BIGGER than god

A paranoid prat with a past,

Has a lifelong obsession with class;

Finds his campaign momentum

In fuelling resentment,
In spheres were he thinks it is sparse.

And so sparse is the class in his mob,

That whatever he does they will tell him “good job”.

He could eat his own cat

And they’d say it deserved that,

See: JC is bigger than god. 🥀

 

Bafflements

Eat, breathe, sleep

walking; talking Life into war

as a Way. Embattled in our bafflements,

some have dug trenches so deep,

all they can see are their own banks.

But, one day, we will want the lying

to stop: to ourselves; to each

other. Sick and exhausted with

manipulation and deceit, we will

yearn for truth and we shall seek it.

Farage on Tour (2018)

Nigel Farage is back with his bus

He’s going to battle for – wait for it… us

The fair weather fascist

Will tour with the classics

Like many an old has-been does.

*~*

Get ready for:

I’m an outsider

The global elite

Breaking Point

Mine’s a pint

Man on the street

Foreign language on trains

Live next-door to Romanians

Break up the EU

Do you love your country?

Bloody red tape

Where’s my fish?

I blame Remainers

Why can’t my German passport be blue?

We’ve UKIPped the Tories

I need a retainer

Bannon’s very invested

Hope and Glory

Polish plumbers

Trump likes my story
Pub Bore

His favourite little number, Isn’t it int’resting..?

And many more.

Your gaslight’s out

If, every time you feel a threat

To Comrade Corbyn’s saintly rep

And rush to get your gaslight out,

Revise, reduce and whatabout,

Recall Iago was exposed,

As Janus Jezza grows each nose.

Beware: the sight that you pervert

Is yours and, since the grail you serve

Is false, the sham is all your fault,

Not being present but involved.

Your Johnson’s out

If, every time you feel the threat

Of losing Brexit, you deflect

And rush to get your Johnson out

And flash and poke it all about,

Remember Bobbitt’s sad demise,

As throbbing gobbet swings and jives;

Beware the high of your supply

On which vainglory you rely,

For you, ignoble kin, so keen,

Are fluffers for a libertine.

Countenance of Duty

Why would you hide your face from your creator

But for fear or shame?

And in whose name,

The words that sit upon the lips

Of those who claim to know?

stupid obstacle

When you find yourself contracting
Just before you give reaction
Coz you know you could explode
If your impulses overrode

With a mind to consequences
Of the various offences
Taken very liberally
By self-appointment to authority

You buy a moment of delay
To measure what you want to say
Against the likely repercussions
Of alerting certain Russians

Trying not to give your foes
Another angle to transpose
Making sure you don’t inflate
Their fear and anger and their hate

But if the fury that you feel
Is losing none of its appeal
And your scorn is justified
Release and know, at least, you tried

You’re only human, after all
And even saints hit Patience’s wall
It’s also more than they would do
Had the stupid obstacle been you