Miscarriage Of Justice Johnson

Justice Jeremy Johnson
Prefers a show trial
To a jury’s denial
Will let you say what
But not why
Will not let you justify
The smashing of weapons of war
Or explain what they would have been for
The destruction of Gaza
A disallowed answer
As he backs the government’s game

Justice Jeremy Johnson
Should hang his bewigged head in shame

Havering

If you climb a lamppost in Romford
You can see Clacton-on-Sea
The roundabouts all lead to Essex
Where the punters say they’d rather be

Paying their taxes in crypto
Or rolls of used twenty-pound notes
A borough landlocked celebrating
How now they can stop the boats

If you climb a lamppost in Romford
You can see Clacton-on-Sea
Where give ‘em a chance to fuck it all up
Is the only hope there seems to be

A Royal Visit

The men who would be king
More than anything
By birthright, exercise of might
Or ear-bloodied “fight, fight, fight”
Shake hands for the press clips
Lend their names to battle ships
Share sotto voce quips
Of lives so obscenely rich
There are no lengths to which
They will not go
To protect the status quo
So, while the radio
Squawks “Awks!”
The money talks
Eats lavish dinners
Knows who are the real winners
Knows it’s them not us
Chinks glasses while you fuss
T’was ever thus
But power won at point of sword
Or from a populace so bored
Of being told they can’t afford
Their just reward
Suggests; protests
That a royal visit’s best ignored

St. George’s Day

The patron saint of roundabouts
Zip-tied flags and far-right louts
The patron saint of Stop The Boats
And disaffected Brexit votes

The patron saint of LBC
GB News and Talk TV
The saint of plain hostility
To anyone who ain’t like me

The patron saint of wooden crosses
Crumbling and rotten
The patron saint of you can’t have it
Races to the bottom

The patron saint of two world wars
And one lousy world cup
Where are you now our dear St George
How badly did you fuck it up?