Poetry Blogs (2018, EU)

He's fallen to his death on his plastic toy sword. 

To number ten from playpen his final reward.

This graceless coup is no coup de grace. 

No comedy of euros,  a cabinet farce, 

an egotistic act from flabby flatulent arse.

He'll be all over telly soon 

our fatty blundering hot air buffoon.

Puffing Shakespeare and Latin.

Please down let that twat in. 

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You see

            a land wraithed in smoke and the stink of death

You feel

            man's determination dulled by desperation and

            the hollow, guilty hope that the creeping fate might end

            at a neighbour's door.

You cannot farm in the present

At least not in Wales.

The hills were silent memorials to herds brought low,

Uncropped: a tragedy of gr...

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All hail bold Etonian Boris,
Whose exploits sent up quite a chorus,
To prove Europe was dead,
He swung down by his head,
Into the seat of Foreign Office.

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Look, I like having legal rights; to be a citizen not just a subject,
but I’m not without doubts about this great European project.
No, I don’t fear drowning in seas of asylum seekers some’d prefer out of my backyard
but the far right’s rise darkens my night skies and I find some truths really are quite hard.
Yes, the status quo is twisted so some not so nice people do too well off it,
b...

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(to the tune of 'coming round the mountain')

The Greek people they have had it up to here,

With those ‘haves’ that say these times must be austere.

Forbes’ list shows the same old picture

The poor pay up - the rich get richer

Publishing financial crimes without a fear.

Has the Parisian Republic gone berserk?

I mean, growth through spending... ...

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