Hark! The herald agents spin

Hark! The herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!
piece the earth and purchase wild,
gods and monsters reconciled!”
Fearful, all ye nations rise,
feel the terror, land and sky;
with all ancient ghosts, now fight
faith as all, without insight.
Hark! the herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!”

Prophets laugh and sigh and yawn
every time a cult is born:
when, again, some men, assured,
by their holiness applaud;
snake oil from the Godhead squeezed
into earthen deities;
pleased for our Free Will to quell;
their utopias to swell.
Hark! the herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!”

Mark! usurpers of the Peace,
Mark to market, fallacies.
Light and Life from which they shrink;
Artifice and Rapture drink.
Trumpets wearing banners ply;
slaves consume, resisters die
by the neo-fascist scourge
evil-bound for all it’s worth.
Hark! the herald agents spin,
“Glory to the new norm’s Bling!”

[December, 2015]

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God rest ye merry, Government

God rest ye merry, Government
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Price is everything
And you are getting paid
To save the few of no value
While all the rest be played
O tidings of contempt and rage
Now being waged
O tidings of contempt and rage

From gods of craven worship
The blasted Con men came
And unto certain sycophants
Gave entrance to the same:
How in the land of Buccaneers
All’s done in Profit’s Name
O siding with self-int’rest and might
Hubris with bite
O siding with self-int’rest and might

And when they viewed the mayhem
Whence their dear saviour streamed
They found their way in danger
Of running out of steam
The population keeling o’er
And ripping at all seams
O riding on serfdom to peers
War and small beer
O riding on serfdom to peers

Now to themselves bring conflict
All those who rule our space
By their cruel ideology
Society’s disgrace
The wickedness of idiots
Must surely be displaced
O hidings of Justice, Old Boys
(Comfort and joy)
O hidings of Justice, Old Boys

[December, 2014]

Fowl is Fair

Something whiffy this way comes
A retching arse with fetid puns
The oeuvre of an ergo sum
Every day he lays a lie
Dumps his chicken-shit and flies
Foul his fare but many buy
The fecund one’s innumerous supplies