Tim Peacock’s Blog

Owl on a branch with the moon behind

I love languages, science, mathematics and people with something to say. Life can be wonderful and perplexing, often at the same time, and this is my take on it! I live in Brighton, UK.
Please feel free to add comments below.

The last dance

Dancer

 
I didn’t expect that I would die,
I didn’t know I had to dignify
A bid for future, peace, and freedom
With an iron-clad, no-nonsense, water-tight reason
Why I wished to go out that night
And dance away ‘neath cool neon light.

I didn’t know I would become a martyr
Midst clouds of alcohol-scented laughter
That out of a mist of foaming CO2
A cruelly aimed gun would come thrusting through
And excise the heart of the life I had made
A hope for tomorrow gone with each bullet sprayed.

I never had much, just an old battered case
With a misspelled logo set in the wrong type-face.
But I had a picture of those I had left behind
And on the back Te queremos my mother had signed.
In the early days here when things got too tough
I would take it on out and remember the love.

But little by little I made my way,
I got my own place and I earned my own pay.
I made new friends and I learned who I was
Sent half my pay home and was happy because
My future was mine as I saw fit
And I was damn proud of myself, I must admit.

After a while I got a pay raise
5 times what dad earned in my childhood days.
I moved downtown and forgot day-to-day hustles,
Joined a gym, got a plan, and worked hard on my muscles.
Home and away politics were easily dismissed;
Second amendment rights were never high on the list.

So I lived the dream, and dreaming I danced
By freedom, hope, and my boyfriend romanced.
Then at the height of the day and on the cusp of tomorrow
The spirits of night beckoned and summoned I followed.
The choice was not mine; it was the gunman’s blast
That spun me on round as we danced our last dance.

Flying low

Fly down

I was walking past a sex shop today when a brisk wind alerted me that my fly was down. I quickly turned to the wall (of the sex shop) to adjust it and turned back to make direct eye contact with a neighbour walking the other way.

Let’s just say…awkward.

Graham’s pet life

Graham

 
There was a little baby,
His parents called him Graham.
He had a mop of chestnut hair
And dimples that would slay ’em.

His parents taught him right from wrong
And how to say his prayers.
But that didn’t stay his hand that day
When he threw the cat right down the stairs.

He didn’t know that this was cruel
And cried when he realised.
So when the cat made to run away
He wasn’t quite surprised.

A tortoise was the recompense
And Tommy was his name.
And though Tommy didn’t play that much
Graham loved him just the same.

Tommy rather liked to sleep
And would stay snug in his shell.
So when some git stole the little guy
It was rather hard to tell.

When the pain had at long last passed
The family took in a dog.
Candy was a well-named beast
Since on doughnuts she would hog.

Graham tried to help the mite
And swapped the doughnut for jam tart.
But the harm had sadly now been done
And so stopped Candy’s heart.

After this his own was broken
And quite numbed through from grief.
He then swore he’d have pets no more
And pet-shops sighed back in relief.

Yet many years passed, and later
He took in two rescue cats.
They got love and care and dreamie treats
And hessian-tough scratching mats.

He loved those two sweet pussies
Who turned round and loved him back.
He doted on their every need
And put their lives right back on track.

And so the curse was lifted
And love filled a happy house.
The only soul here with something to fear
Was a timid little mouse.
 

You’re in trouble

Yogi meowing

The vet says that Yogi needs to have his urine tested for kidney function.
We have to use special cat litter in a tray and shut him in with it until he goes.
The urine will then float on top of litter to be syringed off and brought back to the vet within 12 hours.

Are you taking the piss? I asked him.
No, but you will be, he replied.

Death versus the town of Went

Death on horseback

When Death comes marauding and swings his scythe
In swathes of violent hues that split the skies,
The airborne pale hooves thundering
And skeletal soul plundering
Bounce off the town of Went and no one dies.

Death hauls in the reins and draws a fiery arc.
From horizon to horizon burns his bloody mark.
His smirk is now a rictus
And his scream is maledictus
As he stalks the town below like a bony shark.

The people beneath walk about and pay no heed
To the shadowy figure looming on his pale-skinned steed.
Their hearts are resolute
And the town hall spire a one-fingered salute.
To wail and gnash and rend their clothes they have no need.

Nowhere in this town can you find a gun.
No hatred of a different-coloured neighbour to turn a knife upon.
Though different creeds there are aplenty
The prison cells are empty;
No one feels the need to just look after number one.

The townsfolk have planted hedges in communal rows
That trace saw-teeth against the sky like sharpened dominoes.
Death swoops down and cuts his arse,
Shreds his shroud on ground-up glass,
Breaks his wrist and twists his neck and bloods his nose.

Without the tools of his trade Death lies unmasked.
His only hope is that sickness complete his morbid task.
But the hungry here are fed,
Their doctors’ bills to all are spread,
And no natural causes are currently forecast.

Across the land fires burn in merry bands
That scorch the earth and boil the seas and glass the sands.
Yet a patch of green remains,
Lazy blue rivers and leafy lanes,
Where the town hall of the town of Went so proudly stands.

You’re the one I want, money!

Igotbills

 
 
 
With apologies to Grease…
 

I got bills, they’re multiplying
And I’m losing control.
For the power they’re supplying
The cost is terrifying!

 
Better earn more, ’cause I need a break
In the best of Monaco’s hotels.
Better earn more, more than a crude-oil Sheikh
To buy this jacket with gold lamé lapels;
And the matching earrings won’t buy themselves.

You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, money!
You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, the one that I need
Oh yes indeed!

I got pipes, the seals are leaking,
And my roof is pouring rain!
I got chairs whose springs are peeking
And my bum will never be the same.

Better earn more, ’cause I have expensive taste;
Pâté de foie gras washed down with Krug Champagne.
Better earn more, every year I have my boobs replaced
And my face pumped with polyurethane;
It doesn’t last, but numbs the pain.

You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, money!
You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, the one that I need
Oh yes indeed!