It's billowed by hot summer air,
And rides on currents of despair,
Then floats as feather to the ground
And lands as gently, with no sound,
Pretends to soothe not suffocate,
And wants the world to ‘tolerate’.
Comes rolling in towards the finish,
Gently eager to diminish,
Keeping expectations low,
It smothers, lets no talent grow,
Softly, kindly, no harm meaning,
Sweetly, blindly still demeaning.
The nasty boys are playing nasty games
In that nasty rich man’s wild garden, now,
That garden that he barely tends or tames,
Quick Mummy come and help, the day is late,
They have tried to slaughter every sacred cow,
That is, those herds given protected status recently,
Yet they all insist on treating old herds decently,
And fight and shout and cause a dreadful row,
And go in hard and riot and attack us,
When the beasts we say are ready for the knackers,
Having served their purpose, being out of date,
Are rounded up and shot, outside the gate.
Mummy can you make another play place,
An allotment, strictly run and rules based,
And put the naughty boys in prison and disgrace,
For this wilderness is not to modern taste,
We liberal progressives are conservatives you see,
We need strict law and order in order to be free.
Insomnia has got its grip and here I lie.
And in this hour of darkness, though I try,
I cannot shake the sense that there’s a spy,
Observing what I read and write and say.
It is not God, some other watchful eye,
Peers out at me, more clearly than by day,
And though by night my Twitter screen is black,
And all I read and write is white, I lack
The courage for a true, face-on attack,
So tiptoe quick and knife from round the back.
But this technique does not me satisfy,
I must rebel and honestly defy,
Not let my real nature go astray,
No purpose served when that I quite betray,
I needs must spell things out, not just imply.
So when I see the grey at dawn’s first crack,
I head straight out and on into the flak,
I cannot stop to ponder, hesitate,
I will not bother to suggest, insinuate,
The dawn is here we must have rows, debate.
The two most stupid examples from the clamping down on free speech in England in recent times have been the Christian woman arrested for praying silently in her head and the protestor arrested for waving his prosthetic leg at the police while airing opinions he had ‘no right whatsoever’ to hold.
To shake and point prosthetic legs it seems,
Is just as dangerous as posting memes,
Don’t pray, don’t preach, don’t utter lines from hymns,
For doing so while holding certain views,
You did not first acquire from mainstream news,
Makes you a criminal so very vile,
You must be sent to gaol for a while.
When Christians and uni-dexters stand
On their three legs together, they’ll be banned,
Expressing sentiments we disapprove,
Refusing to back down and not to move,
Makes psychopaths like us feel very scared.
Opinions and artificial limbs,
Must not be held together, never aired.
At twilight comes
this vulgar glow,
Its crass, reductive, for we know
Our children mean much more than this.
Displays of light are quite amiss,
Yet they reveal more than they show
We’ve sunk too deep, been brought too low,
As blood is shed its endless flow,
Is not worth more than so much piss
At twilight.
The nation’s days are numbered, so
We’re dealt each day another blow
We can’t pretend our
lives were bliss
Before we sank in the abyss
And can’t escape, nowhere to go,
At twilight.
Rondeau Redouble
A Curly headed choir boy, how sweet!
He knifed to death three little girls, oh dear!
And now there’s ‘far right’ brawling in the street,
But never mind, I’ve got a good idea.
I’ll clamp down hard, make natives live in fear
Set ‘Big Brother’ over them, till they’re beat,
Restrict their liberty, in all ways interfere.
A curly headed choir boy, how sweet,
A native Welsh boy, good and kind and neat
Has spurred me on to lecture and to sneer
For what else can I do? I can’t retreat,
He knifed to death three little girls, oh dear!
But white man worst! Get out the riot gear,
For Englishmen we know are prone to Tweet.
Their feelings do not count, they’re not sincere,
And now there’s ‘far right’ brawling in the street,
And Human Rights do not apply, these men don’t meet
The strict criteria which says they’re human, for they jeer
And hold diversity’s not strength, which is deceit,
But never mind, I have a good idea,
I’ll bring in facial recognition and be clear
It can’t tell blacks apart yet, nowhere near,
So carry on enriching us in jungles made of concrete
For I’m your friend forever: Two Tier Keir,
Curly headed choir boy.
