This is an extract from a longer epic poem, which we hope to see in a full length publication soon. It covers events over the past four and some years
Britons! – an hour is coming an hour you’ve never seen before to the solid ground of institution an axe is now laid at your door wielding mighty wielding sore the blow struck is aiming high the felling of the nation’s forests timber ancient timber dry …. “For in the cycle of civilisation comes many a point in every nation where flood famine disease or war bring relief” - saith he - “we’ve grown far too populous opinionated some even opulous change is due like it or not – I will lead you I will feed you I will be the leech on your skin then such things flabby such things scabby will be supplanted by my smooth and trim” Down all the routes is seen a craft a crafty brain that thinks it through “We can use a crisis to unleash all our vices and crank them up a notch or two – damaged matter? flotsam? Scatter! - their ashes to the wind! too many bed blockers too many fat rockers too much dross who don’t give a toss seize our chance and let them take theirs all the way either down or up when it comes to shaving the nations stubble who really gives a fuck act now and be damned I’ll take it on the nose just let me keep on firing fast with deftly pointed toes” Only take not away moods of night and day woods and wet ferns rustling leaves, snapping twigs movement of fleet feather and hoof lightly sprung let boughs grow lichen grey green rocks offer refuge well sat steep side of slope walked askew to balance grasp an ungainly root arched by IV And so to homes that house the vulnerable and old - the vulnerable and old – we pause for silence Wait a minute and remember those who were tipped – remotely remourse-less-ly resourse-less-ly early into eternity from their only bed a coffin is a coffin no matter what excuses rose from those who chose to let the dominoes fall as fall they would – Not know – really? Wasn’t it that same toe that nudged the stack a toe on an accelerator pact to burst the bottle neck and let it flow down Styx Row come what may? “Ah Britain – you were a kitten -a-trembling-on-our-knee no lion will roar now from your shore once we’re done with you - for as long as we can swing it your bells will ring in blue” To watch the storm unleash is disquieting at best add worse to worse the common purse become a bribing tool the highest office of the land engulfed in cabal rule urgent questions - swatted away – and yet to come - winter’s fray – and oh, good grief, to cap it all - a messy exit looming tall – Ah Britain! the kitten mewing near the door - trampled underfoot by strident suit thrown a scrap and beggars cap promised this and promised that but seeing little come of ‘aught then realising you’ve been caught - off guard by rapid coup And what of spin? “it’s not a sin to spin the spin fling caution to the wind the ends justify the means and who cares … once we’re … ‘have-beens’ it’s not as if we’ll go to jail for negligence or duty failed in fact we trust an honour is in store – elected of the realm are we slight of hand and transparency the fruit of our democracy yea – rampant huge majority! there’s little you can do but see it through so we’ll keep it clear as mud bunked down in coercive bull-doze club – the real the right the mighty shite the disingenuous, disinforming fastidiously fondly oligarch home-ing the betwixt and between of zero esteem the nation’s blight with scything swipe smugly pulling hard line tight the now and ever hideous sight of blatant bullies armed to fight the daily defy hiding the scrutiny shy whilst turning the screw on all that is true the cunningly working ‘round the clock to hole us squarely on the rock the rock of unashamedly murky hue of deathly deadly new – true – blue” We’ll add to that a merry tune to sing while we go down we all know how it goes, so after three … hold your nose Rule Britannia! Britannia’s in the drink raise the spad insignia while we sink Rule Britannia! Britannia’s sinking fast salute the skull and crossbones on the mast Rule Britannia! Britannia’s going down regale the sodden mop of schoolboy crown Rule Britannia! Britannia’s ‘neath the waves three rowdy hip-hoorays for the scuttling knaves This all said and done – beware (despite the toilet flush fanfare) Societal engineers be warned – - hell hath no fury like a nation scorned – So, who can we trust to be ‘The Just’ and navigate us through? Look deep within your hearts O Britons our lookouts might be you
