keep you still

If I could keep you
still, in time,
a precious moment of connection
save
and lock it in the memory of my blood,
sometimes, I think I would.

Brexit Park and Ride

Mockumentary
Just got real
In parallel feels
The faithful sides
Take park and ride
Raise monuments
To the far out right
And the left behind

In the unthink tank
All the windows stream
Insidious steam
Can’t see where they’re going
Only where they’ve been

Where jump the shark
Is a tie that binds
The hungry heart
With a flaccid mind
Where infotainment
Is a civic blind
And a cold hard truth
Is a hot rewind

The Brexit bus
Is a dream mis-sold
To fools who believe
There’s a road of gold
And, as foretold,
Has nothing to do with
Taking back control
As the bus careers
Through its own manholes

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Autumnal Equinox

God is pressure;
Life is movement;
Will, attunement,
Conscience measured.

Light, its friction,
Shadow sifting,
Soul uplifting,
Love, its treasure.

[August 2015]

⚡️

Parity glimpses
Light dancing in harmony,
Wise of consonance.

[March 2016]

Dear Brexits

Dear Brexits,

I am not talking our country down. You voted to leave. That decision is actively bringing our country down. I am merely observing, reporting and commenting on the myriad dismal consequences of your “will”.

No Brexit is better than a bad Brexit and there is no Brexit that is good.

If this was not sufficiently evident, to you, before the referendum, whether because you were tricked or just did not bother to inform yourself, it bloody well should be plenty evident, by now. It is not my fault that you either cannot see or will not admit this.

I love our country and you have endangered her. It is a poor patriotism that would seek to demand my silence.

Regards

Prickly

Sharp tongue; blunt instrument:
Light twice.
I never said I was nice.

Records show

Cowardice is a ladder
for the lionised,
records show.

Told you so has legs
and hearts and spines
of proper lions, though.

We gather our senses;
commit them to memory,
in collectible volumes.

You’re still here

You chose to leave
but you’re still here,
with your ironic demands
and your empty vitriol.

You whined, on and on
about not being your own person,
arguing for your limitations
with how much you disliked the place,
the people, the pace of things –

like a tree blaming the forest –
and you championed a greener grass

but you’re still here,
filling space like a drunken wasp.

Jacob Rees-Mogg

Jacob Rees-Mogg
Proper Nanny-posh
Fiat eccentric
Rudimentary Tory tosh

Clueless windsock
Neocon rising
Into popular despot
Of inadequate pricing

He’s the cloying shadow fog
Of the quid pro nada
MoggMentum ad portas
To his alma martyr

He’s a Brexit Pollyanna
Always ultra polite
Bangs the patriotic hammer
Of his god and his Right

Augmented by faith
In his Latinate gob
Puts vicarious blame
On a bigoted god

With a silk hogwash
And the charm of a cilice

See him handing out the crosses
For his god of decrease

He’s the Passion police

Non sequitur ad ignorantum
Honi soit qui you like
But don’t think public office
Is a suitable site

Your antiquated affectations
Are exceedingly trite
And your unicorn worldview
Is a plasticised blight
Your opinion of the People
Is pompous in its spite
And Jacob, your ad hominem
Of god is pure shite.

Mon Dieu! amirite?

 

“He is also real”

Obviously, he can believe what he wants and his freedom of speech, I would not seek to take away. Nonetheless, I am horrified that he is so popular with voters and that his popularity within the Conservative Party could give him access to real power.

Reckoning

Press before leader
Leader before party
Party before country
Country before planet
And myriad fuck-ups
Face off

witlessly led

Britain is swinging the lead;
Being witlessly led
By its well-fed ringmasters,
Right into disaster, for crumbs
From the Top Table’s bread

High on their vacuous vistas,
They’ve built with an imbecile’s pride
They keep pushing their luck
Just to cover the fuck-ups
They made with their swivel-eyed lies

They yearn for a future that’s passed
So their best before date they deny
With rhetoric mnemonics
For faux histrionics, they polish the shine
Where their judgement has died

As the blighties of Brexit
That thought themselves smart
Grow increasingly thicker and
Desperate fast, they quicken the proof in
The elbow and arse because,

Even if Brexit where not a dumb farce,
Not one of those bozos is up to the task.