The Cabinet, A Canny Name

They're twenty two, to me, to you,
Some like yellow, some look blue,
It matters not, they're lying to you,
Tuition fees and fossil fuels.

The cabinet, a canny name,
Blue or yellow? All the same.
To them, the party's just a name,
They stand for nowt except their gain.

How liberal can a democrat be
If women hardly rule the party?
While Rennard could do what he pleased,
Grabbing boobs and fondling knees.

And for the Tories, what a breeze,
From Eton school to wine soirees.
At birth, a worth, of a billion pennies,
Hard to see, for some, life's not easy.

And lending, spending, what a jive,
Insidious deceit, like drones in hives,
Increasing debt, spreading lies,
An employment rise yet lives demise.

Michael Gove, tyrannical rogue,
Acadamies were his new vogue,
A building new but kids of old,
And not enough to stop the fold.

Their hearts are cold, their minds are set,
The wealthy ones whose cash is kept,
And taken from the poor, in debt,
While MPs wage increases yet...

The Fracking Liar - Vanessa Vine versus Peter Lilley.

They’re fracking gas from underground,

They’re fracking mad, not fracking sound.

As peaceful people sit around,

The GMP will batter down.

Fracking gas and cracking houses,

What’s the craic? It’s fracking lousy.

Earthquake tremors thrashing loudly,

Houses crashing down around me.

In Barton Moss, the caring call,

The GMP don’t care at all.

The "greenest ever" Tories fall

And kill the air, and fill with gall.

Peter Lilley, silly-billy,

Bathes in crude oil willy-nilly.

Won’t admit to lying will he?

Vanessa Vine destroyed him truly.

Peter Lilley, Tory twat,

And Tory twats abound like gnats,

Heads shoved so far up their ass,

Long beyond rectum, through ileum they pass.

And ill we feel, we stand aghast,

As morons weave their climate wrath,

And drilling through, spilling out, natural gas;

The fires burn, the methane blasts.

The waters churn with toxic slurry,

The babes will burn, the mothers worry.

Acrylamide - washed out in a flurry,

Glutaraldehyde, kills owt in a hurry.

The world spins round but boils over,

The kettle sounds, the lads are sober,

The drunk ones clad in blue, who rober,

Rob us all, while their chimneys smoulder.

The plighted

While it remains the case that apathy outweighs sympathy,
The plighted will never find peace.

All things we take for granted

Water, food, soil, and fuel,
All things we take for granted.
We use them past our heart's content,
Our stomachs rarely grumble.

But rumble, still, do many bellies,
Empty in a distant world.
Aching pains in the slums of Delhi,
Far flung from satiated Earls.

In Kenya, well felt, the pangs of hunger,
While Sainsbury's shelves are ripe
With fruit and veg which we have plundered
Regardless of their stomach's strife.

Abundance is a wealthy myth
Unwittingly revered.
One rule for one, and one for none,
While scarcity, for all,
  is an ever present fear.

The organic myth

A crop has never been organic,

organic never was a crop.

To crop implies some modification,

From tiny brown grains to massive yellow cobs.

Ten thousand years to maize from teosinte,

Ten thousand years to modify five genes.

Guided by man's manipulative hand,

Cross-breeding, selecting, and mutating seeds.

No corn, no cob, no carrot, no pea pod,

No bushel of wheat, no barley, no swede,

No tatty, no turnip, no parsnip, no beet,

Nor any of our plethora of domesticated crops...

Have ever been organic,

never will be organic,

And there's no fucking difference

between GM and organic.

Britain in Europe

We're in a land where the wise

Are led by the blind,

Not unseeing through their eyes

But through blue misted lies.

It's a deceiving suggestion

That we go it alone;

If not a part of Europe,

We'll never make it on our own.

Imagine if...

Imagine if,
instead of just aristocrats,
instead of just idiots in ties, and cravats,
instead of just rich, white, supercilious men,
instead of the same, stifling, stuttering cabinet...

We had one composed
of those we chose
from a selection of the best,
to which no person is closed.

Imagine if,
instead we had women,
as many as we have men,
instead we had gay men,
instead we had lesbian women,
instead we had black, white, tanned and tattooed people,
instead we had disabled people, able people, and failed people,
instead we had scientists, artists, and anarchists,
instead we had plumbers, joiners and carpenters,
instead we had people from every walk of life,
working together to make things right...

It's nice to imagine.

A big mis-Steak

From the smog of Shanghai to Ulaanbaatar,

The middling classes are fuming with tar,

While in Britain and Deutschland the lads fill the bars,

Their livers eroding, like pickles in jars.

Yet while the white sticks of cancer are slighted,

And the perils of piss-ups jaundice the plighted,

The slaughter of steak, and those who bite it,

Remains disregarded as the dying ones fight it.

On a packet of cigarettes it is plain to see

The effect on our lungs of cloudy nicotine,

But chowing down mounds of saturated meat

Still seems to many to represent a treat.

It's socially normal to chastise those who smoke,

A tut and a head shake may accompany a toke.

The hypocrites mutter as the lads down a potion,

While they gleefully swill down their fat-laden portions.

With the onset of expanding waistlines worldwide,

As the ravaging effects of obesity reside,

It is folly that we still strip meat from the hide,

An appetite of no more than untimely demise.

Dark Starry Night

From near and far the troops came down,
And rounded up with baton and hound,
The streets fell silent, a barren new town,
No children's voice heard from any playground.

In droves, no fewer, the masses were slewn,
And shattered corpses were littered and strewn.
Their blood, running violet, was found seeping through
A trembling landscape and violence renewed.

They who escaped lay trapped by a boulder,
The days drew short and the nights grew colder,
As the women and men sat shoulder to shoulder,
And resilience then became bolder and bolder.

"You bastard!" She said, as he left her for dead,
While the dark, starry night filled her with dread,
And she clutched at the wound to the side of her head,
Then blessed the cold ground and kissed her last bed.

Why can't? - Wish list for 2014

Why can't
females, shemales, males and those
without a gender to predispose,
black men, tanned women, and pasty albinos,
guys with guns and fluorescent flamingos,
gay people, straight people,
bisexual, or confused people,
rich people, poor people,
tall people and small people,
buyers, sellers, traders, merchants,
keepers, carers, masters, servants,
governments, nations, international organisations,
bankers, shareholders and transnational corporations,
transient prime ministers, stalwart back-benchers,
powerful presidents and dutiful dissenters,
prudent police, peaceful protesters,
politicians, judges, scientists and inventors,
farmers with cattle, badgers in sets,
earthworms in topsoil and bees amongst petals,
tropical forests, precious metals,
biodiversity and industrial fettle,
renewable energy and motor driven wheels,
sustainable concern and bountiful yields,
maize, wheat, Monsanto and Greenpeace,
organic fields and genetically modified seeds,
Popes, preachers, teachers, students,
those who are weak and those who are prudent,
just get along?