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The Earth Is An Even Harsher Mistress

30 Mar

The Earth Is An Even Harsher Mistress (A poem) by Ray Daley

The man in the moon came down too soon, he burned up in the atmosphere,
It was said by and large by the people in charge, it was because he was a queer.
The man in the moon played the pink bassoon, left a guy alone back on Earth,
And the lobbyists said they were glad he was dead, as they felt he had no worth.
The man in the moon has found some room, A place to call his own,
By faking his loss and not giving a toss, his feelings will never be known.
The man in the moon won’t be alone soon, His partner’s on his way,
So they’ll be together, forever and ever, who really cares if they’re gay?

THE END

Protest (a poem)

30 Jan

Protest (a poem) by Ray Daley.

If you’re having to protest every other weekend,
And your Leader’s breaking laws only Gods could mend.

It’s time to realize you’re no longer free,
And this land isn’t your land, or a safe place to be.

When the Lady gave light to the huddled masses,
People never cared about different classes.

Muslim bans and a wall, Brought to you by the Donald,
Don’t need Golden Arches to see he’s a clown, like Ronald.

So if you really care about Freedom Of Speech.
You don’t need a clue about who to impeach.

THE END.

Swimming In Jelly [a silly poem]

17 Dec

Swimming In Jelly, By Ray Daley

Let’s all go swimming, go swimming in jelly, Jilly & Jimmy & Bob,
Just don’t crazy, don’t invite Daisy & certainly don’t invite Rob!
We can 3 have fun & when we’re all done we can have trifle for tea.
So let’s all go swimming, go swimming in jelly, what a wonderful thing it’ll be.

THE END.

The Final Trump [a poem]

8 Dec
The Final Trump, by Ray Daley.
 
America’s retractions,
Of Freedom in fractions,
Sounds unlikely to exist.
But if done so slow,
That the people don’t know,
Then no-one is likely to resist.
 
The End. (It’ll be here before you know it.)

Nursery Rhymes for Modern Times [poem]

17 Sep

Nursery Rhymes for Modern Times:
18 September 2011

Oh the Grand Old Duke Of York, He had 10,000 men,
But that was before the military cuts & now he’s only got 100.
And their all in Afghanistan for the 4th time.

Friday On My Mind [poem]

9 Sep

To give you some context, this is something I wrote during my quiet time as an RAF clerk.

 

Friday On My Mind
27/6/94
(C) By R. P. Daley

It’s Nine a.m on Monday and they’ve chained me to my desk,
‘Cos I did no work last week; so today I’m doing less.
And I’m screaming for my lunch break but it’s only just gone ten,
So I have to wait two hours and I’m screaming louder then.
See me bimble back from lunchtime; like I just don’t wanna start,
Someone said “Do Nothing“; so I took that to heart.

It’s ten past two on Tuesday and even now I find,
I’m waiting for the weekend with Friday on my mind.
And five o’clock feels far away; But I’m still sitting here,
So I’m dreaming of the NAAFI and I dream another beer.

It’s way past one on Wednesday; The middle of the week,
I’d like to ask for stand-down but I don’t have the cheek.
It’s five to six on Thursday and I’m still in my room,
The working day it looms ahead; like rain clouds bringing gloom.
It’s eight-fifteen on Thursday and now I’m on my way,
My body has to go to work but in my mind I play.

It’s ten p.m on Thursday night; I’m drinking in the Bop,
My right hand keeps on raising beers; my liver screaming “STOP!
It’s eight o’clock on Friday, another duty clerk,
My head is screaming “Never again!“, my features looking stark.

Is the week now really over; or has it just begun?
I’m stuck in here ’til five o’clock and it’s only turning one.
Remember there are two years left, since on the line I signed,
Another two years spent this way; with freedom on my mind.

The End.

1990 (an RAF Poem)

4 Jul
1990 By Ray Daley (C) 21 Sept 2015
 
What were you doing in the summer of love?
When the world was all raving & high on drugs.
I was finding it wasn’t all wine & Stone Roses,
Where bullshit baffled brains, we were up to our noses.
So what were you doing in the summer love?
Watching jets buzz the Black Hills like seagulls above.
Buried deep in A.P’s and progress tests,
And 6 months without sleep; just a sequence of rests.
So what was I doing in the summer of love?
Just biding my time in an almost Welsh grove