Broken Children - Ian Duquemin

My old man he wasn't much
But had the loudest laugh in town
Him a father? Not as such
He'd turn my whole world upside down
His eyes like mine the colour blue
Were passed to him and then to me
But on my birth, or my debut
A different world I'd see
The horrors that would come my way
I'd store them somewhere deep inside
But on occasions, like a play
They did not want to hide
And in my nightmares standing there
The very ghoul that I would fear
Would laugh out loud without a care
And whisper in my ear
Hush little baby don't you cry
Nobody cares if you live or die
Then laughter fills the room with dread
The room of fear within my head
The sheets I'd pull around me tight
While through the darkness shadows crept
No comfort in the black of night
Where broken children slept

Ian Duquemin

Nora’s Still Working Hard - Diane Scantlebury

Nora's still working hard,
Nora knows her place,
She always says
She's happy to see you,
With a bright smile upon her face,
Expertly serving coffee
Deftly pouring the tea,
Nora stands for no nonsense
From the likes of you and me,

Nora's always working hard,
Nora's in her place,
Nora has outstanding patience
With the foibles,
Of the human race,

Nora is a trooper
She'll soldier on and on,
She always goes that extra mile
Where no one else has gone,
Coffee pot in one hand
Tea pot in the next,
Nothing's too much trouble
No order too complex,

Nora has a private life
Not that you would know,
She cordially smiles
And greets us,
But never puts her feelings on show,

Nora can't help working hard,
Nora loves her place,
To many she's invisible
But she never forgets a face,
No one knows what Nora thinks
Or cares if she lives alone,
She fills her days
By obeying others,
Then quietly marches home.

Diane Scantlebury

Mister Bore - Oscar Milde

He’s a dull bird in today’s world:
no strutting,
no nothing,
no brag,
no swagger,
no guile,
no style,
no profile online
no quips,
no sell,
no kiss and tell
of whips or gels
or girls or drugs
or private hells,
no bugs,
no hugs,
no movie plugs ...
he simply shrugs.

You might opine
he doesn’t shine
and think, at sixty-nine,
he’s in decline.
He chinks your glass
and laughs
and says he’s fine.

Oscar Milde

Just a Has-Been - Tony Gardner

It's years since I took to stage now
Or held and picked a guitar
Uncut are my fingernails now, and my voice
Is cruelly changed by the jar

For a singer's life is uncertain
He has to fight so hard to win
Recognition and fame and position
Until real money rolls in

Then after the work and the sweating
The practice, auditions that wear
Ambitions down to dejection
'Til all you have left is a prayer

I'll sing songs to myself if I want to
Or if you like I'll sing them to you
But I'll not sing again for money
For the words could never ring true.

Tony Gardner

George Torode (Part 2) - Tony Bradley

So well-loved was this talented, kind man
not just the anecdotes, his endless repartee
a disabled chap in his gang, called John
sometimes bore the brunt of his humour, even he

George lampooned everyone, no-one was spared
even chaps like John, it would seem
John was a grafter, but he was uncoordinated
he was a loose cannon, not really part of the team.

George would say,"Look out, give him room, boys
he does the work of three, . . . he's all action . . .
he's got to, mind, he's injured the other two . . .
they're at the PEH, in traction!"

Tony Bradley

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