TAKEN AT THE FLOOD

 (Written November 2007)

 

With party politics played out on Mars

the populace in betting shops and bars;

where plastic bags take plastic shopping home

safe ‘neath democracy’s great plastic Dome

and somehow credit’s bought where none is due

as carbon belches from yet more Heathrow;

proclaimed Kyoto targets are all bull

and planting one small shrub pays dues in full.

There live the British: lardy, broke and pissed

dependent on “invisibles” – Scotch Mist

economy propped up by distant debt

in some far land where – they too – like a bet.

We Brit’s I should explain, are friendly folk

hard working (when employed) we like a joke

so no surprise, in our joke-Parliament

where truth is relative and virtue bent

you find a bunch of jokers of rare worth

(you have to look quite hard amongst a dearth)

all chosen to be stalwart party troopers;

Westminster has no place for party poopers.

Above this throng of whipping-girls and boys

(whose shred-identity the Whip destroys)

one unrestrained consummate charlatan

whose competence would shame an also-ran

can fill The Chamber to capacity

with oratory most defecatory.

So now the future’s green with one called Brown

(who chooses to be Gordon – though he’s James)

such that one wonders what he calls a spade

and what other “adjustments” have been made.

Yes Brown all monarch-like, his manner grand

vows he will green the world with wave of hand;

far off, another gaudy butterfly

with just one wing is waving him goodbye.

In truth we cannot read the climate’s mind

for Nature’s whim blows always in the wind

but politicians easily are read:

overtly lie on “fakers” spiky bed;

now in this crafted fake-democracy

Canute-like legislating air and sea.

As leaders’ short-term gaming rules us all

what chance to vote for change? Well – none at all.

And being Brits we suffer silently

while lesser breeds might riot violently.

 

So wind the thermostat, leave on the light

fire up cement kilns - further concrete’s blight

build that third runway - yes - and then a fourth

till tidal surges thunder from the North.

Then filled with Odin’s wrath and Viking might

called down by ancient blood and Britain’s plight

rage up the Thames, where Fawkes once let us down;

Westminster’s evil Biblically drown;

to yield as all malaise is washed away

a Britain where integrity holds sway.