever you want.
All's just fine
Don't be surprised when I turn into the melancholic alcoholic on the anabolic carbolic because there's nothing here for me.
but I'll tell you sumffink for nuffink
I shall never wear tweeds.

Wednesday, 7 February 2018



Dwi'n deffro bob bore gyda syniad, am ddarn o farddoniaeth sâl

Ag heddiw roedd hi mwy na chael a chal.

Pwl o euogrwydd yn fy ngafael a chwarae gyda fy ngwar,

mae rhaid i ti sgrifennu yn 'Wenglish' i ddangos dy ddoniau pal.

'Ffrind' dwi'n galw fy hunan, oherwydd mae dyddiau hunan casineb di ru,

yn wir yr, wedi cael y gorau ohono i.

Dwi'n trydar fel dyn gwallgof, dwi'n edrych ar Instagram man a man

Weplyfr, Pinterest ag e byst, bach yn embarrassing i ddyn hanner cant.

Dwi hyd yn oed yn defnyddio emojis 

Gyd dwi yn wneud di lladd amser,

llenwi'r bwlch, y gofod lle dyle Duw

ond mae fe yn gwybod gwell na neb, y poen meddwl, y loes byw.

Mae bod yn rhan o genedl hanner a hanner yn creu gofid

mae ceisio gwneud rhywbeth amdano jest yn rhoi halen ar friw.

Dwi'n siŵr fod gyda chi well i wneud na ddarllen hen sgrifennu fel rhain

ond dwi'n gweld o bobol sydd yn ymweld â fy mlog maent yn dod 'nôl again and again.

Oh diar dwi fel y dyn yna o'r Gogledd, yr un oedd y Queen's Bodyguard.

i gymharu â Dai Davies dwi'n teimlo yn dipyn o bard.

Dwi'n teimlo fel real 'Interloper' yn yr hen wlad i chi'n galw home.

Ydy o yn bosib dioddef o hiraeth yn sbïo ar luniau cymerwyd o drone?

Oherwydd dyna sut dwi'n gweld yr hen Gymru,

fel dyn uwchben y clouds,

yn edrych i lawr ar fy nghyfoedion a fy nagrau yn disgyn fel glaw.

Perthynas, plant a phriodi all seems to be part of the gem ond dwi'n dal allan am rywbeth arall.

Look met! We can't all be the same.

Mae rhai yn canu am y pererin, rhai am y deryn, y dryw

Dwi'n cerdded heibio drws tafarn yng Nghaerfyrddin a chyd dwi'n gallu gwyntio di 💩

a dyna beth fydd yn digwydd dydd Sadwrn

yn Twickers, yr hen rosyn HQ

fydd dynion mor foliog â finnau yn berwi llawn tan fel y ddraig

ei gobeithion am hunan balchder yn dibynnu ar y bel wrth ei thraed.

Taswn ni gyd yn deffro un bore a deud na ni

"Enuff is enuff mae fy nghenedl a fy ngwerth fel unigolyn yn bwysicach na 'all this false stuff"

Ond ni'n gwybod taw breuddwyd di hynny a blwyddyn nesaf yr un fydd y cam

Ond a fydd Carwyn ag Adam dal wrthi yn mynd ben ben, fflam wrth fflam?

Tase e nhw yn gallu dadlau am rywbeth mwy pwysig na cholli cyfarfod neu tri

efallai basa pethau yn edrych yn well i ni gyd a fi.

Beth bynnag di 'Interloper' yn Gymraeg dyna sut dwi di deimlo ers oes pys

fel rhyw alien wedi dod i lawr i 'no man's land'

ond heddiw dwi ar dipyn o frys.

Tuesday, 6 February 2018

Mamgu's on the Fentanyl

Mamgu's on the Fentanyl

Mamgu's on the Fentanyl
it's been making loads of people ill
but she's saying since she read about it in the Western Fail
after scoring it on the dark web 
it's the best thing for her ails
Forget your cannabis lotion or your liquid Mary Jane
She's gone to the source of the Ffynnon
the thing that clears your brain
She'd had Alzheimer's & Dementia
now those two are in the past
she honestly can't remember
what drug she's taken last.
She'd read about the 9 year old from Ely
coming back from Bulgaria with knuckle dusters and stun guns
and thought to herself
I wouldn't mind getting tooled up
for my two weeks in the currant bun
So Mamgu made the airport with her
Great Dane and Rottweiller too 
and instead of flying first class
she navigated the bloody thing
The Costas were used to villains
she was dressed up to the Nains (Get it?)
but Welsh Gran was too much for them
one whiff of the Fentanyl up her schnozz
and she went gunning once again
Every bar became like a shooting range at the fair
left the walking frame and danced up the stair
even those Fascist police with their three pointed hats 
stayed indoors and played with the cat.
What I'm trying to tell you see
is don't you dare F**k with Mamgu
especially if she's been on the Fentanyl
she could kill. 

As ee nevar eard of Agincourt?

Michel Barnier in his Bovver Boots is strutting around town chewing Juicy Fruit.
His English counterpart Michael Barnes is watching all of this with increasing alarm.
"Typical, coming over here and telling us what's wot, as ee nevar eard of Agincourt?"
Henry Mark V wouldn't have put up with this Tommy Rot,
In school I was more bully than swot but on occasion I did ave a listen to what the teacher was pissin.
I know that my country was once Great and United and what kept it that way was we woz always fighting.
Bending over and getting tickled like Rover isn't going to mean we'll be rolling in clover.
Me and de boyz need to get over there pronto, 
we'll kick the door down like the Lone Ranger and Tonto.
Once they've had a talking to by Michael and the twins,
I can assure you we wont be going through their bins
they can keep their foreign muck or we'll have another ruck.
It's Britain First and Jacob Rees Mogg,
"Excuse me I need to find the bog,
 you know the toilette, the khazi, the hole in the floor?"
And with that the concierge showed him the door.
Michael and his Bulldog forgot what woz the score.
They flew through the air with the greatest of ease, that ignorant scum on the flying trapeze.
They'd forgotten that they'd taken the lift and were on the sixième étage and that the place marked pissoire was the Emergency Exit.
As the gang navigated the sewers, they were assured a hard Brexit.
The moral of this tale is don't mess with the French or the Germans, the Spanish, the Dutch, the Belgians, Irish and the Italians because before very long we'll be conquered by the Russians.
Back in the bar of the Old Bull and Bush, Michael was eating sandwiches covered in bandages.
The telly is still covering the demise of May & Davis when the UKIP Cathedral Choir interrupt the broadcast for a rendition of
 " ave they never eard of Agincourt, when we woz once great and not the world bore"

Hitler navigates the A487 from Aberaeron to Aberystwyth

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David's books

How To Be Idle
Second Sight
Freud: The Key Ideas
The Yellow World
Intimacy: Trusting Oneself and the Other
Going Mad?: Understanding Mental Illness
Back To Sanity: Healing the Madness of Our Minds
Ham on Rye
Electroboy: A Memoir of Mania
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Murder in Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
I Bought a Mountain
Hovel in the Hills: An Account of the Simple Life
Ring of Bright Water
The Thirty-Nine Steps
A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose
The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment
The Seat of the Soul

David Williams's favorite books »