Greysuits
They are the people in control,
The They who run the show –
Shadowy backrooms, secret goals,
To prop up the status quo.
Unstoppable authority,
With fingers everywhere –
Except…the They are simply We
When seen from over there.
Greysuits
Category: Politics
For-Never Needs
For-Never Needs
Capitalism, I almost respect you,
And your get-up-and-go to get the job done –
But you have no patience, keep to no lanes,
You trash your future for short-term gains.
Ev’rything has a dollar-value,
We’re individuals in nations of one –
From labour-save births to easy-rent graves,
You brought innovation, bargins, and slaves.
Capitalism, I almost forgive you –
Enlightened self-int’rest, or I’m alright Jack ?
Did you see the pollution as the price to succeed ?
Did you know what you did when you championed greed ?
Ev’rything is tied in-lieu,
In perpetual growth that can never turn back.
For even when you crash, as you will – no stress –
Just get Socialism to mop-up your mess.
Capitalism, we kinda need you –
The mother of invention, or a cyber Big Brother ?
Well, either way, you’re a useful foil
To keep our bleeding hearts from forgetting their toil.
Ev’rything has a job to do,
Can you incentivise us to care for each other ?
For here’s the thing – we need a bit of that,
But only as a tool, not a plutocrat.
This title is actually a mondegreen from that classic 80s slice of electronica “Doktor Mabuse” by Propaganda. At one point they sing “Tell him your dreams / And fanatical needs”, but the latter line is so gabbled that I cannot hear that many syllables in it even when I eventually found out what it is meant to say. And besides, my mistaken line is much better…
Loonies
Loonies
The moment I hear the word ‘privilege’,
I re-tune my mental dial –
And ‘problematic’ sends me to sleep,
And ‘gaslight’ sets me up for bile.
But the word which most puts me on edge
Is ‘woke’, by a country mile –
It isn’t that devastating or deep,
And more a case of a trendy style.
It sorrows me when my own damn side
Pontificate like they’re seventeen.
For once, can we all take a few long breaths
Before we vent our righteous spleen ?
Myself included – I take no pride
In admitting to what an arsehole I’ve been.
We’re meant to be nice guys, we on the left –
A republicker shouldn’t be a stroppy queen !
Kithdred
Kithdred
We look out for our own,
But our own can be more than our genes.
Our neighbours are fam’ly of a diff’rent bone,
While strangers and enemies and inbetweens
Are no less important a-cornerstone
As noisy, teeming teens.
To make it a good home takes all of you,
For blood is thinner than glue.
Let Our Freak Flags Fly
Let Our Freak Flags Fly
These days, ev’ryone has their flag,
Their brand, their team –
I see them as their colours stream upon the breeze.
I don’t know what they mean,
Not any of these –
But they sure look grand !
These layer-cakes in purple, pink, and green
To folks in far-off lands
That will never be reached by me first-hand,
But it’s good to know they’re there,
That they still get seen.
And those who fall-out inbetween,
The citizens of elsewhere,
Who are ev’ry bit as keen to share –
Not part of this, nor part of that,
Yet part of where our culture’s at –
They’re hesitant to wear the stripes we’ve flown,
Or sport our crest –
Well, there’s always room within the nest
For strangers with another face –
They get to make a banner of their own,
To fly with all the rest.
Eventu’ly, I’ll see it grace
A new lapel or wedding dress –
Another flag I cannot place,
But somebody salutes, I guess.
Well, good for them – what’s one more more-or-less ?
Note that St George’s Cross should not be left out of the fun.
The Curious Case of Mr Smith
The Curious Case of Mr Smith
(in reply to Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Nile)
Agatha Christie cherished the Tories,
Kept the masses out of her stories –
Servants were faceless, background filler –
Never the victim, never the killer.
Whodunnits by nature are class-based, though,
With chaos disrupting the status quo,
That must be traced and rooted out
Before it spreads its dangerous doubt.
Now true, she distrusted businessmen,
And makes them villains agen and agen,
Not like a blue-blooded, honourable gent –
But was this an anti-Semitic bent ?
Of course, she hated the socialist –
But wait, with her there’s always a twist !
Just witness her Nile when splashed on the stage,
With Poirot banished back to the page –
Instead, a Canon is quizzing them,
While building his new Jerusalem –
One wonders what he might behold ?
A commune or sorts ? We’re not quite told.
And then, at last, there’s Mr Smith –
The snidy lefty they’re travelling with.
Part hypocrite, but only a part,
When a short-hand typist catches his heart.
He makes some good points along the way,
That it’s hard to imagine our Agatha say –
Perhaps once the cuts had been applied,
It left no room for a seedier side.
All-in-all, a little less sour,
Just as Attlee was coming to power.
For this one trip, it must be said,
It wasn’t only her herrings were red.
Proper Charlies
Proper Charlies
Charles the First was the very worst
Till he got the chop at the hands of the mob –
Who wanted a say in to whom they pray,
And not being subjects ripe for the rob.
Charles the Second was a letch who reckoned
That the country had to polish his knob –
He may have been jolly, compared to Ollie,
But he still was a hypocrit and a snob.
And Charles the Third is a privileged turd
Who is screwing-us all for ev’ry bob –
He is honour-bound to keep folks down,
And to keep the upper class in a job.
Charles the Last
Charles the Last
I will never condone an execution,
It is no solution to crime.
And I have no truck with zealotry,
Give me liberty ev’ry time !
So I won’t swing the axe for preference,
When my deference has deceased –
I’ll turf you out of your feathered bed,
But I’ll spare you your head, at least…
The Leech Clamps-On
The Leech Clamps-On
Hang-out all the bunting,
And string-up all the flags,
Polish-up the fronting,
And hide-away the rags –
Toady-up with treacle
And dream of days-of-yore –
We’ve never been less equal
Since the Second World War.
Roll-out with the barrel,
And goose-step with the boot,
Sing along the carol
While standing to salute.
Tweet-away like blackbirds,
And dream-away like cats,
We’ve never been more backwards
Since our arses got so fat.
Shout-out for the new reign,
And ra-ra for the crowds.
Hope it turns out nice again –
Ignore the bolshy clouds.
Top-hole and tally-ho,
And dream we rule the waves –
We’ve never had a say, though,
Now we’re corporation slaves.
Dig-out the old three-piece,
And doff the caps and bonnets,
The fawning must not cease
In its biscuit-tins and sonnets.
Tear-up far too eager,
And dream of wealth unchecked –
We’ve never been so meagre
Since we sold our self-respect.
Mayday, Mayday !
Mayday, Mayday !
The garland-weavers’ co-op
Having pruned the May-queen’s crown
With the wrong sort of dead-heading,
Give the Springtime Sun a frown.
Well, the pole-erectors union
Won’t take this lying-down !,
As the tulips will not open,
While the waterlilies drown –
And the morris-men eschew the white,
And the Beltane brides the gown,
As the fellowship of fairy-folk
Are marching through the town.
Rhyming Couplets 