Tag Archives: society

What Does It Profit A Man

What does it profit a man if he gain a good education
To benefit the nation,
In a subject he comes to loathe?
The wild rose
Goes
Unsmelt
But he dwelt
Amongst those
Who wore fine clothes.

What good does it profit a man if he considers wealth
A supreme good in and of itself?
His health
He loses,
Boozes
Away
To help him cope with his stressful day.
He may pay
For a yacht
But he has got
A hole
Where his soul
Should be.

I can not agree
With those who would level down society
For variety
Is good
And we are not all of the same wood.
Yet to glorify economics at the expense of all else
Leads to an obsession with the self
And rich young things who sit, in groups, alone
Playing with their telephone

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In The Desert Of The Heart

In the desert of the heart
Any touch may start
A flame

Any hand
May command
A hot
Flush
(Wanted or not),
But who are we to rush
To blame?

Is this thing called shame
A social construct that keeps us low?
Many prefer not to go
Down that path
Of enquiry. They laugh,
Make a smutty joke
And on their own hypocrisy choke.

The Truth Of The Matter?

The unvarnished
Truth is on display
When she removes her paint, at close of day.
Alone in her room, with tarnished
Skin,
She broods on sin
And the he
Who corrupted she.

But was the man to blame?
For an answering flame
There was in her,
He would swear,
Were he there
In the lionesses’s lair.

Is Adam to blame
For Eve’s shame
If he find an answering spark
Within her heart?

Yet he lit the match
And his pleasure took when she did catch
Alight
That night
Long ago.
She did not say “No”
But what a temptation
To dissipation
Is hard cash to a young woman in debt,
And yet …

They did it because

A young student ‘twas
Who did it because
She had spent her loan
And being alone,
Took a decision rash
To raise some cash.

A man of the world he was
Who did it because
He saw
Just another she
– Merely a whore,
For what does it matter
When a girl’s dreams shatter?

Mums The Word

An interesting expression
Is “the world’s oldest profession”.
Many a confession
Has the priest heard.
Mums the word.
He knows the flesh is weak
And will not speak
Of the desire
Burning in peasant and squire,
For discretion
Is his profession.

Rise in the number of children calling a helpline as parents are TOO DRUNK . . .

“CHILDREN as young as five are calling a helpline to be read bedtime stories because their alcoholic parents are too drunk to tuck them in at night”,

http://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/769135/Children-call-helplines-for-bedtimes-stories.

This is just so incredibly sad.

While You And I

The chatter
Of girls who clatter
By
On stillettos high,
Giggling about their latest guy.
Pointy heels delight,
Excite
And tear apart
A young man’s heart.

Girls once dreamed of mansions in the Cheshire countryside
But time’s tide
Runs on.
Youth is almost gone
And dreams turn to the waking nightmare
Of the needle-strewn stair
In a tower block too high
For you or I
But a mother and a screaming baby live there,
While you and I pretend to care.