Leave it Out

Instincts
so narrow
so terminal
so reliant on
the base, shortsighted weight
of hubris and paranoia
to get your country back:
they create a vision but,
do not call it patriotism.

Campaign Leapfrog

A two world wars and one World Cup brigade
And an old boys who cry wolf network
Play crazy campaign leapfrog
And troops of twerking groupies meme
And the confused are busy getting lost
And trapped between, the horrified are keening
At the vaults that share a cheapness with its cost

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Batten down the hatches!

Buccaneering Brexiteers
Jolly a-rodgering
Yo ho me yesteryears!

Kipper me hornpipe
’n blaggard me gobshite
Be swivel yer eyesight
‘n Pugwash yer ears!

Black spot to the bilge rats
Tack slack with some rum stats
Stitch up all the ex-pats
‘n crow’s nest the piers

Blistering barnacles!
Scuttle the Articles
Parley in particles
Arr privateers!

Hedge allegorical
Haven and glory call
Regulate less control
Wish ye be ‘ere!

Play me a pioneer
Pieces of hate
Rates fer me hearties
Thar’s eight fer the party arr
Nein to the state

Aye, coddle me cankers!
Our dory’s a tanker!
Weigh anchor
Ahoy!
To a fling in the wild frontier!

Yo ho me yesteryears!
Rodgering jolly
Buccaneer Brexiteers’
Lotus fruit folly

Cut on the bias

The one four zero firing squad,
In characters, cut on the bias;
Judge and jury, fury fuelled
Unsubtle, show
There’s none so blind as
What believed becomes
I know
And what is paid attention grows
To bind the mind
To preconception –
Each direction bound for Rome.
They seek them here; they seek them there
And register signs everywhere
To personalise in tones
That suffocate and trivialise the greater play
And woe betide all messengers –

Well, they would say that,
Wouldn’t they…

Echo chamber on

He hardly imagined
Doing this job
But those that craved,
By the shortness of their slug-bitten roots,
The glamour of understudy to the leading Tory part,
Were so utterly deficient in the practise of social and economic justice –
So tainted by the lessons learned,
That he reluctantly emerged to stake his belief
In a wiser, fairer narrative and take his turn.
And there were cheers of relief and hope,
For the first time in years…

Cameras on…
Oh, for crying out loud, Jeremy
It’s too depressing to watch.
What Juli at Juxtaposed wants to know is
Where’s his bite?
Where is his wit?
Take that pompous little shit down, Jeremy.

Face-palm

It should be easy
But it’s like watching a doddery
Dithering old dear get tricked
by a bunch of bitchy school girls.
It’s depressing to see him miss opportunities
And take others so clumsily.
One step forward; two steps back.
It’s distressing to see him being beaten
By thugs in bow-ties and cufflinks;
Being tripped by the loose lips and tight grip
Of his own wing.
Of course they’re ‘out to get him’
He threatens the establishment
And they find it easy.

Time’s a-wasting
The longer the Con, the greater the mess
The more likely is real damage irreversible

Echo chamber on…
Sycophants cannot countenance criticism
His enemies steal pawns and create false flags of opportunity
The fickle, framing, parroting Press and oscillating planet TV
Extend and compress
And I confess to fleeting polysympathy

He is too sincere
Too principled
Too nuanced
For his dim detractors

He is a misunderstood hero
He is the answer
He is faultless
To his projecting groupies

He is not eloquent
He is not dynamic
He is not sophisticated
Not charismatic
Enough to instil support in the impatient
Not strong enough
Not hardened enough for such a vicious game

But it’s not about personality
It helps enormously
But it’s early days
When, then?

No offence, JC
But I can’t afford to wait
As much as it is about you
In the end it’s much bigger
Not losing is not the same as winning
Standing still is not a ‘movement’
Clinging on or slow burn
The country can’t afford to wait
Not for social justice

And not one like mind is there,
Being both palatable and more polished
And ready to replace him

And if not him, then who?
Oh, yes: plenty there, enough
To push their luck
But they have the polish of shaped wood
And still serve only splinters
They are covered in the foul glory of appeasement;
Filled with a vacuous vitriol, dancing tarantella
on the grave of self-awareness
Machinery
Indignant
And objecting
Because they think they are the true light and the way of the Party

Phfft…
I don’t care for their objections
They miss the point:
That most of them are not fit to shine his bicycle clips
That their world view is the kind that
Abstains when it should stand up
Frames when it should smash ceilings
Chases headlights and takes headlines as instruction
Carps and schemes and hinders and calls this listening and learning

I don’t have time for their indignant identity crisis
I don’t have time to fathom the collage of rhetoric and vision
I don’t have time for the perpetual dark night of their Party soul
The black hole into which all and any credibility holds hands
And forward rolls.

Merry May

Merry May
the rays ignite
a higher, wiser, inner sight
and fire in the belly
quicken, now, our power
raise the Just in common might