Tuesday, February 18, 2020




Playing Dead

standing in a queue to collect our costumes a chorus 
line smiling (what you grinning at lad)
on parade (smarten up) chest proud
(right two three
and turn two three)
we felt like dancing girls

only ‘till christmas it’ll be a pantomime (i think 
we were the arse end of a cow) a tour of france
a song and laugh as we waved from the train
just time to to fix bayonets then be home again to sing 
of goodwill to all men on earth     
roast chestnuts    
holly wreaths and a mistletoe kiss

we acted out our orders leaving a script to loved ones
tucked into the sand bags of the pits before
stepping on to the boards for our matinee performance
the conductor lifted his baton
in full voice we charged crying with stage fright
into the footlights of the winter sun and an overture 
of machine guns
we walked tall 
centre stage
into no mans’ land


and the clapping artillery and the front row’s aim

no star performers
no headline acts just haig’s troupe 
with a cast of thousands

(cue) mortar applause
(cue) poppy bouquets

then the final curtain falls


© 2006  P.A.Levy
First published by Forward Poetry for In A Flanders Field Anthology  2014




Wednesday, February 12, 2020



Godfather Rap

call’s come in from hollywood precinct
douglas fairbanks jr yer lazy mother fucker
get on the case
find sylvia sydney
that slut’s in trouble 
again
she’s dipped a sneaky looking no-mark
got the jackpot with a handful of rocks

but that waster was a george raft grafter
yer hear what i’m saying
he gonna be fucked right off
that bitch got his property
and now he’s gotta do
what a mother fucker’s gotta do

and word on the street is already out
george wants respect and his crack back
that bitch is a lump of dead meat apocalypse
he’s got a shiny nine millimetre
and he’s gonna fuck her up 
good and proper tragically

meanwhile 
douglas fairbanks jr is chasing shadows
up his own asshole
he’s gonna be two years in traffic
after this fiasco

sylvia knows she’s in deep shit
sees veronica lake to call in a favour 
they go way back 
when they were both lap dancers
all she needs is somewhere 
to lie low until the coast is clear
the heat is off

and here’s the steamy romantic bit
sitting on the bed is humphrey bogart
smoking spliff
and he’s thinking she’s no lauren becall
- but i’ll still give her one

her eyes met his 
she prays he’ll fuck her brains out
so she sheds tears and spills the plot
lets him finger her
to whet his appetite

humphrey finds george in some two bit joint
puts a cap in the part his brain was at
and he and sylvia drive off into the sunset
in a knocked off range rover
dr dre bass booming out the stereo

© 2009. P.A.Levy
First published by Curbside Splendor  2012