blaze and glory

Talk is cheap
but more than Life:
that, we trade
at half the price.

Fools rush in
all blaze and glory;
first night curtain
– same old story.

Speak to Virtue;
play with Vice
and say it’s worth
the sacrifice.

But what remains
and who survives
cannot be willed
by who decides

for golem is
as golem does
and time and luck
are now the judge.


Are we so stunned by the grotesque
That all we do is dumbly watch
Our needy leaders crest and botch?

Alliterate Acts

Bold belief bedevils
Mad memes muster
Pied pipers peddle
Scores seek settle
Befuddled bigots bluster
Muddled missionaries meddle
Creeps, crusading, cluster

You say it’s the pull

You say it’s the pull
Of our success and all
As you beat your chests
Over our worth.

But you Lords of Misrule
Have abused every tool
Just to serve yourselves
Bigger and first.

Paranoia obsessed
Dealing death and distress
You now hope will just
Simply reverse.

You proclaim that you care
But try hard not to share
Wringing greasy hands
While it gets worse.

How intolerable
To suggest that we’re full
And treat humankind
Like it’s a curse –

You too easy forget
All the push you beget
As you help to create
Hell on Earth.

Post Colonial

If Cecil had rocked up in Calais
he would have been let through –
safe haven is a trophy, too.

[‘Calais crisis: Anger online over reaction to the death of a migrant compared to the killing of Cecil the Lion‘]

Victorian this; Victorian that

With missionary zeal
Strides hubris armed
Self-righteous alms and platitudes
Top hats and hoops and whale-bone traps
Brings back
The straps of custom-costumed attitude
Strait laced
Stiff upper
Done up like a kipper
Know your place
And wish
Deserving rests within the gift
Of father’s laundered godliness.

War of Ever Moar

Always and ever war
Settle scores
Make some more

Proper telly

All the poor are getting restless
Now the curtain of illusion
Hangs upon its loosened threads

Fill their hunger in the belly
With a loaf of fear to quell it
And replenish the confusion
In their angry little heads

For the appetite of mongers swells
In need of ever moar
And the teat is dry and sore
Hear them roar

Mission creeping up all shores
Smoke and mirror seeping
Through unguarded doors

In the discourse
In the bourse
In the Law
Kicking up a storm

Lost cause
Cost assured

Giving welly to triumphalism
Funding fundamentalism
Doffing caps to despotism
Home and abroad

What you can afford…