Alt-cues

1.
Ill-faced white people settle
and preen in that afterglow
off their stoked shit-storms
as fools refuel on Facebook
2.
Deceivers take to easy airwaves
with urgency and loud spittle
as puppet-fisted politicians
unroll scrolls of lies on cue
3.
Carriers of an alt-right litany
cannot sleep soundly until
their prayers have been spread
For them – fear must be shared
4
We do not mute screaming
hit-buffeted streams
of spitting alt-voices
found by lost innocents
5
Your drawn eyes must rise
from teleprompters that blind
to see over such tilting screens
and to read between their lines

Serpentine Paths

Today wary Canadian geese
avoid paddling screams
from lido-blue rowing boats

finding cooler shade ashore
and rich landed pickings
among flat pressed patches

of lawns below London planes
where an hour’s respite
was snatched
by shade-hungry office bodies

A flaked Royal Parks bench
holds a mother and her boys –
silent with ice cream smiles

Here we share recovery positions
as both boys bum-shuffle
to their right – making an old man’s
space

I see what I will again see later –
strangers’ glances at unknowns
Now at her clothes – her veil

I built this park – in my working days
I planted most of her trees
and laid clean sand for her gallops

I should be able to name
more than London planes
as my known path takes me
to David in Fitzrovia

Like Greta

Find utter calm before fear
and be too brutally honest
with your known-self – first

Listen to bigoted bar-props
seething with Sussex-hate
about France – French – prices

Only lie to save another’s life
and carry all truth before you –
as a banner of fixed colours

Old men sip their local beer –
despising lives of foreigners –
none will summon them here

Innocence breeds wisdom
whilst that contrary state
feeds on greater ignorance

And then detailed discussions
of travelling – retired – through Europe
They always hate their neighbour

If Greta Thunberg stepped off her bus
and walked through this village of idiots
she would still carry her banner high

These old men of East Sussex mutter –
behind beer head white moustaches –
about another bloody foreigner here

Doggerland

When swamped Noah’s Wood
has re-seeded above sea rises
When it has been reinstated
that connection

of Britain – no more a stoic island
able to gorge on separation
and cry out a huge difference
would be fixed

Such an implausible conceit –
with our warming and tipping concerns
seeing fast incursions of salt water –
no reunification is possible

Slumped and washed by a North Sea rush –
yet to return are men and women
hot in our blood – They sleep in silt
We were never an island race

A Taste of Honey

Dear Steven Patrick Morrissey –
mononymously known by your burly surname

I fell in love with you in nineteen eighty-four –
or maybe slightly before – when you sang a lullaby –

Yes – it was just for me – played on an ache-laden
Scouse-spun John Peel Session

You were Alan Bennett – on a sweat-rinsed riser –
taking straight boys with your stirring words

A glimpse of your chest was enough to doubt
girls’ shapely tits had enough to give up

Then you spoke out from your tooth-whitened America
whilst making those Mexican boys doubt

How you turned me off with your racist complaints
My Dear Steven – you no longer interest me


E010619

A Step-father’s Advice

They will spit forth
foam-flecked hints of hate*
to rattle old angry folk
by distractions – to vote –
it is as if Enoch Powell
were no longer dead –
as high-born cussing –
upper-class meddlers –
play the lack-Latin fools
to the baying stalls
and set off marchers
to resurrect working-class
empirical values
of tipped flat caps
to the lovely guv’nor
whilst we Remain-bowed
middle-classes – struggling
to foot our rising guilt –
doubly weighted by costs
of over-consumption –
turn our attention off
Do not enter politics
without a deep wallet


*I’m no longer Nasty, but please stop lying
about Nice by Boris Johnson’,
Daily Telegraph, 17 October 2002.
Thanks to Fintan O’Toole


The White Houses

White immigrants are less-than-wraiths
casting no dark shadows in fever-run minds
of spooked politicians and border racists –
unless they live under foreign beliefs

They are then disowned as aphotic threats
to be that very fear of more is now enough
to allay relayed anxieties by politics and gods
These raw mistakes of old law-making deities

is seen in the spittle on their trembled lips
of rage – which mouth against differences in skin
and hallelujah songs from howled minarets
and synagogues – prayers of sprayed bullets

come to such gatherings – spitting evil’s phlegm