Posts Tagged ‘Political’

There are foes abound,
Demons in yellow and blue,
It is them in the wrong,
So we absolutely must muscle in on our peers,
Brother leader wouldn’t lie to us,
He is defending us from democracy,

I’m a sycophant they decree,
Beholden to a tyrant in a rusty crown,
But I’m a patriotic Russian,
I have blood on my hands they say,
That we’re populating orphanages,
But I quite like the colour red,

One man chose this war,
And he tells us it is for us,
So we are the rightful aggressor,
State media wouldn’t lie to us,
So we’ll be cheering and raving,
Even as the mushroom clouds sprout,


I’m an ordinary British bloke,
Just trying to scrape by in my four-bed,
Back in my day,
I bought a hovel at eighteen,
Suffered little debt for my degree,
Why should the young have an easier time?
They clearly don’t work hard enough,
We never used to have mental illness,
Why not just cheer up?
Go and get some fresh air,

We’re being invaded by the displaced,
I see them on their dinghy warships,
They’re coming for the jobs we’ve retired from,
It’s true because the rag says so,
They said it on the front page,
It’s my opinion,
You can’t criticise me,
That would make you a leftie,
Full of woke,
Hating our country.

Atop a statue once depicting liberty,
Perches a foul creature,
An avian actor,
Decaying piece by ruinous piece,
A scavenger feigning regality,
A vulture wearing the feathers of an eagle,
Mould and droppings falling upon a flag,

Nonetheless this animal is loved and reviled both,
Regarded in both sycophantic and tyrannical aviaries,
It wants not for fodder,
The carcass of a republic lies below,
So it rends at putrid meat no longer protected,
Picking at the scraps of the citizenry,
The flesh of a populace with potential,

Each wing of this beast is dyed an opposing shade,
One crimson,
The other a dull blue,
Battling over which part to gnaw at,
Even as they rot and fester,
But make no mistake,
Both factions are wings of the same rotten vulture.

We are all data,
Little binary toys,
A horde of zeroes,
Leashed to digital space,

Simply prey to a carnivorous system,
Swimming like salmon through databases,
Pushing all of the opulence upstream,
While being picked off by bears in taxman gown,

We are just numbers to be counted,
A sticker book collection,
For some child in a highborn office,
A creature with a taste for silver spoons.

I find myself too close to the frontline,
A contest between two flags,
I see flames encroaching on the horizon,
The heat grins upon my cheeks,
Scalding like impending doom,
These highlands are a no-go zone,
A board game too close to a fireplace,
The stage of a ruinous romp,
The two flags converse here in mushroom clouds,
Talking points at destructive decibels,
Airstrike arguments,
And howitzer handshakes,

I dare not linger,
These men in high castles care not for the little guy,
They propel uranium darts at this wasteland board,
Collateral damage upon their tongues,
Before kissing above the carnage they wrought.

There’s a house on a river,
Tan and gothic in aesthetic,
Accompanied by a grand clock,
It’s a house of relics,
And I don’t mean antiques,
Red and blue in blood,

Sat along benches feigning opposition,
Breathing naught but dust and hot air,
They pass edicts destroying millions,
Guffawing and cheering like children,
Starvation and poverty are the gifts they offer,
The serfs shall be happy with crumbs,

They’re despicable little men,
Fat cats in silly wigs,
A deceitful gentleman’s club,
Just out for their chums,
It seems they’ve packed this flophouse out,
The house now only holds whispers of fraud,

You may ask,
Has honesty ever graced its halls?
Well there was this one Guy called Fawkes.

I remember seeing that wasteland,
A desert spied through weary eyes,
A corpse of an environment,
Rotten and cracked,
Populated by the spectre of an ecosystem,
A dead land,
Auburn and drab in its last throes,
And it brought a tear to my eye,

Then that ash sapling grew,
And as this green warden germinated,
It was like time had been reversed,
The land came alive once more,
Greenery and vines returned to the loam,
Viridian spread through the veins of the dirt,
This magic came about from a single ash,
And it brought a tear to my eye.

Like gravity or time,
Domination is a force of nature,
A state of mind that crawls in insidiously at first,
It is a kind of madness,
Corrupting the souls of powerful men,
Leading them to utilise that will against lesser souls,

They become cold tyrants,
All meat hooks and whips,
Little Kaisers commanding grey legions,
Dominating the masses with the force of steel,
Turning neighbours into archenemies,
Fear of the ball gag and boots heel,

The desire to impose ones will,
It is a plague with no cure,
To which even the virtuous hold vulnerability,
It is a fact of life,
As long as two souls remain on Earth,
Somebody will wish to dominate another.

Under thundery skies of white,
Came the rumble of tracks,
And the boom of gunnery,
A boreal front is rent open,
An iron cross enclosing upon an eastern jugular,
Hammer and sickle on the backfoot,
Surrender was no option,
And so flesh was ground against iron,
The blitzkrieg was on,

Two flags spiral around each other in dispute,
Cities and fields become their shrapnel market,
Lives were the currency paid in full,
But both fate and snow had other ideas,
The winter came to its sons aid,
Freezing fuel and choking soldiers in grey,
Another weapon against the iron cross,
Like the little emperor before,
This evil could not weather the winterstorm.

These two vocal veterans,
Battle-hardened are they indeed,
Atop opposing monolithic podiums,
They are upon the field of discourse,
Wielding scholarly tongues as arsenals,
Knights jousting in the air before them,
Fleur-de-lys amidst silver,
Words as blades,
Morning stars in each argument,

Parry and riposte,
The fronts shift as voices are heard,
Aural dogfights between gentlemen,
Neither giving too much ground,
There is decorum in this violence,
This is no bloodbath,
Who shall concede?
It matters little,
As long as knowledge is garnered by each party.