Al Sepert

London England in the rain

Sat here nothing to do again

Should I watch the big TV

Or drive around in my Taxi

Six bed house for all the kids

That is where our family lives

Paid for by the DSS

Thousand a week not a penny less

All is paid for by the dole

no need for to do fuk ole

But it makes me very bored

Driving around in my big Ford

Minicab working on the side

Only do it late at night

While the dole inspector sleeps

We all work, we benefit cheats

But this will all soon came to and end

Benefit cap come on what they spend

No more than five hundred pounds a week

No way can we live that cheap.

I got great big bills to pay

Fourteen kids another on way

Only one way out this mess

Have to go home to ..........

Goodbye Grandma, by Al Sepert.

The winter of life, all cold and grey

as gradually life slips away

expensive medical bills to pay

adding up each and every day

Your savings rapidly went south

and then we had to sell your house

and then when every cent was gone

we had to have you back at home

We miss you Grandma yes we do

Now our house don't smell of poo

From those times you did not get to

the bathroom or the downstairs loo

The silence will be a real treat

no TV blaring down the street

While you're snoring in your seat

Or shouting for something to eat.

Oh Grandma why did you not stay

safe at home in the UK

An never come to the USA

where everything is pay pay pay?

Or maybe gone to Bangladesh

A weeks care there's fifty dollars or less

And avoided this financial mess

And stopped me being so depressed.

And so dear Granny its goodbye

The end is here finally.

I take my gun out lovingly

put it to my head, bang I die.

Everest, by Al Sepert

Mount Everest

The Greatest Test

For any Mountaineer

Standing like a beacon

When the air

Is crystal clear.

From Base Camp

To the summit climb

A never ending string

Of climbers

on their ultimate quest

Mount Everest, The King.

Since Hilary and Tensing

climbed it all those years ago

Everest has been clearly seen as

Mountaineerings Place to go.

But now everyone seems to climb it

Near the summit as I look up

Is Jeremy Clarkson driving.

A Toyota Pick up Truck

There's Hammond in a Discovery

Following close behind

And some where near to base camp

James May's Morgan left behind

And so dear reader I ask you

This question most profound

When they get to the summit

How will they get down?

Is there something wrong with my Grammar by Al Sepert

Is there something wrong with my Grammar

She's gone most awfully pale

She doesn't seem to be breathing

Her life support machine has failed.

Call for the nurse our Jason

Quickly now, yes run

Oh no you've tangled your head phones

On your play station one.

Why did the machine stop working,

Did someone pull out the plug

So he could plug in his play station

Jason you look rather smug.

She left me some cash in her will Ma

And I need some new trainers and games

It don't really matter she's dead ma

And anyway you'll get the blame.

The moral to my story is clearly

To frequently check on your Grammar

Or else you may find that you end up

Down at the neighborhood Slammer

Peace at last

Peace at last

All is calm and still

No more clamour of life

No shouting for your pills

No insistent demand for bed pans

Or complaints about the food

Of all the patients in "Sunnyglades"

They voted you most rude.

Clinging to life like a limpet

The years went on and on

A thousand dollars a week

Till our inheritance was gone

So seeing you cold in your coffin

I just want you to know.

How sad I am you died last week

Instead of twenty years ago

The Woolagong sorts of hops along

like a three legged Kangaroo

Three legs its distinguishing feature

Instead of the usual two

Two feet are webbed like seabirds

The middle one has claws

And when it flies it seems to defy

Every aerodynamic law

An array of feathered bat wings

Adorn its bony back

One of the three is golden

The other two gloomy black.

In flight it is amazing

A marvel of asymmetry

As surprisingly it has but two tails

When really it ought to have three

Its eyes too are amazing,

One blue, one pink, one green

One to see where it's going,

And two to see where it's been.

Nostrils three it features

But mouths it has but two

One it uses for biting

The other one mainly to chew.

With hands and arms and fingers

Each in multiples of three

It swings about the tree tops

With surprising agility.

The Woolagong lives in the forests

And in the leafy suburbs too

And among the skyscrapers

There's probably one quite near you

Alas and alack the poor Woolagong

May soon be becoming extinct

For it only exists in the minds eye

And disappears each time you blink.

Everyone just says Jesus H Christ, so was it Herbert or Hubert?

Frosty morning in the dell

Whitened where the nights snow fell

Fresh crisp footprints can be seen

Showing where humans have been.

They watch from central heated lounge

As furry creatures cluster round

The pond where there upon the ice

Scattered birdseed temptingly lies.

The thin ice of the goldfish pond

Too thin for squirrels to walk on

No creatures with imagination

Will risk an icy inundation

A hedgehog reaches out a paw

Tired of waiting for the thaw

Makes his move, no turning back

And the ice shatters with a crack

The laughter is profound and plain

Laughing at the creatures pain

As agonised he slowly dies

Frozen by the treacherous ice.

