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Anna Archichek Poem
The Death of my Town
(for Bradford, West Yorkshire, England)
At first I was self-righteous and held the moral high ground
On approaching the imminent death of my town
Some days I would observe and shake my head
And say loudly “You know, I think my town might be dead!”
Looks on faces say should I no longer care?
What can we do for the people out there?
But the Town Hall had a plan
There was some government money in the pan
Which they spent on a big pond in the ground
To fill with water, applaud themselves and stand around
And that was supposed to revive our town
Bring it back to life so we could once again be proud
Visitors would flock from miles around
To bask in the renewing of my town
Which would filter round and round
Dragging us all up off the ground
Despite their plans, I did not know
Just how quickly the death would take
As I watched as the town’s thinning corpse
Wither away....and start to decay
I could not know how I would feel
When its lifeless body was at last laid out
That I no longer had the strength to shout
Or believe in those who had told us to be proud
But its people still hang about
Without the means or strength to leave
So they try to drown out the death of their town
By drinking and drinking and drinking until they fall down
And to those who were paid to save it and did not
But stand by and let it fall down
Wasting all that money
On a pond in the ground
I must believe the day will come
When they must pay for what they have done
At best competent
At worst nowt’
Because I refuse to understand
That all they could offer was a hole in the ground
To prevent the death of my once loved town
Trapping all those around
Whilst their confidence rang out so loud
Telling us all we had so much for to be proud
But knowing they were simply
Cursing us all to life in a dead town
Although I believe they can still get out.....
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
Ode to Taylor Swift and the Car Park Incident
Today I saw the most ridiculous thing
Taylor Swift existing backwards from a car park
So she wouldn’t be seen
On her un-best side that is
Does she look beautiful on one side
And from the other a fiend?
Has she been fooling us all these years?
And maybe the other half of her is green?
Her management team seemed concerned
To get her in the car
Without the un-best side been seen
Which might make us go AAAAAGGHH!!!!
And then she was spirited away
Without sight of the other side, which is green
Thanks Christ they cried!
Her career has lived to fight another day
What would we do without the likes of this
Increasingly skinny child in our way
Making a mint for us every day
Why she does all the work and starves herself, while we get royally paid!
Why let her green side get in the way?!
This recent behaviour smacks of a change of direction
(Maybe that’s what the green is it’s with the new wind – she’s caught an infection)
Has she milked the country market for too long?
Or is there more money in pop to be got?
Where all its stars have to appear
To be anything they are not
Oh no! Taylor perhaps you have a spot!
Because it’s not to do with music any more
It’s about selling you everything that
Lines the shelves of your local store
The creams, lotions, potions and more
Dreams you will never have because they’re not real
But all available on finance or for a steal!
And in case you think to poor Taylor I am being mean
There are literally thousands of them worldwide on the scene
She now appears no different to the ones that have come before
Too skinny generic and anything but poor
Never sad, mad or bad
Unless they’re carving out an adult carer – you know like that lad
It’s ok though he’s cleaned up
You know ‘The Beebster’ who since his crimes
Has been on Oprah, found god, and got away with it a thousand times
You see they’re just a kind (and not just Taylor and Our Just)
With a management team an image
With only a $ sign on their mind
To the real value of music they are all completely blind
They’re everything real music is not
So to this image conscious lot their
Management Teams and ‘friends’
From those who love music – F*CK OFF!
And let the world of music just breathe again
So we can at last we can all make some real music loving friends
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
Facebook and the Monster
There is an advert on TV
Selling Facebook to you and me
And it all seems so good
Wholesome and fun
This is how life really can be
If only you join the Facebook community
And it all looks so safe and soft
Nothing can go wrong
Those first tentative steps you take
On Facebook
Will net you real friends
The kind that will stand by you over and over again
Will maybe end up being your best man
Lifelong pal
Even your wife
Or a soul mate for life
An ally when times get rough
And it’s all thanks to Facebook
But if you look past the soft focussed view
The warm feeling, captured by that lovely hue
Today reality is much too bleak to view
Which is why people are using Facebook
To avoid real life
And not going out with their pal, ally or wife
Real life just contains too much strife
Stay online
Where it is ‘safe’?
