Tuesday, 22 October 2019

Worried man

Worried man

There on the edge of the congregation,
In her peripheral vision sits he,
Watching with an air of resignation,
The stage, where, under the spotlight, stands she.
The congregation gives polite applause,
Upon completion of a poem read;
He, sighing, during each in-between pause,
Mechanically claps and nods his head.
Her act concluded; she sits with her friends,
Acknowledging their appreciation,
As he melancholically descends
Into a mood of dark contemplation;
He can’t relate to any of this shit;
He’s worried about a no-deal Brexit. 


Monday, 14 October 2019

Boris fails to unite the nation

Boris fails to unite the nation

As Bungling Boris brokered Brexit
Blasting Brussels blabbering bullshit
The rabid racists ranted raved
Rattled ridiculed rioted raged
The fascists fighting furiously
Flippantly fractured fearlessly
The communists came crashing
Carelessly continually crushing 
The brexiteers bashed brained
Battered barred busted blamed
The remainers remonstrated
Relentlessly roared ram-raided
The gammons gathered gasped
Grappled gassed garrotted glassed
The snowflakes sulking stupidly
Surreptitiously slung shit sneakily   
The treacherous Tories trashed trails
Trampled trolled told tall tales
The Labour leftist lunatics laboriously
Left leavers lumbering listlessly
The LibDems lurching lecherously
Let-loose literally laughing liberally
And finally Farage farting fretfully
Feeling flustered flip-flopped fitfully

Wednesday, 9 October 2019

Bring out your dead

Bring out your dead (a dystopian scenario)

Dingalingaling; bring out your dead;
Old ladies lying in piss,
Mothers and infants, underfed,
The infirm; starving and penniless,
Cancer sufferers, deemed to be
Fit for work indefinitely,
The terminally unemployed,
The lost souls cast into the void,
Abused women, helpless, trapped,
Terrified and suicidal,
Living with the homicidal,
On universal credit, capped.
Bring out your dead; the latest wave;
Fodder fit for a pauper’s grave.

Dingalingaling; get to work;
Snuff out the zombies on the streets;
Purge every corner where they lurk;
The manic depressive deadbeats,
Who haven’t slept or eaten in days,
The homeless lying in shop doorways,
Families, living in one room,
Toddlers full of doom and gloom,
Pensioners with no capital,
Destitute at seventy five;
Their life-savings took a nose dive,
And there’s no more collateral.
Bring out your dead before they rot;
Tomorrow there’s another lot!

Dingalingaling; kick down the door;
Drag the cadavers down the stairs;
The jobless, invisible poor,
The fathers caught out unawares
By sudden mass redundancy,
Forced by the DWP
Into contracts of zero hours,
The destitute in burning towers,
Veterans with PTSD,
The mentally ill, turned away,
Desperate, with no place to stay;
There’s no care or community.
Bring out your dead; the corpses dire;
Deadwood for a funeral pyre.
Dingalingaling; the end is near;
Get the carcasses out in the air;
The immigrants who live in fear,
The refugees, kneeling in prayer,
The reformists, the pacifists,
The environmental activists,
The advocates of equal pay,
Unions demanding more say
For workers, on minimum wage,
Having to rely on foodbanks,
And the socialists, dismissed as cranks,
By tabloids screaming in outrage.
Bring out your dead; the plan’s fulfilled
Once all the opposition’s killed.