"It's just Boris!" the bared teeth grind to say.
"My chance at destiny wont go astray!"
The chance to dig and bury UK deep
in myth and dark do-do as if asleep
has come to all! Though satirists might glee,
yet weep we should as we sip our weak tea.
It's a Farage- go - big cigar and bling;
and Del boy's ghost will fall and do his thing.
Dipped in the wick of racism and spite
euro-skeptic little Englander blight
might hasten e'en a Welshman to depart
the Union with a good, leek, well-tuned fart.
For this white horses slept with Cadellin;
for this Drake's drum will beat, though very thin
since Lizzie starved the sailors. All is myth
and abandoned children, Eton's dry pith,
the withered souls of Tories, buggered or
buggering need bling. Close the cellar door.
Bring champagne laid down for this very thing,
and pop the cork, mind your eye old sibling.
We're in Micky Gove of academe
anally retent or else they'd had 'em me!
IDS there, to bore and bore the holy cheese;
a rat will gnaw and gnaw when he is pleased.
.........................
UK/EU stuff - pre in/out referendum campaign.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoesieIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