Where you don’t have to risk
Not being ‘you’
Well the one you have now created in Facebook Land
Where you can be anyone you want
Especially not yourself
Who would want to be that anyway?
Even you don’t value you anymore
You have effectively shut the door
On yourself and your old life
Maybe even your wife
Where one in five quote ‘Facebook’ the source
Of their marital strife
Before the judge, in court, in real life
That day you have to come face to face
With the fact that you have a wife
And she’s going to divorce you because your online self
Has taken over and the man she loved
Has become an unsatisfiable arsehole
Who knows anyone on Facebook anyway?
You never meet up, get together
You don’t even know who you are messaging today
Or if those events you are being sold have any basis in reality?
Your ‘mate’ on Facebook – you know ‘Dave’?
Who is ‘Dave’ anyway?
But you don’t ask – it’s not the Facebook way
Online he has a great life, seems a ‘great guy’
But in reality is he maybe a crook?
Someone who would not give a f*ck
About you if he came up against you in real life
Would stab you in the back
And not think twice – that’s the kind of people you meet in real life
As long as he’s won and it’s important to look the champ
Especially in Facebook Land
You bet his ‘success’ would go on his page
(But how he got it all, well that’s another tale)
Just so you can see that he is ‘the man’, with ‘the plan’
(kindly continue to part 2)
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
Playing the Game, The Early Years
For Hillary (Clinton) and Vlad The Impaler
AKA Putin
In the early years, they were together so much
I thought they were sh*gging
Perhaps Hillary thought her day had come
And it was she who could now do the bragging
“Bill you’re an amateur, a pussy, a jerk
I told you your arrangement with that cheap intern wouldn’t work
But look at me now no pearls, short hair and a power suit
By the way Vlad, he says you’re a total fruit”
“You’re old and tired and you have white hair
But I go to the Kremlin
To f*ck the Emperor of Russia in the bare
He even buys me expensive underwear”
But in the world of Putin nothing is what is seems
We will never really know what is going on until he leaves
But why did she make him seem all shiny, legitimate and new
Because Hillary has helped Putin to f*ck both her and all of us too.
Cheers Hil....
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
Send Help! I’m trapped in an Insane Asylum!
Well most of the time, and although there is only the two of us here
The other inmate, for therapy, has put me on a programme of day release
Where I am permitted to go to work, pay the running costs and deal with the day to day ills
Of running this centre to house me and him, allegedly people with conditions of the mind
However he swears it’s only me who is insane and it is he is the one who is just fine
(Although I’ve heard that’s a symptom of those who are deranged)
But when I am back on site the other inmate despite me doing everything that’s required to complete my day release work therapy
Which keeps the centre for the inexcusably insane live, behaves like a real jerk
In fact his behaviour is strange all round like someone who’s buried his head in the sand
And doesn’t seem to want to come out....(I’m not convinced he’s not the one who’s out of his mind)
This other inmate looks familiar those blue eyes and light brown hair
Although he insists he is not insane and should not be there....
Yet he never leaves the centre for the mad and deranged (apparently that’s my diagnosis anyway)
And there’s something about me being removed from reality?
That I ‘just don’t get it!’ (Although he never explains it – preferring to communicate by just huffing puffing and looking grumpy - a language without words I cannot understand)
Yet isn’t it me who leaves the centre for the mentally insane to go on my day release work therapy every day? I don’t get it I think that’s because (so the other inmate says) it’s me who is insane
So while I am on my day release scheme he stays within the asylum walls alone
Waiting for who knows what? Although his therapy seems to involve something....
I think he calls it ‘Facebook’? Apparently it’s a great place where online he is 18 again and not 36, which fixes everything!
(Please proceed to part 2 - thank you)
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
She smirked
With a remarkable resemblance
To Miranda Richardson
Playing Elizabeth the First
Just as soon as I can bump off
My new Sister-in-Law
Korporate Kate
That two bit Sloan
It shall be I who is
Next in line to it all!
I hear there’s a story about some
Princes, a Tower and a wall
Get that done it will be I
Who shall take the British throne….
