Category: poetry

Looking For a Fight

He’s not looking for a fight
He’s looking to look like he’s looking for a fight
He’s flexing little might with the far-right
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight

He’s at the Cenotaph – singing England ‘til I die
The bobbies wonder why he’s singing England ‘til I die
They thought that remembrance was UK-wide
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight

He’s at the Cenotaph – shouting at the bobbies
He’s at the Cenotaph – shouting where’s your poppies
Bobbies without poppies – he thinks it isn’t right
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight

Bobbies without poppies – he thinks it isn’t right
He’s at the Cenotaph – singing England ‘til I die
He’s at the Cenotaph – flexing little might
He’s at the Cenotaph – with the far-right
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight

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Josef

When the shelling stopped
They came for us
Come out with your hands up
A thousand thoughts a second
Tell them you’re a farmer
The prisoners on farms
Seemed to be looked after
If they worked

They took us from Camp Beverlo
To Edingen, Zedelgem
Ostend to Tilbury
Waterloo
The transit camp at Kempton Park

Searches and interrogations
Digging ditches for new homes
Then we built the roads

Purfleet was primitive in ’46
Eight to a tent
Sleeping on the floor
At least amongst the thousands
Someone had a football
Provided by the YMCA

Some they took to work on farms
Others to Romford, a building site
The captain took me to a pig farm in Theydon Bois
Electric light
A radio
Cocoa and cigarettes
It wasn’t like this in the camp
The Morgans made us a Christmas dinner
That I’ll never forget

At Hayes Hill Farm
I met my wife
Hers a summer job
Mine a POW’s labour
Growing tomatoes
Her father, wounded in the First World War
Clearly did not approve

Demobbed
I decided to stay
Taught myself English from a dictionary
One word at a time that I never forgot
Still people ask
Where are you from?

That night in Venlo was cold
Heinz was injured
Karl, Werner and I thought about escape
But the game was up
Where would we have gone?

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The Wetherspoons Fusiliers

Derek’s down with the Wetherspoons Fusiliers
Forming up to guard the Cenotaph
From a peaceful march that’ll never go past
At least he’ll salute our brave boys with a few beers

Derek’s down with the Wetherspoons Fusiliers
Following a Tommy licker sergeant major
Guarding a statue that ain’t in danger
‘Fuck off you slags’ the regimental motto sneers

Derek’s down with the Wetherspoons Fusiliers
To be honest he’s feeling a little bit parched
But Suella called ’em out to oppose to a hate march
She whistled up the dogs and Derek’s all ears

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Put Up Shut Up Britain Part Three

Banning tents
Grabbing arses
The fancies
Of the ruling classes

Who laugh
At Gaza’s epitaph
While the NF march
Past the Cenotaph

Show some respect
Dissent’s forbidden
Welcome
To Put Up Shut Up Britain

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David and Goliath

The years in prison were not kind to Goliath
He grew smaller and weaker while David grew strong
His castles kicked over; his crop destroyed before him
It weighed heavy on Goliath how it had gone so wrong

So, he stood and he shouted at the ranks of Israel
Spoke of the river and the sea, words laden with dread
David called for his sling and selected five stones
He’d settle for no less now than Goliath’s head

He turned out the lights in Goliath’s prison
Gave notice of Goliath’s imminent death
Cut off supplies of food, fuel and water
David crossed the line and the world held its breath

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A Life of Rhyme

They rhymed them right
They rhymed them wrong
They rhymed in poetry and song
And when they saw things were not fair
They’d rhyme and oft times even swear

They rhymed them left
They rhymed them right
They rhymed them up
They rhymed them down
They rhymed by day
They rhymed by night
They rhymed the flat cap and the crown

Yes, rhymed of princes
Rhymed of kings
And rhymed of more important things
Like rhymes of sand and outward tides
They rhymed as means of taking sides

They rhymed in anger
Rhymed in sorrow
Rhymed the new
With rhymes they’d borrow
Rhymed with rage
And with frustration
Rhymed with wit
And devastation

Armed with punches wrapped in rhyme
Seemed they were rhyming all the time
So when folk said, why don’t you stop
Your rhyming’s just a lefty sop
They said, it’s in our DNA
And rhymed until they went away

I’ll tell you this and tell it true
Their rhymes could turn you red from blue
Their rhymes were like a megaphone
Their rhymes said you are not alone

They might not rhyme you rich from poor
They might not rhyme you debt from debtor
But when you felt it hit the floor
They’d rhyme until it all felt better

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Nelson

In the kingdom of the blind
A one-eyed man is king
He wears a tricorn hat
And his right arm’s just a sling
They’ll pickle him in brandy
When his last race is run
And he’s shagging Lady Hamilton
In a pub they call The Gun

His pals in the West Indies
Are keen on keeping slaves
That damnable Wilberforce
Our one-eyed hero raves
I’ll fight him with both arm and tongue
The lifestyle he betrays
I’m old school colonialist
And Britannia rules the waves

In the kingdom of the blind
A one-eyed man is king
He wears a tricorn hat
And his right arm’s just a sling
One day there’ll be a column
Upon which he’ll proudly stand
And the blind eye will be ours
In this green and pleasant land

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Susan Hall

Will London elect a racist mayor
In Susan, who doesn’t care
For carnival, says it’s hell
Is anti-#BLM as well
And in supporting Donald Trump
Tried to give Sadiq the hump

Susan, known to opine
On black folks and the cause of crime
Says she will hunt down and lock up
With a special team set up

Safer With Susan the tagline screams
Makes you wonder from whom she means

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Derek Wants His Country Back

Derek wants his country back
It’ll be in the last place that he looks
It won’t be on the bookshelf
Nestled amongst the books
Or in the cupboard under the stairs
Behind the coats on hooks
It won’t be in the kitchen
Being hidden by the cooks
It won’t be wedged in any crannies
Nor in any nooks
It won’t be floating in rivers
Streams, canals or brooks
Or up a tree, cached away
By magpies, crows or rooks
It won’t be missing legitimately
Or stolen by some crooks
Or on holiday in Israel
Staying on a kibbutz
It won’t be waiting patiently
Or on tenterhooks
It won’t be in the hunting lodge
Or on the plain it overlooks
It’s not hovering in helicopters
Be they Sikorskies or Chinooks
Or in the chicken shed
Laying with the chooks
Derek wants his country back
He’s tearing out his hair
But unfortunately for Derek
It was never really there

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Bibby Stockholm

Refugees on barges
Jeering little Farages
When Britannia ruled the waves
James Bibby was transporting slaves
Meanwhile humanitarians
Are Nick Ferrari’s enemy

Refugees on prison ships
Suella’s bag of cruel tricks
Singing Rule Britannia
Let’s make you all unhappier
Somewhere there’s a statue
That needs chucking in the sea

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