And by the pond stands a Bird table.

Badly fixed and quite unstable

As birds peck hungrily at their food

They find it's to the table glued.

And for whom this grim tableau

Why OAPs I'm sure you know

Sitting warm despite the weather

patiently awaiting the grim reaper

Kingshill Cirencester by Al Sepert

The scene it was perfection,

viewed from above the road

from the beauteous green bridge

that dual carriageway bestrode

The houses honeyed bradstone

in cotswold hues displayed

there upon the hillside

full three floors high arrayed

Arrayed about so finely

that bare an inch were spared

in yellowed uniformity

with red brick here and there.

The charm of it overwhelming

the artistry sublime.

t'was like the streets of London

in Charlie Dickens time

I saw it in my minds eye

Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe

Oliver Twist, Christmas Carol

'tis too much I'll have to stop.

Al Sepert 2012

Olympic Flame in Cirencester

A sea of sullen faces

the street festooned with bunting

the people wait for William

moaning groaning grunting.

Somewhere the rumour started

and spread both far and wide

Prince William will carry Olympic flame,

with Catherine by his side

The Police in great profusion

added weight to this cruel lie

Even the Police helicopter

was up there in the sky.

The outriders on their Police bikes

the Coca Cola truck.

The cheer leaders from Santander

It was all too much

And finally when the ballyhoo was done

and old chap came

jogging gamely he came along

carrying the Olympic flame.

The people looked dejected

and barely raised a cheer

"We thought to see a celebrity

not some bloke from round here."

Now when you think about it

the fortune spent on it

What was wrong with box of Swan Vestas

To get Olympic flame lit?

(Alternate non PC version)

What was wrong with a *** lighter

To get that damned flame lit.”

Al Sepert

Lib dems win in Fosseridge By Al Sepert.

Lib Dems win in Fosseridge

The headline had been writ

maybe a bit too hastily

they should have waited a bit

Lib Dems win in Fosseridge

The copy was perfection.

Ready to go in the Standard

Front page or gossip section

Lib Dems win in Fosseridge

Lynden Stowe's Tory's humbled

We can't afford to park our cars

in Ciren, voters grumbled.

"The Tories they are out of step

with the needs of Fosseridge ward

For what they want is somewhere cheap

In Ciren to park their cars.

"Its time to end the Cash Cow

Ciren carparks have become,"

And this battle cry was adopted as

the Lib Dems campaign slo-gan.

For voters at Todenham, Longborough

and Bourton on the Hill.

all they want is to park their cars

in Ciren without a huge bill.

In Sezincote and Donnington

Condicote and Broadwell

The whole place was buzzing

about the lake 31 infill.

Cullimore and Watermark

In the waterpark

And the harsh treatment of Esmond

Infuenced where they stuck their mark

So when you read your paper

please be aware that.

Lib Dems win in Fosseridge

is a trifle thin on facts

For though the Lib Dems beat the Indy

by some seventy votes

Julian Beale Conservative

Was the winning bloke

And not by small margin,

not quite by a landslide

but over double the votes

the Lib Dem got

Three hundred and seventy nine.

Conservative 379

Libral Democrat 168

Inependant 98

Conservative hold.

Boeing Poem Jumbo vs 380

There was Dad and me and Mommy,

down by the departure gate.

When the said a technical problem

meant we'd be two hours late.

"I guess the planes are wore out"

My Daddy said to me

"Lets go down by the tarmac

and see what we can see."

"Look Daddy it's an AirBus

An Airbus Three Eighty

Like the one that blew an engine

going down to Sydney."

My Daddy said," the brochure

It showed a Jumbo Boeing

If its a Euro Airbus,

I just don't feel like going."

"Its sure is a Three Eighty

The one with fatigue that

they tried to keep a secret

when they found some wings had cracked."

"That's it then we ain't going"

My father said out flat

"cause even if it get there

it probably wont get back"

The moral to this story

No matter where you're going

Pay a few more dollars

to fly a nice safe Boeing

The protest by Al Sepert

Standing in the falling rain

wondering if we are quite insane

as soaked right through to the skin

We wait for the protest to begin

Lynden Stow is far away

up in Distant Willersley

He probably will send a spy

or read about us in Private eye

David Fowles won't show hs face

he'll be warm and dry some place

And you can bet that Carole and Sue

Won't be frozen like me and you.

Burgess, Parsons, Gibbs and Dare

the rest of the Cabinet they don't care

That we are freezing to protest

the unfair charges they've just set

I won't be paying the parking hike

If I go to Ciren I'll ride my bike

Or peraps I'll tke the Porsche and go

and park in the Forum or Kingsmead Tesco

I dont know why we protest at all

we probably won't achieve sod all

Far better to stay in the warm at home

and do something useful or write a poem

Its aboutb the Cotswold Liberal Democrats car parking charge protest at Cirencester England on 8th January 2012

Car Parking Blues

Al Sepert.

