The Nouveaux Riches We Shall Always Have With Us

 

The nouveaux riches we shall always have with us,

And every game is always the same.

The nouveaux riches will never forgive us,

Only ever apportion blame.

There are sixty-six different genders,

As once there were fish knives and grapefruit spoons,

All of them plated and benders,

Poor, sad, aspirational goons.

Demonstrating sophistication,

Showing you’ve always belonged in your station,

Pretending to care about ‘Black Lives’,

Expressing imaginary guilt,

Because nothing says ‘terribly posh’,

Like my lot owned slaves, don’t y’know?

Two centuries ago.

The nouveaux riches we shall always have with us,

And every game is always the same,

Signalling virtue, 

Apportioning blame,

The nouveaux riches will never forgive us.

 

 

The Solid Silver Train

 

Why is there no train for my sexual preference?

The train for father and mother,

30 years man and wife?

Where is the train that only runs about every 6 weeks,

Where the passengers don’t spank each other,

Where nobody speaks,

At all,

Let alone makes any reference

To what’s occurring?

But instead just enjoy the ride,

Without declaring their pride,

As a brief escape from everyday life.

And at the end of the journey,

Thank each other.

Cometh the Psychopath, Cometh the Cycle Path

 

What’s with all the axing?

Only asking,

First, they came for the trees,

Then the BBC Singers, 

What is it in the psychology

Of all these ‘progressive’ left wingers?

And Tories and Lib Dems,

With local power,

Do they never tire,

Of letting go

Of that which is good,

Nationally, 

Or in their own neighbourhood?

Cometh the hour,

Cometh the psychopath

Cometh the cycle path,

Endeth the choir.

Trust the Psychopaths

Trust the Psychopaths

Trust the science, trust the psychopathology,

The two go hand in hand,

Commit yourself, to what we declare is biology.

Place your faith in something you cannot understand,

You know we materialists would never demand

You should place your faith in an ideology,

We only approve of the concrete, mixed with shifting sand.

Trust the science, trust the psychopathology

Do as you’re told in obedience to our psychology.

Do not make any enquiry, do as we command.

We’ve considered economics and epidemiology,

The two go hand in hand

When weighing up what’s best, and so we’ve planned.

And what he have concluded, bearing in mind sociology,

Is you must all shut up and be shut up, this is the law of the land.

Commit yourself, to what we declare is biology.

We have your best interests at heart, and therefore make no apology

For any negative effects, we have to take a stand.

Caring bullying is not contradiction, self evidently not tautology.

Place your faith in something you cannot understand.

We intend to grab power and expand

The hold we have granted ourselves. Don’t cling to Psephology

All parties think alike, our Covid coalition is beautifully grand.

We know of what we speak, we’re experts in scatology

Trust The Science. 

March '23

 

Day again,

Birds' cantata

March sun, thin,

Floods in,

Heats head,

Fills eyes with too bright light,

Makes spring begin,

Brings forth flowers, shoots,

Where it can,

From the seeming dead,

With roots,

Not quite white,

Magnolia Stellata,

But not old men.

 

The old man,

In his chair,

Furosemide,

Inside,

Legs raised,

Leather bags, bones china,

Relieving weight about the knees,

Resting the heart,

Works his jaws,

Snores,

Might occasionally pause,

Start,

Look around,

Identify a sudden sound,

A pheasant off at full cock,

Needs no explaining,

Interrupts the steady clock,

Running down, weights about its knees,

Bonging, slow,

Date wrong, moon waning,

Asking to be wound.

 

I have nothing to wind you with, Daddy,

No key, major or minor.

A Chorus of Twittering

 

Everything is bollocks,

Everything is wrong,

Everything is worse

Than described in your song.

Everything is dreadful,

Here’s chapter and verse,

Go from here and read it 

Then come back and rehearse

The new exciting arguments,

To show that you belong,

Amongst us true extremists,

Then come and sing along:

Everything is bollocks,

Everything is wrong,

Everything you thought before,

Was rudimentary stuff,

And everything the plebs think,

Is silly, mindless guff,

Come over here and join us,

If you’re hard enough. 

“Everything Before The But is Bullshit”

 Everything Before The But Is Bullshit

If everything before the but is bullshit,

Why choose to write it or excrete it?

If manners maketh man

But rudeness is your plan,

Is it better first to write it, then delete it?

If your words are just a Tweet,

It’s surely better to delete

The first bit which you didn’t really mean

And leave only the rest,

Which will at least attest,

To your honesty in venting your spleen,

And your candour while coming clean,

And your lack of verbosity,

While expressing animosity,

Without becoming vulgar and obscene. 

For words are best when short and clear,

They sound so much more true, sincere,

And no one really likes a contradiction.

But on the other hand

If you can command 

Your audience by writing works of fiction,

Then why not say what’s kind,

For nobody will mind,

If you’re utterly bland,

They are bound to understand

Why you choose to keep away from causing friction.