Below is the poem entitled England Today which was written by poet
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As the horizon fills with minarets,
People continue blazing cigarettes,
In super casino’s placing bigger bets,
This country’s in a mess,
Old folks freeze to death as winter sets.
I see asylum seekers driving beemers,
They wear Nike sneakers,
Pumping music from shiny speakers.
Muslims plant bombs in buses n trains,
Security has become sluggish n lame,
I have to pack my luggage with haste,
Don’t want to be punished this way.
Citizens facing hardened yobs,
In aging apartment blocks,
Where teenagers wearing fading garments n socks,
Are making Harlem rocks,
Outside Asians are laughing lots,
Next to burnt out cars in parking spots.
A slimy criminal watches for cops,
He’s selling shiny digital watch’s for rocks,
Making his picks with stock lists from shops.
Gangsters are roaming the streets,
Smoking weeds and joking with peeps,
Don’t bother moaning or phoning the police,
Citizens are scared, hoping for peace.
The police release an extremist,
Who preaches his thesis,
On bombing people to pieces,
We pray this rotting evil ceases.
Women refusing handshakes,
Soldiers think they’re winning losing campaigns,
Whilst politicians are boozing champagne.
Muggers are stealing phones,
Giving the victim a bleeding nose,
He’s left there in reeking clothes,
Shivering in the winds freezing blows,
He starts sneezing loads as his heavy breathing slows,
He’s used to getting beatings from foreign speaking blokes.
We’re smiling, with open doors to cheap migrants,
Thus inviting the Trojan horse to these islands,
Soon there will be potent wars and deep violence,
Until then, immigrants creep in silence,
But once their voice bleats like shrieking sirens,
We will be trapped inside this squeezing python.
Overseas teenagers provide cheap labour.
A sword carrying Sikh neighbour,
Says he needs it in case he’s in deep danger,
He wears clothing that looks like creased paper.
Greek waiters drive cars with green lasers in cd changers,
They own homes with three piece suites and green acres.
In Burnley east,
I see white tramps on dirty streets,
They’ve been there for thirty weeks,
Munching on turkey meats,
With beef jerky treats,
Wearing a ragged old furry fleece,
Cold from the early breeze,
Mouths filled with scurvy teeth.