Yachting

Do you see what I see?
Upon our local tides,
Like the odour of seaweed,
A flotilla of elites,
A horde of second home owners,
Bleach-blonde and windswept,
Boat shoes and red chinos,
Onboard their carbon fibre trophies,
Spinnakers like noble house crests,

Do you see what I see?
For the summer they buy the waves,
A fashion show on the blue,
A lavish display for the plebeians,
A laugh in the face of living costs,
And when they deign to make port,
To mix with the chattel,
They just look down their noses,
Whilst sipping their IPAs.

Hell On Earth

I don’t recognise our world,
Was it supposed to be a modern purgatory?
Have they made us devils?
Feasting on a diet of microplastics,
From this trough of serfdom,
Tiptoeing on hooves to find that lithium,
Earning those insufficient pennies,

These lords in their walled estates,
They promised all a chill life,
But it’s only grown hotter,
Life is still full of those daily gifts though,
Canned beans and cyanide,
Toxic fumes and tree-stumps,
Playing collectable card games with endangered species,

I daresay they lied to us,
We shouldn’t be demons to one another,
But they gave us these pitchforks,
In the name of progress,
They brought us hell on Earth.

Hush

Sometimes it’s better to be silent,
To say nothing,
To hold those bandages across ones face,
To allow a fool to preach,
To not involve oneself,
An imbecile will expose themself,
So let them trip over themselves,
Not all souls deserve your tones,
Keep that quiet wisdom to yourself,
You can’t argue with idiocy,
Just remain,
Hushed.

The Illogicensia

There was such hope for us,
Such aspirations,
Such ideas of potential,
A plan and design from our Mother,
To be caretakers and stewards,
Philosophers and artists,

But some unknown corruption has set in,
We’ve slowly become this,
The Illogicensia,
Devoid of forethought,
Apes bashing rocks together for peanuts,
Bacterium playing at godhood,

There is no logic here,
Only the most mad of mind,
Agents of chaos,
Choking the world like an abused pup,
Best laid plans indeed died at first contact,
Logical planning can’t account for illogical action.

Riots

The people can be pushed too far,
Through injustice or lies,
Then the riots start,
A rondo of burned cars and shattered glass,
A masquerade ball of balaclavas,
The bubble always bursts,

Insidiously sometimes,
Tension building bit by bit,
Like a clot travelling betwixt organs,
Other times all at once,
A human tidal wave in the throes of rancor,
A tsunami of Molotov’s and stones,

There may be a just reason,
A motive of rebellion,
Or there may not,
Chaos for its own sake,
The streets feel the wrath regardless,
The ruin is the same.

Profiteer

Some souls are possessed by a green devil,
The spectre of avarice,
That glitch in human nature,
An eye for gain at others expense,
Be it famine or war or natural disaster,
There is always profit to be made,
Greed will find a way,
Cataclysms for the many,
Are opportunities for the few,
To hell with the consequences,
As well as everybody else,
When the sky gleams crimson,
Nine of ten of us will suffer,
And one will be making a mint.

Sycophant

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,

Ura!

Gammon

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.

Rotten Vulture

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.

Datastream

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.