An Icon of Individualism

An Icon of Individualism

Single focus, tunnel vision

What she wanted, her decision

Cabinet, frightened schoolboys all

The iron handbag made them crawl

Opposed a ban on ivory trade

Las Malvinas, rash crusade

Belgrano most heinous of crimes

Three hundred and twenty three lives

           

Against Mandela and the ANC

Apartheid reign got your decree

You beat the Unions methods sly

You let the hunger strikers die

Football fans the under class

Big Brother ID cards en masse

Hillsborough’s deathly lies laid bare

Collusion, scorn and laissez faire.

Coal mines closed throughout the land

Miners left with cap in hand

Ruined communities, burn and slash

While coppers goaded them with cash

Community charge your force majeure

Burden moved from rich to poor

Geoffrey Howe so quiet and meek

Dug the knife in firm and deep

You helped Pol Pot while cast away

Took Pinochet for tea one day

With hungry children across the nation

School milk a further deprivation

Your latter years were filled with pain

Dementia, small strokes chipped away

Gone from your own mind, however

Your monstrous past remains forever

Well she has finally died and while I cannot condone celebrating the death of a frail old lady the world must never forget the horrible things she did to so many people.

The list goes on and on and on.

The name was taken from the following article from Russell Brand.

All the TV of the last week has certainly taken me back to the 80's and while I have this romantic notion of my teenage years, it certainly was economically a dank and dismal time.

First Friday

The Cribs have a new compilation album out soon called Payola and this is a new track from it.
It was the last track the legend Johnny Marr played on before he left the band.




This is the latest track my son Lucas has chosen from FIFA 10 to be played on my ipod in my car.
Not bad actually



In 2013 did you ever think we'd have new material from Depeche Mode? I'm in "Heaven"

The End of the Road

The End of the Road.

Lance Edward Gunderson you are,

A cyclist renowned both near and far

Struck by cancer, refused to comply

The comeback kid, a hell of a guy.

In ninety nine you blew the field away

A feel good story, hip, hip, hip hooray

Shooting up from thirty sixth to first

Support team all perfectly coerced

Bassons a solitary, lonesome voice

Intimidation, your weapon of choice

You were the best, no positive test

He was disposed of, suitably suppressed

Was Walsh the only one slightly suspicious?

He went after you, your troll auspicious

Though you used libel to muffle his grail

He fought the good fight, destined not to fail

Paul Kimmage too you tried to oppress

Frankie and Betsy heard you confess,

Your lawyers gambit, make threats and harass

Such underhandedness showing your class

Emma O’Reilly, a mule for your wants

Distraction driven by your toxic taunts

She blew the lid on your evil scheme

If you dare to sleep, you’ll never dream

As you confess to Oprah, gone the cheers

I watch for chameleons crocodile tears

A vicious cheating performance enhancer

Paul was right, you were the cancer.

Due to circumstances, this is my first poem in four months. I've been fascinated by the whole Lance Armstrong story for a while now and with the impending Oprah interview this week I thought I'd throw together a few lines.

I suppose my dormant fascination with this subject was awoken recently by the excellent 5 Live Sports documentary on the subject called Peddlers: Cycling’s Dirty Truth

No one ever said it was going to be easy.

Right, no one ever said it was going to be easy.
This is keeping me calm as I think of an Aftershave Ocean, The Vaccines




My 5 year old who has up to now shown little interest in music took me to one side the other night and asked to get this song on the radio in my car. I was intrigued, Brazilian Hip Hop wouldn't have been my forté, he's a great lad



Here's a little extra this week, a little modern day 80's, I was introduced to this by my friend K-Hill and when I told him it sounded like the Blue Nile mixed with Go West , the young fella hadn't a clue but it does. Twin Shadow - The One.

Right Here, Right Now

Right, here's what's on the ipod at the minute.
Best Coast and a tune called Do You Love Me Like You Used To?




The XX hve a new album out called Coexist and this is the standout track, Sunset.

All Apologies

All Apologies

The youth of today just won’t understand

What life in the eighties was like

Food on the table was paramount

And very few kids had a bike.

England was being run into the ground

A battle scene version of Hades

Labour Left Liverpool cast adrift

By Margaret the Iron lady

What happened on that April day

Embodied that Tory decease

Third class fans in rundown grounds

Impunity for the police

Duckenfield, clueless, out of his depth,

Up to his neck in pain and death

In Devon where he lays his head

May that day haunt your every breath

Pitiless Poppers post-mortem

Deliberate, callous and cruel

Accidental death at three fifteen?

Who were you trying to fool?

Thatchers police had served her so well

Waving notes at the down trodden miners

Cover up, statements were altered

How evil was blood testing minors?

Tory Boy Patnick went to work

Casting shame on the dead and the dying

For planting lies a knighthood earned

We always knew you were lying

And now the truth is out at last

They spout their sickly faux sorry

They’ll get what’s coming soon enough

Justice will see them the quarry

Thatcher now old and quite senile

Still an icon of anger and hate

No rejoicing til she’s safe and sound

In the Hades she tried to create

Great to see the truth finaly come out, a disgrace it took so long.

This poem equally applies to the Graham Kelly, Boris Johnson, the evil Kelvin McKenzie and all the other fools who believed the lies.

Your apologies are worthless.

Through a young boys eyes

Through a young boys eyes.

Are we still eighth in the table dad?

My small lad asked of me.

We are, I said with heavy heart

Curse of the devotee

He’s witnessed 12 home games this year

He’s cheered and clapped like me.

But left mostly in sadness

We’ve won only the three

When he walks back in the door

His mother asks the score

“Disaster mam” he utters

As more points drain down the shore

And just like his dear old dad

He won’t stop going to games

Cos we support Cork City

Though our season is in flames

And if we lose another few

I’ll elucidate just why?

Players, Gaffers, come and go

But we’re City ‘til we die

Still eighth with the teams below us closing fast.
We could be in trouble if we don't win a match soon.