philosophy

John Travoltaire

“If John Travoltaire did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.”

Well, you can tell by the way I break the rules,
I’m a reason man: no time for fools.
Progress checked, our freedom scorned,
We’ve been kicked around since we were born.
But it will be alright, it’s not too late
For separation of Church and State.
We can try to understand
With science to lend a helping hand.

Dictionaries and dancing, poems, plays and prancing,
I’m spreadin’ the light, spreadin’ the light.
Despots are a-quakin’ and institutions shakin’,
And I’m spreadin’ the light, spreadin’ the light.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, spreadin’ the light, spreadin’ the light.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, spreadin’ the light.

Their lies ain’t goin’ nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah.
Their lies ain’t goin’ nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah.
In spreadin’ the light.

Written to commemorate the birth of Voltaire, 21st November 1694.

First They Came

First they came for the origamists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not an origamist.

Then they came for the sports shop assistants
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a sports shop assistant.

Then they came for the Mexican entymologists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Mexican entymologist.

Then they came for the Michael Jackson impersonators
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Michael Jackson impersonator.

Then they came for the recycling
And I did not speak out
Because it was the right day for the recycling to be taken.

Then they came for Katie Hopkins
And I did not speak out
But merely pointed at the cupboard in which she was hiding.

Then they came for the mime artists
And I did not speak out
Because I was a mime artist.

Then they came for me
But my mum spoke out
And told them to go away.

Twelve Haiku

Instructions

Please choose the haiku
which applies the most to you.
Choose two get one free.

I

Subbuteo man.
Legs broken. Re-glued twice.
A fragile sadness.

II

A leaf, desolate,
wind-blown, stuck to the back of
Bruce Forsyth’s toupĂ©e.

III

A note left hanging
in the cold night air, dispatched
from a flugelhorn.

IV

Unclaimed bag revolves
on a lonely carousel
A hopeless case.

V

Empty, vacant box
in someone else’s org chart.
Never to be filled.

VI

Imperfect haiku,
starts off quite well but ends one
syllable short.

VII

A tranquil puddle
into which splashes one of
Clarkson’s driving gloves.

VIII

A semi-colon
in a place where it really;
has no place to be.

IX

Reality show
contestant on a journey
back home to Skegness.

X

A smell which lingers,
vaguely reminiscent of
Adrian Chiles’ socks.

XI

The forlorn pathos
of an abandoned crossword
in a bin in Fife.

XII

A bag of Quavers,
offering cheesy comfort
but steeped in staleness.