asymmetric power licks its lusty lips

Brexit is all smitten
With the label ‘Global Britain’
Reminiscent of the time the Sun
Was always in position;

Gonna give EU a kicking
If it doesn’t get its way.

[Every self-entitled bulldog has its day]

Gonna threaten, preach and overreach,
Cajole and whine and then beseech,
As self-inflicted victims,
Sudden keen on Foreign Aid.

Gonna get an awful shocking
At the mocking they engage,
When the only offers knocking
Are from profiteers and souvenir
Collectors making hay.

Having doubled down on doublespeak,
Perfidious Blighty’s gonna reap
Some karma as alarming sway
of asymmetric power licks its lusty lips
And squeezes dry
A desperate pipsqueak’s isolated
Pips.

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G7 Summit

G-7 leaders love to hang
Well, really G-8 but minus that man
(Coz you gotta know your place
In the global gang)

They “think ahead
And they “act together”
As they kick those cans (laces out)
Hell for leather

Fine-dining as they whine
Back-patting as they plan
Keep the good world tethered
At the whim of the Man

So they trifle with truffles
And scheme on the scuffles
And muffle the screams
With the crony machine
That gifts them the vanity
To muzzle the dreams of a higher Humanity

And then they relax after nods and congrats
For keeping the planet on its rickety tracks
By greasing the wheel just to break more backs
And, thinking it could all look a whole lot worse
Will smile for the group shot and then disperse.

Circling the Drain

Pride, true or false – the fuel that’s left
When so much of the rest is subsidised:
On one side of the State’s Grand Bargain lies

The profiteer –

A product of discretionary patronage,
Forsaking those, who, on the other,
Falling short of leverage,
Are kept in chains to serve
And so preserve ill-gotten gains.
We’re merely circling the drain.

We are the rent to nothing owed
And nothing owned, though all is spent:
The means to thrive have all been rent
Or sent as gifts to terraforming titans.
And interlocking dynasties perpetuate

The misery

While middlemen aspire to go higher
On the back of shame.
And round we go in circles down the drain.

Compacted by a contract of constraint,
We rise each day to greet the swill of torment.
Bent like doffing caps in gratitude, we thus
Augment the lives of those who live by platitudes.

And was there ever shown so much restraint;
Such acquiescence to indignity and needless pain
Bestowed?

Or so much retribution owed in vain,
To those whose fault it is that we are circling the drain?