Saturday Night Thursday Morning

Saturday night, family gathered around the TV
a small feast of pizza and chips waiting for BGT, Xfactor or Strictly
across the nation, we get sucked into this circus reality, our eyes transfixed and rigid as a mass of drones,
our fingers and thumbs hovering over Facebook and Twitter on our smartphones
we’ve all followed  the stories and campaigns from week zero,
gripped our sofa arms as The Amazing Abigail balanced herself on a 15 foot nail by the tip of her little toe.
seen how Paul from Preston has overcome his nerves and belted out a big band rendition of Blurred Lines for his ailing aunty as an entitled national hero.
Then comes that moment we all know and hold dear to our hearts,
that moment when Ant, Dec, Tess and Dermot declare the phone lines are open and we need to save the clean-cut cookie-cut acts and weed out the weaklings, to delight in their tearful departs.
Each one of us ready to part with £1.75 plus our standard network charge to the mass media vulture
just to keep someone else’s  hopes and dreams alive so they can chip their mark into pop culture.

Week in week out week in week out we’ll shell out and shell out until the grandest of grand finals
week in week out week in week out we’ll invest and invest until our part-time idols turn viral.

Thursday morning, family gathered around the table
a small feast of breakfast stuff and hot drinks, a typical morning staple
across the nation, we failed to be engaged into this circus reality, our eyes transfixed and rigid as a mass of drones
our fingers and thumbs hovering over Facebook and Twitter on our smartphones
we’ve ignored  the stories and campaigns from week zero,
vacated our sofas as the Conservatives cry out to keep themselves in Number 10 and not leave with a begrudging ‘Cheerio’
failed to watch how Nigel from Downe has exploited the weaknesses and prayed on the untrusting to be elevated to a warped self-imposed superhero.
Then comes that moment we don’t really know about or just flat out fail to care, 
that moment when the news and media declare the polling stations are open and we need to vote in the cut and paste politicians and weed out the wankers before we get another like Blair.
But none of us ready to part with a short shuffle down to polls to support  the country’s very structure,
we feel that these toffee nosed politicians are just too out of touch with real life and modern culture.

A nation sat distracted by disillusion in a system that they feel has failed THEM
A nation sat distracted by disillusion that the system won’t listen to THEM

year in year out year in year out we’ll complain and complain but never lift our finger for change
year in year out year in year out we’ll complain and complain but this year break the status quo and break the chains.
you will be heard if you scream and shout, we can bring about a political disarmament
you will be heard if you scream and shout, together we can shake up parliament 
 

politicalpoliticspoltical poetrypunkpunk poetryvoting apathy

◄ Her, Love

A Tale Of Reincarnation ►

Comments

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Simon Widdop

Tue 14th Jun 2016 11:21

I never thought of it that way Robert, but illness honest I never wrote it as a rap. I think I have an old recording over on my SoundCloud.

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Robert Mann

Sun 12th Jun 2016 22:26

Simon - I've read through this piece two or three times and to me it needs the rhythm of a rap. Is that what you intended? I like it, but personally I'm not up to reciting it to do it justice. Have you considered putting a recording on here?
Rob

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