The Politics of Envy (part 2)

The Politics of Envy (part 2)

An immigrant mum moved into a flat

A Tory commuter angry at that

Tweeted a tweet conservative blue

Wrote to The Sun and The Mail HQ

Drove to the railway station uptight

And very nearly ran a red light

On hearing reports on radio two

Of doctors and nurses striking anew

He hurriedly parked in need of a pee

Saw pickets outside the station and he

Recalled that he’d forgotten about

The railway workers’ vote to walkout

Turning around exceedingly vexed

He had an exchange with his boss by text

And rather than lose a shifts’ worth of pay

He took a day out of his holiday

For being a blue collar absentee

In line with company policy

He doesn’t get paid till after day three

Whatever the reason happens to be

Back at his house he noted a van

Parked by a harried delivery man

Carrying boxes of groceries

To the new arrivals from overseas

Straight to his tablet on Twitter he went

And a whole days’ holiday thus he spent

Venting his anger at nurses on strike

Immigrant single-mums and their like

And while he was at it he had a snipe

At public sector woke left wing tripe

Benefit scrounging neighbourhood blights

Socialists calling for human rights

Accumulated wealth being shared

Services run with no expense spared

And higher taxes for billionaires

Living off privatized company shares

It’s the politics of envy he said

If kids are unhappy and underfed

Their parents should work more hours per week

Or find a job less prospectively bleak

The blue collar Tory is fifty five

And if he’s lucky to still be alive

In twelve years’ time a pension he’ll get

But a dozen years is a way off yet

His fellow employees not on the board

Can’t even at sixty seven afford

A nice retirement and here’s the twist

Company pensions no longer exist

Least not the same as back in the day

When workers retired on salary pay

And the old school board was more inclined

To profit-share with employees in mind

Yes he is very bitter indeed

But not at the crude supporters of greed

Glorified every day in the Mail

As poverty soars and services fail

The blue collar Tory lacking in sense

Stands by the Tories in rigid defence

Even as the myth of trickled down wealth

Benefits nobody such as himself

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Up The Gary

 Up The Gary

On viewing a VHS-DVD converted Video

Recorded over thirty years ago

The last song played on my wedding day

Was Leader of The Gang I’m sorry to say

Skinner

Skinner

I looked at Mayfield Memories,

The other day, hoping to see

Pictures of old assemblies,

Particularly ones of me,

Alongside forgotten, school-mates,

Not seen since leaving the school gates,

In nineteen seventy seven,

On concluding year eleven,

Back when it was called, the fifth year

Seniors; but that’s to digress;

The point is, school had, more or less,

Trained me for a dead end career,

And three months later aged sixteen,

It felt as if I’d never been.

Anyway, I looked, as I said,

At Mayfield Memories, and saw…

Photos of teachers, some long dead,

Flanking the class of ‘fifty four;

Future fathers of pupils who

Possibly ended up there too;

Players of cricket and football,

But not one name could I recall,

Till I clicked on the final page,

And there, two old photos appeared:

Of a teacher, seemingly revered,

By pupils of that bygone age;

“Mr Skinner was “Hard but fair”,

Twenty years before I was there.

His middle-aged face, in the more

Recent snapshot put me in mind

Of the time, when the classroom door

Burst open and he, in a blind

Rage, grabbed me by the collar and

Slapped me, with the palm of his hand,

Hard (but not fair) across the face,

And, like a sadistic head-case,

Authorised to act as he would;

Dragged me, as if I was a sack,

Outside, whereat, he smashed the back

Of my head, as hard as he could,

Against the wall, as he spat out

Questions and knocked me about,

All the while, calling me a thief;

And, when I justly protested,

He turned angry-red, in disbelief;

Blatantly disinterested.

To cut a lengthy story short:

A pair of shorts, expensively bought,

Were stolen for a joke or game,

And Skinner, on hearing my name,

Entered the forementioned classroom,

Disregarded my innocence,

Subjected me to violence,

And, later, that same afternoon,

He, from lost property, retrieved,

The pair of shorts, I hadn't thieved.

My Mayfield Memories feature,

Corporal punishment severe,

Dealt by a rod-wielding teacher,

Who bullied, battered, ruled through fear,

Dished out constant verbal abuse,

And taught fuck-all of any use.

But Skinner was one of many;

Tyrants being two-a-penny,

At Mayfield, in the ‘seventies,

And the old school of ‘fifty four,

Were maybe more, prone to ignore

The vindictive activities

Of those tyrants; even the ones

Who ridiculed and beat their sons.

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Schism

Schism

Some people say jabs have implications,

Like heart attacks and cardiac arrests;

Pouring scorn on lockdowns, vaccinations,

Social distancing, masks and taking tests;

They doubt the philanthropic interests

Of Bill Gates, and have reached the conclusion:

COVID 19 is all an illusion.

Others say; if it wasn’t for vaccines,

The COVID death-count would be much higher,

Lockdowns were the only possible means

Of slowing the spread of disease, prior

To the vaccine; and any denier

Of that is either dim or deluded

By myths; cardiac arrests included.

Some people think Stonewall’s beyond the pale;

Your sex chromosomes, define who you are:

An XX is female, XY is male,

And anything else is frankly, bizarre;

Trans recognition is going too far!

You can take hormones and have a new name,

But birth sex and gender’s one and the same.

Others realise, that, until they read

About the actual real lives, of real,

Trans-people, rather than just the troll-feed,

Of someone who doesn’t know a great deal

About gender, or how Trans people feel;

Then their understanding of the issue,

Will remain as thin as a wet tissue.

