It may be a million strong
on the streets of London
with four million more
signing in their absence
across a petition -it will
never be let to speak
because The Deaf
are in charge of your future
and we The Muted are too loud
for them to bear with open
windows up Downing Street
Tag: conservatives
Despair
There’s bull in the china shop
and bullshit in the air –
there’s a crash of metaphors
as Britain despairs –
Parliament’s members
throw stones in the house –
whilst Farage smirks broadly
as they bring home his cows –
Johnson – in his jodhpurs –
readies his horse –
the reins will be passed
under Brexit’s hard fall
Dear Nanny
Dear Nanny
You taught me so
very much – like
the fact that the plebs
are far too rough –
‘..Only to be touched
during buggery ..
and then wear a rubber
to avoid disease..’
My dark heart is decorated
like our attic room –
where you taught me love –
Oh! I miss your bosom
Now I have buggered
all of those Prols-
with eloquent speeches
off my fountain pen’s furl –
I have time enough left –
[and plenty of spunk] –
to replenish our love
and become as one
Your loving ‘son’ –
Jacob x
Hyde Road, Manchester
Malpas Street was assailed
in a sustained assault –
once the Neo-Liberals
took this city and the port
The remaining red terraces
of parallel-lived lives
then flattened by politics –
sold short by Tory lies
The bus rolls so slowly
over holes in Hyde Road –
then past the brick islands
of bust industrial gods
Near the church of football
I pass grim social housing –
No one wipes their doorstep –
we only swipe our devices
E150119
Bus-olitics
Tories on Twitter
are all in the shit,
now split asunder
over Brexit,
their leader limping,
with one stood waiting
(sent overseas,
but now agitating),
then another appears
denying this news,
like crap omnibuses
they turn up in twos.
Theresa’s Lament
Sympathy,
Sympathy,
The Bastards
have it
in for me;
Men in blue ties,
repeating their
knotted lies.
Trust nobody,
especially your friends,
because ultimate power
ultimately ends.
#CPC17
Tossers, tossers,
tossers in suits,
groomed to an inch
of their Tory blue roots.
A lanyard, a sneer,
to let them in,
so the conference starts
and cock-sucking begins:
Motions are raised
in the near-empty hall,
as the screens are filled
by the faces of fools.
They bay for Boris,
pray to lose May,
pull knives out for Gove,
but no big beasts today.
They’ll ship in the blue rinses
on a new battle bus
this one will read:
‘You plebs are now fucked’.
[Poem 865]
Posh-born
You can judge a man
by the width of his smirk,
revealing, briefly,
his mind at work:
Front bench foolery
can be explained,
whilst the country’s soul
is slowly drained:
Hang out with Gove,
and his ‘Game of Thrones’,
there’s much to watch
on mobile phones:
Posh-born, benching,
for many years more,
smiling, sucking,
on us, the new poor.
MIKE BELL | 10,000 Poems 