Although I will have to brush up
Maybe take the Royal Tour
Incognito of course,
Paying special attention to the Tour Guide,
His story about the Princes, the Tower and the wall
Because really I don’t know anything about the British
Or the Royals, at all!
You just turn up, right?
PR Firm, Prince on your arm
Smile, say something scripted
Written by someone smart
That makes me sound
Like I actually have a heart!
And those idiot Brits
Pay Royals money!
For doing what exactly?!
The Brits, they’re so funny!
They drive Jags , wave flags, and pay me money!
And I get to keep my own wealth
Stashed off shore
Safe from the US and UK Tax Man!
And what this ‘marriage’
Will do for my flagging career!
OK and Hello!
They’re queuing up, right here!
There’s talk of a 6 page spread
ME on the throne
With leopard skin leggings!
And a post-marriage
Bikini body special!
Oh, I’ve died and gone to celebrity heaven!
But that will be before
I get knocked up
With MY air to the throne
All costs covered by
The dim witted
Taxpaying, flag waving British peasants
Of course!
So I will ignore my nagging doubts
That the Brits are already
Calling me Marie Antoinette,
And something about renting
A guillotine from France
What is this British nick name thing?
And why can’t my PR Firm control it?!
And why, when my back is turned,
Is Prince Philip
Counting the silver and
Checking my purse
Whilst banging on about
Some dusty old German Royal
Who sold her family jewels
During the last war
To feed the poor!
Dumb Bitch!
Why do that when you can stash
Your wealth safely off shore?
Well away from the Tax Man and the poor!
Isn't that what the Tax Havens are for?
So all I have to do
To make
MY DREAMS
Come true
Is to get that Hewitt Kid into bed
Although it’ll be Nanny dress up
And spank his little bot
Because he’s (still)
A little private school boy at heart
But apart from that
Oh it’s GUARANTEED to be such fun!
But will someone PLEASE PLEASE
Tell me
What the AMERICAN translation
Is for the British word ‘Cunt’?
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2017
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Anna Archichek Poem
(Part 4 of 5)
When do the children come home from school?
Oh that’s a spot of luck I have a shopping trip with the girls planned
That I want to get under my belt
Before half-term when we holiday in the Seychelles
When the kids are home I simply don’t get a moment to myself!
And there’s my public image and charity events I have to support
Although none of my activities will benefit the working poor
That’s how the lives of the rich are paid for
At someone else’s expense
Always those who have the least but are still prepared to work in any event
Should the Tories not be showing support for those who have a strong work ethic?
Even if they are poor?
What of the future?
Why are we repeatedly shown the door?
If I ask you what you spent on this week or what it cost
You will look at me confused and a little lost
This is not a question you understand
And all this happens right in our land by your own hand
By letting your husbands and their friends
Behave in their appalling ways over and over again
Behaviour which I would tell my children was wrong, vacuous, selfish and vain
But just remember the price you pay for living this way
Is when you husband f*cks up - and he will do
You will have to lie - whatever is in your heart
And whatever is best for your kids
And be the one who makes him clean again (kind of like Switzerland)
By peddling the lie that he’s a wonderful husband, MP, PM or Business Man (of the year no doubt)
When despite appearances he is just a man who has done wrong
Whatever his party or business culture says is ok
It’s not what the law of our land says to us ordinary types every day
Or what I tell my children is the right way
And in case you think I’m wanting a socialist land
You’d be wrong, I want for me and mine a life of opportunity
Where for hard work there is a reward
And it does not matter where you come from
Just like Margaret Thatcher promised us all those years ago when we were young
A free market economy that was open to all
But which now only seems to welcome yours
Are you worried about the competition?
Because there are so many hard working people out there
Who are better and more capable than your lot
And all because we want different to what you’ve got
Like no bonuses - if you can’t make it, it’s not ok to shake it or fake it
And no letting MP’s big business or the privateers off paying their taxes
I simply can’t envisage the sum total of those losses
(please continue to part 5)
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
How I so wanted to believe they were gay.
(for Dr Liam Fox MP and Adam Werritty xx).
