Militant Thistles

polemical poetry to prickle the politics of "permanent austerity"

atos Poor Doors Sheriff Stars spikes

thistles stretch their prickly arms afar

Black Triangle bedroom tax Disrupt and Upset

Geoff Lander




Anon was having a wonderful time

his Wonga away with the Swiss.

Some people said: “It's immoral.”

while others said: “Nothing remiss.”

When Stephen Green the Brighton boy,

(banker of high esteem)

traded a seat on the gravy train

for soup in the Cameron team.

Reverend Green, reverend Green,

a minister now, we see.

Pardon me, but a man-of-the-cloth

at the head of the HSBC!


Aggressive avoidance was all the rage

when Green was in charge at the bank.

Some people said: “It was de rigeur.”

but others insisted: “It stank.”

When Stephen Green, the City boss

(who holds the Good Lord dear)

opening-bat for the nameless elite

became a Conservative peer.

Wheels within wheels, wheels within wheels

and incontrovertible facts,

only one dodger at HSBC

has yet been convicted for tax.


The clergyman's bank did well in the crash,

so something there must have been right.

Its shareholders said: “By good management”,

its debtors: “By bleeding us white.”

When Stephen Green the pious priest

(dodging sins absolving)

took a trip down to the 'gas works'

and found the doors there were revolving,

Merry-go-round, merry-go-round,

no hint of corruption suspected,

the poacher becomes the gamekeeper

and the well-heeled elite stay protected.  


And for those who like a sing song

Geoff Lander lives in South East London, in a borough where social service are rarer than hen's teeth. He is old enough to remember a Labour government being elected and to have voted for it. He tries to maintain with the smallest footprint possible, a left footprint. His light verse is to be found mainly on the humorous website Lighten up on Line. He was in The Robin Hood Book, but he largely keeps himself to himself.

The Token Dinosaur



They looked at all the candidates, were these the ablest?

So they trawled the backbench rebels thinking one might still exist

and out in darkest Islington they found a socialist,

Labour marches on. (de-dum de-dum)


Glory, glory Jerry Corbyn,

your success needs some absorbin',

see the Blairite clones awobblin',

centre-ground so long. (de-dum de-dum)


They poked the token dinosaur and lo, beheld a star,

with passion and a backbone and an ounce of nous, hurrah!

now it's utter panic 'cos the rest can say, ta ta

Corbyn marches on. (de-dum de-dum)




We might have an opposition, not just fifty shades of grey,

with no more Balls or Torylite forever and a day;

at last the under-privileged might well just have a say!

Labour marches on,