It may have escaped the notice.

Of successful Lib Dem Candidates

Who with the one exception,

took each Ciren CDC place

That among their Tory rivals

who dream up Car park tariffs

There is hardly a single one

Who it seems actually pay it.

Lynden shops in Mickleton,

or so I am told.

And the shop in Poulton

Is owned by David Fowles.

Dutton shops at Budgens

In Moreton in the Marsh

Sandra shops in Lechlade

Just outside the WaterPark

Merryl shops in Mayfair

Takes the early morning train

Barry Gibbs shops in Tetbury

every now and again.

You wouldn't find Carole in Poundland,

nor John Birch and not Barry Dare,

And what of Bennet and Penman

I'm all that sure that I care

Now Adams, Braidwood, and Curry

The Cirencester chaps

who do still shop in "Ciren"

Their CDC membership lapsed

You see now the good folk of Ciren

All have to march and protest

whereas if they'd elected more Tories

They'd have had a lot more influence

I'm joking ok? except the last verse

Come back here Joseph,

Come back or we'll be late

So my mother shouted

by the departure gate.

"But Mummy it's an AirBus

An old A 300 B

It's like the one that crashed

last week into the sea."

Hell, Daddy said," the brochure

It showed a Jumbo Boeing

If its a 300 Airbus,

I sure as hell ain't going."

"Its an old A 300

with engines by GE

Exactly like the last one

That crashed into the sea".

"Hell then we ain't a going"

My father said out flat

"cause even if we get there

we probably wont get back"

The moral to this story

No matter where you're going

Pay a few more dollars

to fly a nice safe Boeing

The front tire's showng Canvas

And the frame's a sea of rust

And the steering wheel is floppy

on the ex air france airbus.

The instrument panels broken

been took out to be fixed

But there's no certification

out there in the sticks

One engine's Rolls from Derby

The other one's GE.

Built up from parts of several

They fished out of the sea.

Cocoa Nut oil in the gearbox

blades missing from the turbine

and a drunken washed up mechanic

is all keeps this antique a flying

They dont worry about take off speed

Vee one two or rotate

They all just pray to Allah

And shove the throttles through the gate

The're passionate about weight saving

they've taken out most of the seats

And now there is a simple bucket

In place of the Lavatories

So if you want excitement

when you fly out on your Holiday

Just book with XXXXX Airways

Excitement to the end of your days

A little tribute to the the tired old airliners keeping Africa flying.

Tribute to Michael

From Black Ghetto to White Icon

The story of Michael Jackson

The little chap from the Jackson five

At UCLA he lost his life

A Pop Icon we loved to hear sing

But his love of Children was the thing

Thriller moonwalks facial bleaching

His visage passionate almost beseaching

The Neverland Ranch for Childish play

Where innocently in bed they lay

Escaping from the world of stress

Escaping back to Childishness.

One question remains now he's gone

The concert's off, do I get a refund?

I really loved his music, Long haired lover from Liverpool, Crazy Horses, Tomorrow belongs to me, Unchained Melody, Magic,

Private moments.

Golden sunlight streaming through

The cracks in the door of our outside loo

And winter winds do whistle round

the six inch gap between door and ground.

And as I think and reads me paper

I thinks to me self what a caper

I dreams of getting a council flat

Whats got an inside bog and that

No more midnight torchlit trips

down the garden when I gets the shits

But being inside it makes me think

Will I be able to stand the stink

I dont know about these modern gadgets

Me guns all right for shooting rabbits

But when it comes to toiletry

I think I'll stick with me old privy

Sultry darkness, a magical place

Silvered moonlight on the lake,

Barely a ripple on mirrored sheen

Blank canvass on which to dream

The wings of death are furled and still

huddled feathers thwart winters chill

High up on their frosty bough,

The tiny creatures safe for now

But down upon the forest floor

predators that hiss not roar

that steal up on their tiny prey

to snatch their very lives away

And with morning comes the Man

when morning chill and mists are gone

The tiny creatures cower in fear

Humans are aien creatures there

My dream land's many miles from here

a land of rabbits, falcons, deer

No this haven of tranquillity

is muich closer to our great city

An Oasis of calm and still

Silently enduring winters chill

A haven keeping beasts from harm

The Hackney Marshes sewage farm

Moonlight shining on the silver sea

soft music wafting on the breeze

gently swaying palm tree leaves

could this be paradise.

A walk in Hyde park or Montmarte

with the one who stole your heart

in a gallery of art

could this be paradise.

Or perhaps sitting on the strand

listening to a Dixie Band

While your Grandchildren hold your hand

could this be paradise?