Sangita Myska, for your courage and compassion, I thank you,

Dog-whistled by client “journalists” in hock to money’s might, they cower

In ignorance and fear, the bigot spitting on what’s good and true.

I wept with you as valiantly you battled, speaking truth to power.

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Otherness

We all know they’re riddled with Otherness

And they’re bringing it over here

I don’t care if they have the same body parts

It’s their Otherness that I fear

They’ll only have to look at you

And you’ll catch their Otherness too

They’ll be lazy, scrounging, Otherness spreading

Heathens – not like me and you

I bet they had lives of champaign and caviar

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On Tumbledown, no doubting of our love,

No bishopric’s accusing finger points,

Proclaiming: ‘Gays can’t die for God above,

Or marry Harry, Jessica or George’!

No holy men in dresses and big hats,

Will stem this bloody flow, or hold my hand,

Or sing my soul aloft; no music wafts

Along the breeze from England’s pleasant land.

Are you still there, Jim? God, it’s blo...

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