Every week, my dearest day
is when my buddies and I partake and play
our regular contest of cards.
What's great about codgers and cards
that would make an old duffer's day
and inspire pensioners to play?
I dunno, but I think I will peacefully play
with these jokers, and cut ups, and cards,
and these goofballs till my dying day.
It's our day - time to play cards - goodbye!
Is having fun for the young and not for the very old, if there is an age limit to having fun, I have not been told
Why can only the young go out partying and need no sleep at all
And the old must have pensioners day at the bingo hall
The young can go to pool parties where they might take a skinny dip
And the old end up in hospital to get a replacement hip
And the money the young spend on fashion that is beyond belief
I only worry about what we look like when we can’t find my false teeth.
Young people point and laugh at the old because we are no longer young
But we can see who the idiots are, with their trousers around their bum
Young people of today draw near, as there is something I have to say
That if it was not for the mad old people, you would not be here today
So when the years have passed you by and when you are old and grey.
You will be laughed at by the young in the same way
When did our country die
I really can' not say
The people tried to stop it
But it happened anyway
The government ignored us
The law we had to fight
We could not fly our country's flag
To us this was not right.
Pensioners were punished just for
Being old
The government did not care that
Thay were dieing with the cold.
Police were arresting Christians who
Stood in silent prayer
Our veteran sleep in doorways and
Our politicians don't even Care
But our citizens will keep fighting
As courage we do not lack
We will fight against all comers
Until we get our country back
My English Brother and the Rich
I find it impossible to be envious of the wealthy, buying superyachts one bigger than the other, when they get seasick at the thought of sailing out to sea
Marrying a busty blond with big knockers often taller than themselves, or buying a newspaper and dictating their political views that frequently consist of sour grapes
Some very rich people indulge in sexual fantasies of the sort a 16 old might have and visit an island 200 times to satisfy their depravity and live in fear of being exposed
I know of a mega wealthy man, whose dream is to be the first human on the planet Mars to colonize the place in case our earth burns Is he going to take his 14 children along?
My father, although working class, was not unlike these people there was always one more woman to sleep with and I now learn he spent the war years in UK fathering a child
I hope it was a boy, my own brother died young, mind my English brother must be 80 by now, in a terraced home freezing, since the pensioners lost the winter benefit
Labour of hate
Turn on the heating
It’s getting cold
Why do we shiver?
Just because we’re old
It’s Kier’s labour, who wants us all to die
Said he liked pensioners just another lie
Another lie
Angels are calling
Is this the end
We are elderly
No family or friends
Can’t pay for heating or any of our bills
While Rayner’s cheating, fingering the tills
In the tills.
Reeves bills are paid for
But she’s a millionaire
Rayner is raving
She doesn’t care
Release the sausages, where is his brain
Paying a photographer, Rayner’s so vain
Is so vain
Take all our money
With inheritance tax
Charlie didn’t pay his
He can now relax
Rich becoming richer, Starmer leads the pack
Free clothes and glasses stabbed us in the back
In the back.
David Cox 13/12/24
Deep state people, deep state minds
False importance, jobs contrived
Guardian people, warden minds
You’re not the people of my kind
Your crimes are well investigated
To lay the charge on those you hated
To set the safety, you threat and punish
Your dreamland state still cannot vanish
You welcome those who come to kill
A few cruel fates make no big deal
You tax the pensioners, to draw
Another graph to make the score
Your preconceptions are predictive
You rules are very much convictive
But not for those, who live in peace
Who wouldn’t go for golden fleece
Deep state people, straight lined minds
A state more shallow how to find?
I reckon it’s a bit too late
Your cockroach breed fills every state
As for Mornings
The skin on my feet crinkles and looks like an old newspaper left out in the sun, I have five pairs of shorts and can use none
I have bought a cream for dry skin, but first, I need a shower that
makes the skin drier still, and I think, it all!
At a building site. nearby, they are boring a big square hole in the
ground presumable a garage for electric cars and stick a big building
on top, I hope it floods!
The building site used to have a nice house, set in a beautiful garden, but Sharks with cement, bricks, and money came and a story ended
There is talk of banning petrol cars, that means we, pensioners and
low low-paidkers learn to walk or take the bus, getting wet and soggy when it rains, the bus is late.
it all!
Games not straight
Toffs on horses still killing foxes.
Boris parties while we put nans in boxes. Chancellor won’t pay his rate.
I tell you now, the games not straight .
Palace pays millions to get rid.
Mum shops at food bank to feed her kid.
This aint the thirties,check the date.
I tell you now the games not straight.
Multi Nationals won’t pay their fees.