If only those meetings, evenings and trips away had been for love
So that they could share a few stolen moments away from those who would not approve
If only those business cards had been passed between the two of them and to no one else
An opportunity to beat the system and to let love commence
How I would have shouted up for the cause that is love
How I would have defended them from those who would surely not approve
But the reality was too bleak to comprehend
Something which I could not defend
Because despite all their scheming and secrets
Which I would have forgiven if love was their only weakness
I would have defended their right to a lovers weekend away
Oh how I so wanted to believe that they were gay
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
Some years ago my father made me a deal
If I stopped dossing around, worked hard at school
My future would contain a great deal
I would have vacations, a home, a car and shoes!
A good standard of living and security
I couldn’t lose....
That was it, Sold! – I loved shoes!
Well I was a teenager and shallow
But took up the books and waited for the spoils to follow
And post school this worked for a good seventeen years
With hard work I had much of what was promised
With minimal tears
Then the rules changed
But we were not told
This scheme we had signed up for
Was to be put on hold
There was no backup plan, our deal had been a one size fits all
That had guaranteed with hard work we all could all go to the ball!
But we stumbled on
Still believing in the ways of the past
Without any clue
It wasn’t ever guaranteed to last
That our future would not resemble our parents’ past
And would collapse with a worldwide crash
Yes we knew times were tough
And we had seen hard times before
But the difference is
The good times weren’t coming back any more
There was nothing left in the store
No more....
I must excuse my father
This was the deal he had been fed
With which he had had success
And it all sounds so plausible
Once it’s in your head
Kind of like the definition of ‘trickledown effect’
But Cinderella in our modern world
However hard she tries shall not go to the ball
She works a zero hour’s contract
Supplying her own uniform and broom
Starting at 5:00 a.m. and working until who knows when
And the next day (maybe - no guarantees) she gets up and does it all again
No vacations, no castle
Not even those shoes!
As it seems my ‘Right Honourable Friends’
This deal we were sold
Was designed so we could all invest
Yet the majority lose
So at the next election who are you going to choose?
Someone who peddles the same old lie?
With a post-Blair pre-apocalyptic menacing (don’t you trust me?) smile
Or someone who accepts that those guarantees, for us
Were only ever just pie in the sky
Nothing was guaranteed, that we wasted our time....
Personally I might just let it all pass by
With a heavy heart and a big sigh
As not one of them seems to be able to look you in the eye
To tell our generation that we were sold a lie
And had this not fallen down on us
We would have been expected to pass this belief system on
Down to the next generation and perpetuate the wrong
And this crazy merry-go-round would have continued on
Anna Archichek
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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Anna Archichek Poem
An Anatomy of a Dying Marriage
Allies you thought you had for sure
Often turn out to be not
And will get you best and worst
When you are lost
You wonder how you couldn’t see
That they were no true allies of me
Men trade promises of long term dreams
To get what they want in the moment it seems
Although these moments can last for years
While the promises, deftly put to one side, dry and crack
Rivers of tears accompany dying dreams
And for them, along with your marriage, you must grieve
At these times worst is the fear
That in the coming years, there will be no new dreams
But exhausted you will reluctantly ask, is this all bad?
Remember dying dreams end in too many tears
Do you want that in your coming years?
Or something which will contain less fears?
Conversation becomes something the two of you
Can no longer achieve
It’s not that you’ve already said it all
It’s just what you’ve said before, for however long it seems
No longer works
The house dies, the flora on the curtains
The sterile tiles, there is too much air filling these rooms
It feels thick, and stifling
Everything is so still
Can the dead ever come back to life?
The house is just a place to store your things
You can feel homeless even when you have keys to a door
And a job to pay for it all
Yet there you are chained to this place that feels like a morgue
You wonder where you can possibly go
To fill a few hours, to avoid going home
Ultimately ending up somewhere (anywhere)
Alone
Maybe in these times you will find
A hidden ally, a friend indeed
Who will humble you with their truth
Which you have to accept, however hard
Because what they have to say is for only you
And you will ask yourself
How did I not see or hear these things before?
But you were surrounded by those
Who had an interest in
Keeping things as they liked them
During the good times and the feast
While they thought of you the least
Anna Archichek
Copyright © Anna Archichek | Year Posted 2015
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