Prime Minister’s Hospital Visit
(Israel 31 July 2015)
Gentle Leader, sleek and mild,
at bedside of this wounded child:
words won’t help, nor pictures all
ratify his photocall.
Fully-fledged compassion must
be seen to flourish, then the dust
may settle on mad settlers’ acts…
Yet none dispute the brutal “Facts
On The Ground” – removals done
by force or Wall, bulldozer, gun –
so babes and mothers, innocents
perish still while state pretence,
religious rule of righteousness,
can validate a sorry mess.
Thus fear begets a new context,
Revenge and Terror visit next…
For now, the Leader, slick and bland,
nods seriously, shakes head or hand,
proud keeper of his Promised Land.
Decorations for Some Newer Year
Too much worship of upward mobility
But what price bogus aristocracy?
As right-royal nonsense rains down on us
Now’s the time for affectionate honesty –
Across keyboard and seaboard the truer talents
Share their innate unassuming nobility –
Underdog titles and peergroup honours
Reflect rather more authentic democracy –
All the irreplaceable originals
Granting any attentive audience
Their priceless antidotes to misery:
Let’s hear it again from The Land of the Free!
Dukes – Ellington, Pearson & Jordan.
Earls – Warren & Hines. Lord Buckley. Count Basie.
Kings – Oliver, Pleasure, Cole. Queen Ida.
Marquis Foster & Prince Lasha,
Sir Charles Thompson, Sir Roland Hanna,
Empress Bessie & Lady Day…
Praise to The Pres, to World Statesman Gillespie,
Ambassador Satch, Jazz Messages sent, great music made!
Highflying shamans bringing rhythm again,
Immortal singers, those bright horns of plenty,
Harmony’s balsam for dealing with pain –
The sounds of good cheer, on whose ideal parade
Even despicable tyrants might learn
The fine art of joy… So, genial Satchmo, Diz, return,
Raise the unquenchable loving-cup,
For we dread and despise our divisive rulers
Who would silence humanity and fool us,
Who justify drones, every new bombing raid…
Will the music stop when this quick earthtime’s up?
Or might the songs of angels drown out death’s refrain?
Ballad of Avarice
(The BHS Mess)
Greed, pure greed, ‘Sir’ Fillip Greed,
how much more does one man need?
Grabbing cash, he dashed the hopes
of pensionable working folk, his long-term employees.
This disingenuous knight knows all the greasy ‘legal’ ropes
those chosen few, who climb the richest heights, may seize.
An easy life of tax-free pleasure, in straitened times like these,
remains the fit and proper job for any refined buccaneer,
whose profits are a righteous due, put toward a rainy-day pot,
while one lies in the sun, aboard one’s luxurious brand-new yacht.
Let the envious rabble howl, let the lefty fool’s heart bleed:
greed’s good, yet much-maligned. Is he himself malign? No, he’s
as blameless as his erstwhile patron, Blair. That much is clear…
Three cheers then, for Cap’n Phil Green, the hero of business –Smile Please