Old age pensioners sit and freeze.
Patients on trolleys told to wait.
I tell you now the games not straight
We are now officially well-aged,
we have grab bars in the shower
in case we wobble.
Yet somedays we spring out of bed
eager to take a slow run around the block
but mostly not.
We chat with strangers while waiting
at the customer service counter at Walmart.
Grumble about the price of eggs and the young
(meaning anyone younger than us),
with other cranky pensioners.
There’s a punching bag hanging in the cellar
that knocks the hell out of me.
She has silver hair not gray - silver!
I do a great impression of a balding old coot.
Life is still good
but not getting any better.
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck,
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck,
Blocking all the streets
In the centre of town,
To all intents and purposes
Closing the city down.
The police were very tolerant,
Withdrawing their attack
After more than one officer suffered
From a wielded walking stick's whack.
The atmosphere changed
Soon after that
Lots of bonhomie
Banter and chit chat.
The action was called offi
Promptly at five to three
Thus allowing each
To be home in time for tea.
The action wasn't called
For any cause or good:
No it was carried out
Just to show they could.
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck.
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck.
Six Days of Christmas
On the first day of Christmas my MP had for free:
A partridge with all the trimmings.
It didn’t come from Aldi
On the second day of Christmas my MP had on me:
Two vintage Champagnes, a partridge with all the trimmings
And nothing came from Aldi
On the third day of Christmas my MP had on me:
Three Harrod’s Hampers, two vintage Champagnes,
A partridge with all the trimmings
And nothing came from Aldi.
On the fourth day of Christmas my MP had on me:
Four new suits, three Harrod’s hampers, two vintage champagnes
A partridge with all the trimmings,
And nothing came from Aldi
On the fifth day of Christmas my MP had on me:
Five houses rent free!! four new suits, three Harrod’s hampers,
Two vintage Champagnes, a partridge with all the trimmings
And nothing came from Aldi.
On the sixth day of Christmas the MPs did to me:
Lied through their teeth
Raised inheritance tax,
Froze all the pensioners,
Put thousands out of work
Crippled the economy
Cancelled local elections
Gave 50 million to terrorists
While I ate a sandwich from Aldi.
David Cox 22/11/2022
A wobble waiting in the shed
A joke cracked by Victorian comedians
A test of youthful instability
A trial by tarmac
An unyielding seat with changing views
A wetter way of travelling through rain
A soundless nemesis for pensioners
A tin-tack gathering machine
A complexity in ambulation
A tool used by the mad or desperate
A ticking mockery of balance
A frame for shaming the unfit
A creaking snail on hills
A public declaration of pretence or poverty
An undignified arrival and
A bait for thieves
Electric cars, they say it’s cheaper than petrol cars
we agree on it is also good for the environment
we agree to this too we like to befriend nature.
The prices of electricity rise sharply, so much the increase
we can’t even heat our homes.
They, the shadowy people, blame the Russians, but money
keeps rolling into the pockets of the rich.
The price of oil will soon fall, they say. Who are they?
So, the oil prices fall, but the price of electricity does not
The pensioners' shivers in their home, the electric car
is in the garage, who can afford driving it now?
Once again, we have been duped by capitalism.
What can it be if not ignited tension
Among retirees waiting for their pension
That weakly caters for their weekly ration
Their numerous legs, hundreds of suspension:
A carbon copy of the criminal’s in a police station.
Long, I’ve been watching their tired faces
And ceaseless circuitous paces,
All of them buffeted by the issued new orders
About which they wouldn’t tell others…
So, the Ministry won’t immediate payments be making
For the breath of relief they should be taking
And for long sitting on retirement seats,
occasionally their only nurses for roaring heartbeats
And varicose veins of legs deserving an apology.
The Ministry - for Goodness Heavens!-
can, herself, spare the Image of Black Ravens
with the firmest farewell to “Come Tomorrow” Announcements,
Often her making time-seeking searchers of misplaced documents.
Coffin dodgers and nursing home lodgers,
wrinklies, pensioners and plain old codgers.
A drain on society, archaic models of piety,
bed blockers, youth knockers, paragons of sobriety.
But is all that we see, all that it seems,
the elderly, like you, still have hopes and dreams.
Still carry the baton for tomorrow's youth,
the keepers of history, the sentinels of truth.
Though the fire is out, there still burns a flame,
which, if fanned by interest, could burgeon again.
Igniting a beacon, a fantastic life force,
a living library, a priceless resource.
So, honour your old folk, cut them some slack,
for a lot of them have been to hell and back.
They've built the society we now take for granted,
so enjoy the fruits of the seeds that they planted.
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