From Polls to Election

Oh Jeremy, Oh Jeremy,
what have you done?
No wonder your oppo’s
are looking so glum.
From Keir to Aneurin,
from Harold to John.
They’re scratching their heads
as to where it went wrong.
But your tribe, we still love you –
the left’s favourite son.
So hoist up that red flag
and keep staggering on.

Oh Jeremy, Oh Jeremy,
what a to do!
All of your oppo’s,
they’ve returned right on cue.
The streets of old England,
they no longer run blue.
And if only those papers
weren’t gunning for you,
you’d be dusting off cobwebs
with your socialist broom.
And that coward in kittens,
she’d be seen off real soon!

June, 2017



Scrap Heap

Beneath this mask hides England.
In denial, what price the truth?
Those marbled halls of power,
Now a rudderless ship of fools.

One knight shouts from his tower.
‘Your town’s booming! It’s bloody true!’
But this gold’s a fickle jewel,
a wordsmiths devious tool.

Who pawned his offspring’s savings?
Left home to search for work?
Dossed down in some rank hostel?
In England! It’s absurd.

So it’s goodbye engineer,
Steelworker, shipwright too.
Miner, draughtsman, docker.
England’s fine without any of you!

2003, June