The Tempest

 

The Tempest

 

An artist, caught short in the park,

Accidently made his mark;

Ariel, upon that spoor,

Turned the canvas blank once more

The England Team Knelt

 

The England Team Knelt

The England team knelt the angry crowd booed

Calling them snowflakes and other things rude

A Tory MP boycotted the game

His like-minded fellows threatened the same

Johnson’s response was a neutral retort

Lifelong supporters withdrew their support

Anonymous tweets with racist content

By hate driven ex-supporters were sent

ALL LIVES MATTER was posted on Twitter

And Facebook brimmed with statuses bitter

The England team knelt the angry crowd jeered

Nigel Farage on his channel appeared

Suggesting footballers taking the knee

Are clueless and way-less British than he

The FA and Southgate need to be taught

Loony left wingers have no place in sport

The woke agenda’s become overblown

Bananas at players are no longer thrown

The genuflecting has failed to impress

And Black Lives Matter is Marxist no less

The England Team knelt the angry crowd roared

Off the cuff comments were laughed off ignored

Like for example when Johnson compared

A veil to a letter box nobody cared

For after all it was only a joke

The Mail and Express declared war on woke

Marcus Rashford made visible the plight

Of vulnerable children spurned by the right

Man U were beaten by Arsenal and Spurs

And Marcus received despicable slurs

The England team knelt the angry crowd left

Feeling despondent forsaken bereft

Lamenting the loss of the good old days

When Edward Colston was lavished with praise

History they feel is being retold

The woke and the left are ever more bold

The BBC too is jointly to blame

A communist faction in all but name

The angry crowd left predictably turned

To parties extreme and bridges they burned

Fly Logic

Fly logic

 

A blue bottle, in my field of vision,

Buzz- collides against the sunlit window;

Exacerbating, with indecision,

It lands and takes off in a pointless show.

I watch, irritated; how I despise

Its incessant buzzing and restlessness;

Am I fly- logically seen through its eyes

Objectively, equally meaningless?

Its three sixty vision is scant defence

Against a copy of the Big Issue,

Rolled up in my hand, with which I commence

To dispatch, prior to wrapping with tissue,

Its battered body, leaking yellow puss;

Primed thus for binning, with minimal fuss.