This poem was written in October 2012, on hearing the news that “The Naked Rambler”, Stephen Gough, has been released from a Scottish prison after many years in jail for breach of the peace and contempt of court.
Today, three years later, I read this excellent article ( ttp://barristerblogger.com/2015/10/26/free-the-naked-rambler/ ) by Matthew Scott, a man who has represented Stephen Gough in court. This is a most thought provoking quote from the piece: “But for all that he is a prisoner of conscience whose treatment shames the nation”.
In short, if he spends another day in prison, or worse still eventually dies there, we should all hang our heads in shame.
~ ~ ~ ~
Stephen Gough, Steven Gough,
Have you not had enough,
You’ve been rambling for years in the nuddy.
In England that’s fine,
Almost all of the time,
But Scots’ law is more fuddy duddy.
Up here the strict rule is
No showing of goolies,
A concept you seem to find foreign.
So north of the border,
To maintain public order,
Could you not wear a thong or a sporran?
The people of Brighton
Are fairly enlightened!
(Or maybe just some of the rudest?)
They’ve a section of beach
Where banana and peach,
Can be proudly displayed by the nudist.
For your bare naked frame
And your media fame?
Six years as Her Majesty’s lodger!
That seems a bit strong,
A sentence so long,
Just for failing to cover the todger.
People of Britain, I have some good news
For once we are topping the league
And not just at rugby and orderly queues
Or even league table fatigue
We all know our country’s a great place to live
Though foreigners may ask you why
So if you can’t think of an answer to give
Tell them this is the best place to die.
I don’t think he is thinking straight
His syrup’s made him hottish
And that can happen in the sun
To men whose genes are Scottish
He can’t abide these immigrants
Syrian or others
Some of them are children
And they’re coming with their Mothers
He says that he would send them back
If he gets into power
Which ill behoves a candidate
Who lives atop a tower
I wonder if he’d do the same
With Mexicans or Greek’uns
Or men whose ancestors were slaves
Or, perhaps, Mohicans?
There is pressure on my left side brain
An affliction of the nominally sane
It isn’t like a headache
It isn’t like a pain
I have it when I’m walking
And I have it on the train
It has been with me forever
Now it’s something of a bane
But there is pressure on my left side brain.
My right side brain does nothing
I could swap that side for stuffing
Though the left side’s always busy
Slightly edgy, in a tizzy
All day long and through the night
Nothing happens on the right
But my best hallucinations
And imaginary flirtations
Come from pressure on my left side brain.
It’s been that way for aeons
God I hope it’s not my prions
Or perhaps my mitochondria
Or worse, my hypochondria
Such morbid thoughts are random
I should prob’bly get a scan done
‘Cos there’s pressure on my left side brain.
If my grey matter explodes
And comes dripping through my nose
(Though I bet my lazy right side will abstain)
Leave it to neurologists
And please tell my pathologist
I had pressure on my left side brain.