Starving Britain

John Pilger did this documentary about the deep poverty in England in 1975 yet it sounds eerily like today.

We have a zombie government , no essential leader Boris immersed in his own world and Rishi Sunak and Liz Truss are bickering about who can be the the most extreme right wing , it is bleak the Unions are striking and their leaders are speaking the most common sense , fuel poverty, food poverty , financial poverty there is no respite or chance due to eroding human rights to protest our way to government change , September 5th will bring no joy only more of the same and worse.

Civil Disobedience

Martin Lewis , money saving expert stated that food shortages lead to civil disobedience, and how ironic as seen by my last post is that the food riots of 1799, 1800, 1801, occurred under a Tory Prime Minister the Duke of Portland already rich and lived beyond his means , there was war with Napoleon and he believed in high taxation and coercion of the poor, this sounds all too familiar and it saddens me that nothing in history is learned from , the Tories especially , they govern in the elitist trickle down way that assists no one or lift them from a governmental enforced poverty, Boris Johnson deflects as a jolly gentleman , which he is definitely not , nor is any Tory there disregard for pandemic rules , in fact any rules Rishi Sunak wife a non dom and when he became chancellor still had a free card as a United States citizen and his wife citizen of India long distance love I guess , I say these things as my opinion and how I measure the temperature of society as a poor ordinary working class man trying so hard to fight for his family like so many others and those even more worse off who struggle to keep warm or feed or even clothe themselves .

I love my country but it’s destructive political and monarchy class system that means only the rich survive

It is so wrong …….

All this week in London consumer history, 1800: Bread rioters force the City’s Corn Exchange to close

In 1799, 1800 and 1801 widespread rioting broke out throughout England. Most of these were food riots, provoked by scarcity and soaring prices during…

All this week in London consumer history, 1800: Bread rioters force the City’s Corn Exchange to close

W.T.F is going on

So here we are Wednesday 6th April and I am wondering , what storm is brewing next , the Tories are accomplishing annihilation by poverty , costs have risen so high , all at once national insurance , taxes, food , fuel they blame Brexit , immigrants, war in Ukraine but never them selves they are aloof detached from any normal comprehension of existence so long as they get the kids into Dulwich college at £45,000 per annum and they are well insulated against fiscal depressions then it’s jolly them.

Boris , Rishi et al have left us high and dry and if another party such as Labour where to win the next election , they would have a nightmare in trying to disentangle this mess , I want us to survive , that is ordinary folk cannon fodder worker bees we must develop new attitudes in merry England and not say oh dear we will get by , fuck that it’s time for burning torches and pitchforks

Ukraine is getting little sympathy from England it is so hard for people displaced by the Russian Invasion to gain access to visas to enter the country we should just let them like everyone else

So in this spiral of chaos I now depart it was only a brief visit and I wish you all well

Love each other , reach out and care for your neighbors as life is precious

Queens New Clothes

a common girl

with barrow came

laden with folded cloth

the queen did look

and saw but nothing

yet advisors say

it is so beautiful

befitting for a millionaire

a common girl

seamstress sew perfect

said she could make

the most wonderful gown

a gown that those

on the other side

of palace walls

would admire and say

how radiant and divine

in chamber warmed

by embers of the poor

took this cloth

about her frame

and posed in mirror

that glittered gold

she did look divine

and decided on a procession

at the gates the dedicated few

who bought the mugs

and waved the flags

and sang anthem on

brainwashed breath

had heard of this

most wondourus gown

stepping from the carriage

the people

gasped in awe and horror

some began to cry

for this gown

the seamstress sewed

was of the flesh

of poor and subjugated

histories oppression an

awful stench

pinned together

with the bones of

crushed rebellion

the cheering stopped

more tears did flow

and a little boy

called out

she must go

In The Scheme Of Things

gutless form of

grey flannel

and bowler hat

tapping briefcase

with finger

pencil callused

autocratic directions

of how the

shapeless should fit

tailors chalk on cloth

decisive lines

to trim or sew

mouths stitched so

neatly shut

limbs severed so that

the fall of material

should be so suitable

old money new money

contra entries

that become the washerwomans

laundry

in colonial towns

with brighter sun

and sweated brows

grey flannel choke

and soft eton tones

cruciform stretched

with benefits denied

g&t cold pink lemonade

taking canapes on landscaped lawn

take a bow doff your cap

grateful for what you

don’t receive

inbred subservience

of the golden age

long shadows

keeping us in the dark

mouth torn open

begins to shout

blood on lips

blood on tongue

strike a match

to cauterize

and light the beacon torch

flannel shadows

cannot keep us hidden

or denied

we have voices

as we are many

and you are few

 

copyyright Chris Lawrence

 

 

John Cooper Clarke – TWAT

TWAT

Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here… wear this polythene bag.

You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale… Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death in a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our Smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide…
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can…
TWAT

love gone beserk

isolation makes me jump
into the shredding propeller of her tongue
it was Hi 8 and stereo record player
and a sense we belonged,
wiping nose on my hand
then on those jeans strained and faded,
we could make it work maybe,
her nightgown had buttons
linear nipples of distraction,
i would run
if it where not the seventeenth floor
and no closer to heaven,
her voice slowed quicker
than the snow outside,
are we done
gun still pressed in my back waistband
you look done
i  felt battered beyond the cut over eye
and bloodied nose,
the projects would have heroes
i was not one of them,
failing to hold up the store
girl cashier
younger
faded blonde dye and dark roots,
i spoke and connected,
pulled a flower from the bunches
sold cheaply at the desk
and gave it to her,
a startling explosion
as manager hit me with a piece of wood,
i ran
never said goodbye
but i know who
i wanted now

http://dversepoets.com/

McDonalds and Social Welfare

sucking in breath

sunburnt man

wretched and weary

beneath light and rain,

thunder smelled of goatskin

and musky aftershave,

steps taken like a drunk

falling on his own

sky crossed with jets

over the park

those travelling to another

countries sun to relax,

as slowly it ceased

shimmering haze

brought glare to eyes

worn with failing status

once he was among the rest

spewing from subway to curb

urgent and despairing

eager to get home,

that place with a yard

spill of ivy

trimmed lawn,

but that page had turned

fortune walked away like

everyone else,

yet his eyes sparkled

renewed vigor in his step,

he saw the torture he once

experienced,

now he belonged to no one

bank, employer, wife

even country,

he was an independent state