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.

Don’t

Don’t mess; don’t second-guess the People: they have spoken
Don’t test their faith that says your liberal place has had its time
Do not forget your status now, is an arbitrary token
So be a good wee patriot and, quietly, get into line.

Don’t judge them by their words but by their actions
Don’t judge them by their deeds but their intent
Don’t judge them by their hungry, blind and constant angry factions
Do not mistake the rhetoric for what they really meant

Don’t caution, fret or organise to hinder their turn-back designs
Don’t let collective ignorance inhibit your respect
Do not get lost in challenging the means they justify as fine
Don’t be a party pooper; get that Kool-Aid down your neck.

 

Please, do not do this. Resist, resist. Resist.

Bigot

You can keep your tiny boxes
To yourself, my fundamental fool
Along with all the certainty
In which you have been schooled
For if I thought obnoxious doctrine
Was a relevant life tool
I’d’ve gladly walked the catechism
Of my own accord

So you can take your pious overreach
And shove it where imagination
Festers in your whimsy, flimsy,
Soul-refining mind and wind your neck in
Lest the reckoning
You beckon in is thine;
You mind your own soul, chum
And I’ll take care of mine.

I can do without your pity
And your precious little wisdoms
And your judgemental prescriptions –
You can stick ’em with
Your nonsense conscience
Where the sun don’t shine
Because, despite your crude reproof
I know I’m fine.

 

(Originally posted, August 2013)

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

Lost: the plot

Once upon a time
In the British Isles
The People lost the plot
A lot
For a Blighty while:

They dove into their navels
They high-fived their polished pride
Took advantage
Took for granted
Labels old enough to die.

They laid tables with ballistics
Played interpreting statistics
Graded experts unrealistic
Dignified the narcissistic
Swaying lore to cast the Law aside;
No-platformed or projected
Poaching power to decide
Because agenda mattered more
So bore false witness in an effort
To control the spring of tides.

Some laid traps
And some bade hacks
To frame the facts
While others cried
Conspiracy and wolf
Because they both applied
As lies drew pacts
In packs to hide
Until the pros were cons
And cons were pros
And any pumped-up so-and-so
Was weaponised in service
To misguide.

The rowdy rabbles scrabbled
Best to justify hyperbole
With prefix like
‘’The truth is..’
But it set nobody free because
They waged their wars on history’s shores
And clutched at straws
To fill their stores with futures really
Only naked emperors can see.

Clear perspective took a nose-dive
In the voice of tribalese
Based on promotion of emotion
And selective memory.
And soon the Kingdom, so united
In its muddled fear and snide
Did fail to notice it was all at sea
As literally met irony
In harmony, allied
To drag the People down and drown them
In the murky deep vainglory of the ride.

It cannot last

Surreal
the farce
that comes to pass
for brains that feel
with mindful hearts.
‘Tis art that steals
the lesser part
and seals the better
from surpass.
Do not trespass
with high ideals;
don’t think with rigour;
check your feels.
Don’t laugh,
don’t shout;
don’t even ask
but do not doubt:
it cannot last.