Category Archives: pome

Farewell Piko

There’s a grinding just outside the window,

A rumbling just beyond the door.

Crashing, heavy, blow by blow,

Timbers breaking,

Rippers raking,

Shuddering up beneath the floor.


I had to walk up to the crossroad

To witness what I knew to be;

Heavy trucks that, load by load,

Iron crumbling,

Bricks a-tumbling,

Were breaking Piko’s; I had to see.


It always had to come, I guess.

Nothing could delay the end.

That elegance reduced to mess,

Grandeur falling

Down, appalling,

Before my eyes; good-bye old friend.

There’s a tank outside my door.

There’s a tank outside my door,

Where cars and buses ran before.

Or is it an armoured car?

Or it just may be


All such things are a mystery to me.

* * * *

There’s a tank outside my gate

Where vans and bikes once passed of late.

You can see it from near and far.

Civil Defence

Sent it hence.

But why is it here? It makes no sense.

* * * *

There’s a tank across the road,

Squatting there like a great green toad,

The sign of the CD Tsar.

But with great big body and tucked-in head,

And that’s not a gun but a beak instead,

And fluffy brown stuff like feathers all spread

All over, you see,

It appears to be

More like a cuddly, round Kiwi.

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