10,000 POEMS – Posted freshly most days
She’ll not be swept back
to Downing Street,
her election broom snapped
under the weight;
the Tories will seek
‘a strong and stable’ hand,
to pick up the broom
and lead these lands.
For now she will clean
without the right tools,
whilst Boris and Rudd
agree which of them rules.
The UK untidy,
until the new cleaner sweeps,
austerity to continue
because brooms aren’t cheap.
A table of old Tories
in the Kemptown cafe
plotting the downfall
of your future today:
Grumbling ’bout democracy,
and ‘leftie threats’,
whilst wanking their pensions
on skinny lattes:
The last generation
to enjoy a grand old age,
they’ll spoon all the sugar
and ensure nothing remains.
Normal service
has been resumed
today the Beeb
does ‘other news’,
for this short time
they cannot bitch,
no Tory scorn
on Corbyn’s pitch;
Laura is muted
for a whole day,
but Kuenssberg readies
her hateful ways.
In Outpatients,
Brighton,
and efficiently
weighed by Julie,
‘blood pressure good’,
then to ECG,
to confirm I am well,
as this country
threatens an ill result,
which will mean
in five years’ time
I will need to pay
a private company,
and shareholders,
for finding me unwell.
Who is Nick Timothy?
Do you give a toss?
He’s the quiet one –
St Theresa’s soft voice.
Almost Deputy PM,
with no vote or mandate,
he’ll re-draw Conservatism,
tracing over the Left;
aided by Fiona,
the Queen of Press Passes,
but Nick wears the boots,
‘cos he likes to kick arses.
[Published here on The Dangerous Globe]
Saint Theresa knows what is good for us now –
she sings ‘Hallelujahs’ and takes a low bow
as she cleans the feet of the blessed rich
whilst loosening her grip on their privatised bits
She’s touched The Trump – held the hand of God
and now she is saying Come and buy the lot!
And on Election Day – perhaps in 2022
when they’ve won again – against the too few
you might turn round and look back on this time
and regret the miracles you left behind –
the medicine – the doctors – the freedom to move –
the care for the elderly – state schools improved –
the future for kids – ours without privilege –
the rights we had – to stand up ‘n still rage
When the state that blessed us is sold for our good,
you’ll have no one to trust, except Theresa’s rich gods
E281118
Remaindered on Amazon, an unread tome,
that Tory horror story: ‘The Manifesto’.
Launched in Yorkshire (for Gothic effect),
a fiction, or future? You The Reader elects:
The monster, the creature, a clown called ‘May’,
rises from the drains to suck young lives away.
From the wrong side of the tracks our hero steps –
Jeremy shouts about the clowning threats.
Deaf to his warnings (of hospitals sucked dry,
of schools destroyed, of the old left to die),
the constituency of Hereabouts sees only May’s grin,
but you, The Reader, are not taken in:
They flock to the clown’s carnival show
(“the last clown lady was very good you know”).
But Reader, you too, will be dragged on your back,
as this horror story becomes a fact.
The Tory Manifesto, a cliffhanger for the kids?
Is this the future? Will they have to live with ‘It’.
As featured in ‘The Dangerous Globe’ HERE
Your presidential fight
is a three-horse race,
one with a cock,
the other two-faced.
MIKE BELL | 10,000 Poems 