An excerpt from Ross’s poem, ‘In The End’ .
A short graphic poem about writers’ block.
It’s as the sane dreaded:
They’re too bullet-headed;
They’ll never ban guns
Until everyone’s deaded.
Aggro cop hits man in the back;
Power trip or blood rush to the head?
Blameless man has big heart attack:
Cop is fired but bystander’s dead.
Sun’s out, guns out – tatts an’ all;
Like a primal tribal call.
Top off, chav; suck in your gut;
Show the world your penguin strut.
Life is like a Jenga game:
You stack the blocks you choose;
You rise as high as you can
Until you crash back down and lose.
Blue Monday is here, the media says:
A day of despondence and gloom.
But really it’s only a marketing ploy
To get you to spend and consume …
So Scotland Yard wants lots more guns
Put into the hands of dibble;
And what with the threat of jihadists
Well, who are we to quibble? …
There’s turmoil in South Thanet,
A coastal town in Kent,
Where Al Murray’s Pub Landlord
Will run for parliament …
Obesity is your heart’s enemy,
According to researchers.
A walk a day keeps the Reaper away
Through the active living it nurtures …
The race is on to settle Mars:
A new space-age stampede.
If getting there’s not hard enough,
Then how, off Earth, to feed? …
MDMA’s been kicked into touch
Through crap, ill-judged lawmaking;
Now PMMA, a substitute crutch
Is what the kids are taking …