Some people want healthcare in the UK

Fully privatised, with health insurance,

The same as it is in the USA;

They view the NHS with abhorrence;

If it was sold, there’d be less tax to pay;

Why should they shoulder the nation’s health bill?

Especially if they never get ill.

Others want funding substantially raised,

They don’t want to follow the private path;

They’d rather see nurses well paid, than praised,

And more recruitment of NHS staff;

The numbers they say aren’t covered by half;

Redistribution of wealth is the key;

Healthcare should always be totally free!

Some people are modern day crusaders;

“All lives matter!” they angrily yell,

Then throw bottles at perceived invaders,

Named as such by Braverman and Patel.

And comments calling lifeboat personnel,

Taxi drivers, are believed, by and large,

By disciples of Reform and Farage.

Others say, some people don’t understand,

Or they deliberately misconstrue;

BLM is a validated brand;

An acronym for BLACK LIVES MATTER TOO,

And racists, don’t often go with that view.

Hate crimes against minorities today,

Are at record levels, in the UK.

According to some people, climate change

Isn’t man-made, it’s a natural thing;

CO2 emissions are in safe range,

Climate scientists are always left wing,

Global warming is a globalist sting;

Deniers say, anyway, we’ve been told

The world’s warming up, so how come it’s cold?

According to others; greenhouse gasses,

Largely caused by human activities,

Will, if disregarded by the masses,

Cause unprecedented extremities

In Earth’s temperature, and the remedies,

As painful as they first appear to be,

Should be implemented A S A P.

Some people heed the maxim: greed is good;

Wealth distribution has long had its day,

Human nature’s nothing like Robin Hood,

Taxes should be low, no matter your pay;

Socialism is criminal they say,

And the worst ever kind of offender

Is a lefty, with a WOKE agenda.

Others can see where all the money’s gone,

When they look at the wealthiest, and they

Wonder how some people fall for the con

Of trickle-down, as barons sail away

To islands where multi billionaires stay,

Upon stashing, in colossal amounts,

Revenue into offshore bank accounts.

Some people go on Facebook or Twitter;

With common souls, opinions they share;

Others do the same and they have bitter

Rows with very angry people on there,

Over things like COVID, Trans rights, healthcare,

Black Lives Matter, global warming, woke, greed

And whatever else is on the newsfeed.

Reading their exchanges, it’s clear to me,

That humankind is exceedingly split,

Right down the middle, from what I can see;

Polarised views, incessant verbal shit,

And yours truly isn’t immune to it;

I’m with all the others, striking a chord,

Down in the rabbit hole, on a keyboard.

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Rainbow

Rainbow

When the sun shines, on a wet day in June,

I see a rainbow, can you see it too?

It’s like the sleeve of Dark Side of The Moon:

Red, yellow, pink, green, purple, orange, blue.

Someone on Twitter says, all he can see,

Is the representation of a flag,

An advertisement for LGBT;

"Woke" promotion of liberals in drag.

Walters, Wright, Gilmore and Mason, stained;

He’ll not be playing Pink Floyd anymore;

“Is there a straight flag?" he crossly complained,

Light refraction, wasn’t what he saw,

Certainly not on the box set cover,

And possibly not even in the sky;

Does the sky support a same-sex lover?

Is nature itself a "WOKE" kind of guy?

I see rainbows, the lunatic sees red,

On the grass, in the hall, and in his head.

 

Team Harry

Team Harry

I’m not a monarchist by any means

But I’m curious about kings and queens,

And though I never cried or stood outside

Buckingham Palace when Diana died

Or later spectated the funeral

With sobbing people innumerable

I watched the solemn cortege on TV

And clear as daylight Harry I still see

Walking next to William down the Mall

Dry-eyed and dignified as I recall

And mourners from all corners of the land

Eagerly shook Harry by the hand

Smiling lovingly wishing all the best

To Princes William Harry and the rest

The mourner’s hands so Harry later said

Were wet with tears for Harry’s mother dead

Tears shed for someone who they never knew

Except through tabloids and a faux interview

And the boys who knew her better than all

Betrayed no cares held the mourners in thrall

How many mourners since things have turned sour

Are posting on Facebook and Twitter now

Condemning Harry for having a say

While the tabloids publish day after day

Populist opinions venomous bile

Misjudgements fit for a kangaroo trial

Aspersions cellular levels of hate

Slurs against Meghan for not being Kate

As the likes of Morgan and Clarkson preach

More of the same in the name of free speech?

I’m not a monarchist but once again

I’ve no gripe against royals in the main

The way I see it the monarchy’s there

Whoever once asked to be born an heir?

But if I was a spare in Harry’s place

The press forever being on my case

Even to the detriment of my wife

I too would leave for a different life

And offer as truth my story for sale

Refuting the lies of the Daily Mail

The Algorithm

 The Algorithm

The algorithm is a beast

Of appetite gazillion

Glutting on an endless feast

Of personal opinion

It chews digests expels a stream

Of consciousness (depleted)

And everyone receives a meme

Updated or retweeted

Sometimes I fall to pondering

If I should leave the centre

Set myself to wandering

Where enemies would enter

There would be rejection

Unacceptance by the whole

No mirror hall reflection

I’d be deemed to be a troll

But what if I pretend instead

To be in full agreement

Contradict what’s in my head

In favour of appeasement

The algorithm then would change

And following this new lead

Would defecate a different range

Of memes on my newsfeed

The point I’m trying to convey

Is all that’s being written

Goes the algorithm’s way

And everyone gets bitten

We may be individuals

With different points of view

But words being mere victuals

Who is feeding who?