THE FIRING SQUAD   

 Series 4 No.1
 Media

Waves

Dying Time

A Politician Talks to Liberace's Ghost
Film--Clip
"Not Physical?"
TV horror picture show
visions
Menu

 

 

 

 

 

from:  John Stevenson, Stourbridge.

      Waves     

A new day dawns,
Filtered through Ray-Bans
Onto eyes used to soft light,
Quilted toilet paper,
And a whiter wash.

Parliament dissolves
Under a sharp sulphuric shower,
Polluting the Thames
With raw political sewage,
Leaving leader writers stranded.

Telephone lines are inundated
By dead fish, belly up,
Gaping from T.V. screens
As holiday-goers flee the heat,
Heading for the Costa del Fortune.

Sven Shock Sex Scandal Fiasco,
F.A foul up,
Fat cats skim the cream,
Shareholders demand dividends
As shorelines slowly slide:

We await the next high tide. To top of page.

 

 

 

  from:  Martin Cook, Hitchin, Hertfordshire  

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Politician Talks to Liberace's Ghost

   

What with my tactical grin,
nous and tightly clenched fist,
I'd have stiffened the backs
of Madam Nu and all those
diffident South Vietnamese
by having you play In the Mood

Even that softly, Kissinger,
would have been inspired by my rhetoric
and the silken touch of my diplomacy;
I'd have charmed him at cocktails
while you played Moonlight Serenade

What was that I heard about
dissident commie bastards chanting:
Hey, hey, LBJ,
how many kids
have you killed today?
I'd have got you to blast it out of them
with Twelfth Street Rag

If I were President of the U.S. of A.,
just think what I could do
with Agent Orange, Star Wars
stealth bombers and all those nukes;
my smile would be broader
than the Cheshire Cat's
and I'd ask you to play Colonel Boogie

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from:  John Stevenson, Stourbridge

VISIONS

Slices of time frozen and wrapped,
Blatant images of life entrapped –
Take your selection, make a choice,
Yours the decision to mourn or rejoice.

Where is the pleasure? Who feels the pain
Of photos shot in Iraq or Spain –
Mental torture and bodily harm,
Our sensational press will raise the alarm

 

 

           ??? !!!                 .

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Dying Time                                                           Jim William McVean

  
 
Dying time is drawing near,
It's time to take your pills my dear.
Just lay your dead outside your door,
We'll take them away, "Say No More".
 
You've lived your life up to the time,
Pay the price, The rest is mine.
We'll tax you to the very ends,
Don't think that dying can make amends.
 
We've got you at every turning,
Pay us now or you'll soon be burning.
We control Heaven as well as Hell,
Even if you are one of us, we'll get you as well.
 
This is just a taste of what might be,
You can change it now, or just wait and see.
Next time Don't Vote Labour,
Then just maybe in the future you'll be doing yourself a favour.

 
 

To top of page.

  

 

 

 

 

 

from:  

R McKenna, E. Dulwich, London

from:

Francis Masat, Key West, Florida
TV horror picture show
An eye witness said,
‘a body blasted through the window
and fell in front of a train coming the other way’

the carnage unfolds in slow motion
glass slits their skin and soot swamps their eyes
claustrophobic, blinding
lungs gasp for air
the tunnel closes in
cries for help
trapped, powerless in the dark gloom
bloodied limbs scattered in the wreckage
a strange calm descends
passengers troop out past smashed windows
following the florescent torch beam
all captured on a video phone
gallows morbidity
sent into BBC News

outside a wall scarred by blood and metal
the camera zooms in
a bus missing its roof nearby
people in tin foil blankets,
lights flashing in a daydream
a blackened body pictured
undergoing heart massage

and I sit hear
hooked by the horror
the drama, the tragedy
‘45 deaths, 150 critically injured
1,000 walking wounded,
al quaeda suspected’
played out 24 hours on my TV
like a ghastly episode of Casualty

 

 

To top of page.

"Not Physical?"

A jewelled, nail-polished hand
extends from the driver's window
of a gleaming black Rolls -
parked in a handicap space.


The driver taps off a cigarette's ash,
takes another slow drag, sighing.
Languid but observant, she
tosses the butt to the pavement.


White haired and ruby lipped,
her make-up lies on gaunt cheeks.
Her air of false success radiates
that she knows she's been deceived.


I can almost feel sorry for her -
except that she seems to have
what she wished for in life.
So much for all those wishes.


Adjusting her gold sunglasses,
she slides out of the Rolls,
walking in a knowing manner
towards the mall entrance.


Nothing in her gait or manner
hints of her handicap.  Perhaps,
given her style and attitude,
her handicap is not physical.

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  From:   Francis Masat, Key West, Florida

Film--Clip

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


A soldier  dies
              silent
in black, white
       and grays
not knowing
          he'll live
and die
       each time
the clip
        is shown.
Every
        single
               time
the same
         shadows
       hesitation
   - shot -
        clutching
             falling
to stillness... .
Is giving up
          your life
made easier
         knowing
you may  live
       -- and die
                live
       -- and die
with a  click -
        the press
of someone's
           thumb?.

 

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© All poems remain copyright of the named authors.