At the butchers' shop

Three butchers stood around the block
Their knives all drawn, their eyes all locked
Upon the firm and fatted beast
On which the people were to feast

They all agreed, to their surprise
It needed cutting down to size
But one man's gristle, skin or bone
Was to the next a no-go zone

Exactly where the knife should fall
They just couldn’t agree at all
And worse, when one said “let’s start now”
Things turned into a might row

“You’re being far too hasty lad
“Your judgement really is quite bad”
So said the grey one, adding that
“We need, for now, to keep some fat”

“You’re wrong”, the young one then replied
“And see that stuffing there inside
“I would remove some straight away
“You watch, it will be quite okay”

The old one looked at each in turn
And then remarked, with some concern
“While you are fanning people’s fears
“You’re still wet behind the ears”

“Honesty is what we need
“The cuts will hurt, the beast will bleed
“The pain will linger, burn and throb
“It will not be a pleasant job

“You may well think that I don’t care
"But I’d cut some from everywhere
“It’s all a matter, if you please
“Of knowing your priorities”

“So let the people now decide
“And judge what should be baked or fried
“We’ll lay our wears out in the shop
“And each point out which bits we’d chop”

Although they knew that would be best
They played their cards close to their chests
And none could summon up the nerve
To clarify which cuts they'd serve

Springtime of discontent

A springtime full of discontent
Will not now mark the end of Lent
But still the RMT is bent
On letting feelings show

Another ballot will come soon
And then a strike in May or June
A chance for people to lampoon
The likes of Mr Crowe

As taxes rise and wages freeze
It seems that Britain's old disease
Is back to make the people sneeze
And bring them further woe

For Cameron it's heaven sent
The public's anger he can vent
And point to all the ill intent
Of those like Mr Crowe

Reduction in the public debt
is not something he'll help to get
Efficiencies will not be met
If he can make it so

For Crowie it's a chance to shout
And get the knuckle dusters out
To force a deal through union clout
Well, thank you, Mr Crowe

The safety card he's keen to wave
It's not about the jobs he'd save
The bosses are the ones behaving
Recklessly and low

Although the public will be used
To make a point and then abused
The jaw-jaw route has been refused
Oh well done, Mr Crowe

Old Crowie's got much thicker skin
Than Managment, who'll soon give in
He's only focused on a win
And having the last throw

There is no middle ground to take
No compromise that he will make
His arm is strong, make no mistake
Or so thinks Mr Crowe

But soon, perhaps to great applause
We'll get some bright new labour laws
Which trim back all the unions' claws
And not just those we know

The public then will shoot your fox
And put you back inside your box
Knock off your smile, if not your socks
So watch out, Mr Crowe

The mystery of the Cornbury treasure

Within the world of Cornbury Park
Down where the woods are deep and dark
There lives a creature, short and round
That makes its home high off the ground

Though no one's seen it recently
It once was spotted up a tree
Before it scurried round the back
It dropped a small but heavy sack

What fell to earth with clinks and thuds
Turned out to be some precious goods:

A lady's purse with silken trims
Some spectacles with golden rims
A silver compass, pointing east
A holy bible, torn and creased
A pocket flask if Cameron Brig
A thick and rather curly wig

T'was quite a fine and handy list
And surely something to be missed
Which might explain what happened next
And left some people quite perplexed

The bag of goods that fell to earth
Was picked up by a man called Firth
Who gave it then to his friend Liam
Curator of the town museum

And here, for just a modest fee
The hoard was put for all to see
But with the exhibition planned
Too few would see it all first hand

For in the night, we don't know when
The treasure trove had gone again
The one thing we can say for sure
It didn't go out through the door

For this was double locked, you see
And none but Liam had a key
The only bit of evidence
Seemed more of a coincidence

On looking for some proof of stealing
Someone pointed to the ceiling
There above their heads up high
They all could see a speck of sky

On studying the hole they spied
It measured just 5 inches wide
Which surely is just far too small
for any human thief to crawl

In came the police to look for hints
Like hair, or skin or fingerprints
But short on clues they went to knock
On all the houses round the block

And here it was they found a bod
Who recollected something odd
He was, he said, upon a bench
Alone with some young Spelsbury wench

While gazing up into the stars
They heard a sound like steel guitars
The twanging noise they saw instead
Were phone lines bouncing up ahead

And stranger still, they heard a clank
Upon the roof of the old bank
Just what was up there, who could say?
This didn't happen every day!

But after that the trail went cold
And none could help them, young or old
So with the case now filed and crossed
The artefacts were all deemed lost

From start to end it's all so strange
Some speculate, but theories range
While stories spread and rumours grow
The truth we just may never know.

High visibility man

A cold winter morning, the world still in bed
Two headlights stare out at the road up ahead
Down form the cab of a Post Office van
Emerges a high visibility man

His jacket of orange is caught in the beam
A dazzling explosion of reflective gleam
He loads up some mail bags and heads on his way
The start of a high visibility day

Down at the station the train is in sight
The engineers’ shift has been running all night
They stroll back to base dressed in lemon and lime
The end of their high visibility time

Up on the platform the man from Despatch
Tells all the people which trains they should catch
He makes sure the driver gets off in his slot
And stands there: a high visibility spot

Just near the church some mechanical sounds
Signal the bin men are out on their rounds
At the back of the lorry, where rubbish is hurled
One ponders his high visibility world

“Yes, there’s the grime and the noise and the smell
The frost in December, the rainstorms from hell
But soon you’re in March and can work with a zing
All set for a high visibility spring

“A desk in the corner of some civic centre
The lab and the coat of a high-tech inventor
An office canteen where the gossip is rife
Are fine if you want an invisible life

“Here’s to the boys in their hard hats and boots
Who silently sneer at the blokes in their suits
Some up on scaffolding, others down in holes
All have their high visibility roles."

“So give me a job in the great open air
A chance to work muscle and do it with flare
And playing the part wearing colours that glow
The star of a high visibility show”