Accountability

He stands there doing shopping, his mother strokes his hair
“Not that one James, it’s got a dent, take that one over there! ”
“Now did you clean your room today, and change your underwear?”
“If I don’t chase you all the time, you’d lose your head, I swear! ”

But James is now just forty two, his hair is going grey
He’s never had a chance to live, he’s never had a say
And yet he has the right to vote, make choices on his own
He won’t, he can’t, he’s lost you see, without a mother’s moan.

In Africa I know a child; he’s ten if he’s a day
He’s witnessed death and famine; he’s never learned to play
His parents dead from plague of AIDS, so he’s the eldest now
Of seven little sisters, and too small to push the plough.

So what now is an adult? It’s not one’s age that’s plain!
Is it our experience, or how we cope with pain?
Or when we learn to understand another’s argument
Instead of throwing tantrums, with attitudes all bent.

We send our men to go and fight for ‘freedom’ and a cause
To force our ways on other men, to adhere to our laws
This lack of co-existence may define our toleration
The rules of childish games perchance just lack this integration.

A child that kills another child, should he now go to trial?
What defines his adulthood? To face the last green mile.
Or should an old man, with an age, of seven in his mind
Be forced to live the rules we make when he’s so far behind.

All of us perhaps revert, when challenged by life’s forces
Back to childhood attitudes, to follow ancient courses
Of inherited behaviour, perhaps that is the test:
Improve how it was done before, and do our level best.

Chris Higginson
1st Provocative Verse

A Husband

I’m looking for a husband, you know the sort of chap
The kind of guy who copes with things and never has a flap
The one who fixes cars and bikes and often mows the lawn
Takes the kids on Sunday hikes while I with hammock yawn

I’m looking for a husband, you know the sort of bloke
Who listens to the things I say and laughs out when I joke
He’ll do the Sunday B B Q and carves the Sunday roast
Then gives me a foot massage, that’s the thing I like the most

I’m looking for a husband dependable and true
Who likes to have discussions but never will argue
Can sit in friendly silence, and never has to babble
Will make and pour the tea for me and lets me win at scrabble

I’m looking for a husband; I know they’re pretty rare
The kind who opens doors for me and lets me have his chair
And earns enough at his travail so we’re debt and mortgage free
But doesn’t put his work ahead of caring about me

The husband I am looking for might seem quite rare to you
And friends have tried to tell me that in number they are few
But I have hope of finding one I hope he will be free
‘Cause I’ve been one for forty years, I want one just like me!

Chris Higginson,
1st Provocative Verse

A Dog's Lament

A Dog's Lament

I begged you not to use the gun,
When you thought that all was done.
Your hopes and dreams had gone awry
You told me all, I saw you cry.

You looked at me through distant eyes
I knew your truth, saw through his lies.
Your dread of life before you lay:
A path so twisted, forked and stray.

I loved you so that I would die
If it would help you, make you try
To see this world in different hue
Or let me die and come with you.

You saw not, my pain would kill
Me, when you left body still.
So now I’m left to grieve alone
To starve and fret to skin and bone.

And so must I, to suicide
No gun have I to last confide
So I must run away from home
To seek my death, a dog alone.

A truck’s great wheel may strike me down
Perhaps the river: help me drown
Only so, to be with you
Away from him, who hurt me too.

(A friend committed suicide: Two days later, we found her dog dead at the side of the road.)

The Loo Book

The Loo Book
(the original name for 1st Provocative Verse)

Introduction


I sit upon my throne and think, what am I doing here
Confronted by a porcelain sink, upon a holy chair.
A friend has given me this book, to read upon the Loo
Now isn’t that a silly thing for me to want to do!

He said that I could rip a page, and use it on my rear
All I have to do to it, is read it and then tear
Along the dotted line that I, cannot even see
Without my reading glasses. What has he done to me?

He thinks it’s kind of funny, to torment me this way
A sort of flat pack toilet roll! What is he trying to say?
But on the other hand maybe, I’ve got some time to spare
To sit here reading rubbish, as though I haven’t got a care.

Chris Higginson.

The Court Jester

Introduction to 2nd Provocative Verse:

In days of yore the one before the King could criticise
She rang her bell then she could tell what paupers said with cries
And so the Courts would hear reports as chanted by the Jester
The only one under the sun with quest that was to test her

And so the joke she sang and spoke was hidden in the verses
The King with wine might be benign enough to hear the curses
Of common folk who bear the yolk of laws and wars and cages
May find a line that has a sign of protest in these pages.

Chris Higginson