Writer's block

Writer’s block

Meaningless nothingness

Lip service to uselessness

I can’t take it

Any further now

Like the man grey

In the Overlook’s employ

With nothing to say

All work and no play

Makes Jack a dull boy

But all play and no work

Makes me

A dole boy

Either way

My brain refuses

To employ

A single

Cell

Go to Hell

You fuckers

I admit defeat

I give up

I can’t compete.

Mr Dives

Mr Dives

Mr Dives sat drinking liberal tears

Joked with the wealthy and laughed at the poor,

In the company of Conservative peers,

And an atmosphere of Eton haw haw.

He gave a grand speech, his goodfellows cheered;

All raised a glass, in a toast to the queen,

And Thatcher; but especially revered,

Were hedge fund tycoons and riches obscene.

A log fire alight gave plenteous heat,

The Champagne (liberal tears) freely flowed,

And the victuals only the richest may eat,

Were consumed by all, with honours bestowed,

As temperatures fell in the street outside,

Children went hungry and Lazarus died.

November 30th

November 30^th

There’s a bed

Of leaves underneath

The canopy

Of a willow tree

That weeps as if in dread

Of winter’s teeth

And soon to be

Barren scenery

The sun shines

Mingling with rain

And doesn’t fail

To warm the air

Though divers signs

In the main

Mark the trail

To colder fayre

Leaving November

Bereft yet majestic

August poplars

Overlook scenes

Of pre December

Shades of fantastic

Yellows coppers

Browns evergreens

A blinding light

By the river reflected

As children run

Squirrels race up trees

Dogs bark in delight

Seemingly affected

By a welcoming sun

An absence of breeze

All because of Corbyn

All because of Corbyn

A&E departments, GP surgeries,

Health and day-care centres, public libraries,

Pensioner and youth clubs, childcare centres too;

They’re all disappearing; replaced with nothing new.

And all because of Corbyn; he’s the one to blame

For the callous cancellation of every sickness claim.

If you’re suffering an illness, he’ll make you feel it more;

He’s the bane of the disabled; a killer of the poor.

Back in 1912, as the Titanic sank,

Captain Edward John Smith knew just who to thank

For the shortfall of the lifeboats, the passengers in distress,

And the failure of rescue ships to heed the SOS;

Jeremy bloody Corbyn; he schemed and exploited

And the ship hit the iceberg that could have been avoided.

It was Corbyn who insisted on the need for speed;

He’s the scourge of the workers; the epitome of greed;

Chernobyl 1986; a cloud of radiation

Dispersed into the air, leaving widespread devastation.

What caused the overheating, the meltdown of the core

And the consequent explosion at reactor number four?

Fucking Jeremy Corbyn; his incompetence made it fail

You can search for it on Google, or read it in the Mail.

Corbyn was responsible for messing up the test;

He’s a liability; an enemy of the west.

The Rosetta stone was made nigh 200 years BC

And on it is a warning; a frightful prophecy;

Hieroglyphics telling of the coming of a man;

A demon in disguise with a devastating plan.

Beware of Jeremy Corbyn (the ancient writing said);

With his white shirt, hair and beard and tie of deepest red;

He’ll bring the world to ruin and make you lose your mind;

He’s the future king of ISIS; the nemesis of mankind.

And so it’s come to pass, barely fifty years from now,

The protective ozone layer will be bereft of power.

Scientists say we’re poisoning the planet’s atmosphere,

But should it be pollution from fossil fuels we fear?

No, it’s Jeremy Corbyn; it’s all down to him;

Out there on his allotment, he’s growing something grim.

Don’t listen to the experts; they haven’t got a clue;

Corbyn’s homemade jams will be the death of me and you!

There’s no limitation, the list goes on and on,

His ruthlessness is boundless, he’s an evil mafia don,

He’s the end of freedom; he’s every child’s nightmare,

He’s the wickedest of the wicked; he’s a man who doesn’t care.

That nasty Jeremy Corbyn; he’ll bring you to your knees,

With his call for lesser working hours, free prescription fees,

Well-funded public services, equality of pay;

There’ll be untold misery, if Corbyn gets his way!

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. 

  

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

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 residents of 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

All the opposition’s killed.