The Iron Lady's funeral blues poems
Well, she's gone. But the poetry lives on. I am sure many of you have written about the incredible feelings that her demise has generated, or the decision to hold a state funeral for her, or how wonderful she was (of course) so do post the links in here or comment. Two of the best that I know are by Laura Taylor and Elvis McGonagall. Laura's deeply personal yet universal Dear Margaret, a summary of the destruction Maggie wrought, begins:
For Orgreave, the Beanfield, and Hillsborough
For Operation Swamp 81
For rejoicing in the burning and drowning of men
For the miners, the unions,
the working class heroes,
the people whose skin you denied
For the innocents turned into criminals
For giving the Force a free rein
to wield batons and tear gas and horses,
to weaken and batter them all
And Elvis McGonagall has sent us this wonderful one, below, in full because of problems getting it into the blogs.
A Bed At The Ritz
Empire’s half-mast flag unfurls
Requiems tweet from ex-Spice Girls
Iron handbag, twin-set and pearls
Found dead in a bed at The Ritz
Cruel Britannia’s buccaneer
Brass-balled female anti-Greer
Cause of Ben bloody Elton’s career
Found dead in a bed at The Ritz
Sybil-out-of-Fawlty-Towers-hair
Steel clad belief in laissez-faire
The midwife that gave birth to Blair
Now dead in a bed at The Ritz
Lovelorn acolytes sadly weep
Cue phony Tony so skin-deep
“Hey – she was the people’s Meryl Streep”
Dead in a bed at The Ritz
Cold pre-packaged grocer’s daughter
Leading England’s lambs to slaughter
Ordained divine at Mammon’s altar
Dead in a bed at The Ritz
Boudicca of entente cordiale
The Tory gentleman’s femme fatale
Mandela’s foe and Pinochet’s pal
Dead in a bed at The Ritz
Fed the rich their daily focaccia
Spawned men of Jeffrey Archer’s stature
Besmirched the honest trade of thatcher
Dead in a bed at The Ritz
Here lies a shattered miner’s lamp
Factories choked down in black damp
Belgrano ghosts still slowly stamp
Round and round a bed at The Ritz
You can pray Charon rows her to hell
“Tramp the dirt down”, sound a futile knell
But all her dreams are alive and well
And living it up at The Ritz
Money shouts – just listen to the noise
Material Girls and City Boys
Ruthless Little Lord Fauntleroys
Even now they’re putting on The Ritz
Public service sold for private wealth
Community and kindness killed by stealth
Compassion, care and national health
Dying in a sick-bed far from The Ritz
Put inequality to the sword
Give each one of us our just reward
And then one day we all might afford
To pay for a bed at The Ritz
by elvis mcgonagall, april 2013
winston plowes
Thu 25th Apr 2013 00:26
My Efforts -
http://inkyfingersedinburgh.wordpress.com/2013/04/23/virtual-open-mic-episode-6/
(Scroll down a page or so and click on the poem to read)