Cathartic reflex

Yesterday I had a rant
And then I felt much better:
Cathartic reflex, cant on cant,
In every naughty letter.

Later on the guilt set in:
How mean! How rude I wrote!
But quickly too, forgave myself,
For venting at the dumbass rote.

When clichés are the USP
Of Brexit motive and defence,
There can be no surprise to see
A furiously ripe contempt.

Field of (Dis-eased) Wheat

If you build it, they will come
The optics dropping, one by one
The British Dream undone

John Crace: ”Opera heroines have died a less public, less agonising, death” – though it seems almost cruel to say any more…

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

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]

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.