Best Brexit Poems
The Bloody Brexit
It should have been so simple
There was a referendum
People voted leave
And Britain should have withdrawn
In an orderly fashion; but no.
The remainders wouldn’t here
Of it and the spectacle become undignified.
One would think the UK didn’t exist
Before the EU it did.
Boris Johnson is an opportunist he is
Not remotely interested either way
He wants power
And the American why of health service
The leavers should not entertain him
But continue their fight to let Britain
Go its own way.
(November 2016)
Twas Hillig, but the Limey Gove
Did whine and witter in the Brext.
All Szyddly was the Orban cove
And Grabberwock out-Mexed.
“Beware the Grabberwock, my dear,
The salesman’s talk, the dubious thatch.
Beware his leakiwick, and fear
His groomious undersnatch.”
She took her righteous sword in hand.
Her people cried “Deplore, deplore!”
So rested she by the Dumdum tree—
And thought “deplore” some more.
And as in huffish thought she stood,
The Grabberwock, with hair aflame,
Came breitling through the barty wood,
And goebbelled as he came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
His virtual blade went twitter-t***.
She got more voters, but he was POTUS
And he getrumphed like that:-
“See, I have slain the Hillinast!
I’ll build a wall, hire every mate!
I’ll bigly take America
And make it really grate.”
“I’ll put all Muslims in a book,
Intern them just like Nips,
And make sure Gooks use their own nukes
For the Trumpocalypse.”
“I’ll help the rich (more than that b****!).
I’ll make the bankers fat.
The blacks I’ll hump—and screw the Trump-
enproletariat.”
’Tis chillig. For the Sess-i-ones
Doth Bolt- and Bann-on on the right
All Vladdy are Assange’s tones
And prospects all outsh***.
Rob Whitford
Notes:
1. Needless to say, this is a parody of “Jabberwocky”, by Lewis Carroll
2. The first “Grabberwocky” was a much better poem—a “Jabberwocky” parody written in 1939 (http://www.waxdog.com/jabberwocky/nazi.html). Thanks to this for general inspiration, the title and the sadly still relevant verb “to goebbel”.
3. Re the slightly nerdy line 3, Beata Szydlo and Viktor Orban were the conservative nationalist Prime Ministers of Poland and Hungary, respectively, at the time.....
Copyright © Robert Whitford 2016
The lash of European Union won’t tell us,
how many thousands migrants
we must take to our home
or where to build
for them temples and the mosques.
We want to break free from E. U. lies.
We are the people of democracy.
The red tape of collapsing Union
and their bureaucrats’ fat pay,
won’t force us to comply
with their unjust rules -
our bravery over financial slavery.
More taxes, these are the dirty tricks
of bureaucrats’ politics.
We are not the beggars, nor scavengers,
but of noble life challengers.
We are free and proud.
In serfdom our country won’t stay.
Hex it or Brexit,
Now it’s late to fix it
My God what have I done?
I slipped my polling card by mistake
And voted Brexit,
And here I am now at the crossroads
I messed it
Is it possible to reverse and right the wrong
And fix it?
Or it’s late for me after my lexit?
I jumped in the air with the hope to land safely
But here I am still floating in the sky
And I still do not know when, where and how I’ll land
I messed it.
It serves me now to suffer and grief
And accept my fate and destiny,
After I minced it.
Twas Hillig, but the Limey Gove
Did whine and witter in the Brext.
All Szyddly was the Orban cove
And Grabberwock out-Mexed.
“Beware the Grabberwock, my dear,
The salesman’s talk, the dubious thatch.
Beware his leakiwick, and fear
His groomious undersnatch.”
She took her righteous sword in hand.
Her people cried “Deplore, deplore!”
So rested she by the Dumdum tree—
And thought “deplore” some more.
And as in huffish thought she stood,
The Grabberwock, with hair aflame,
Came breitling through the barty wood,
And goebbelled as he came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
His virtual blade went twitter-t***.
She got more voters, but he was POTUS,
And that, dear friends, was that.
“See, I have slain the Hillinast!
The presidency’s now my toy.
Oh Priebous day! Steve Bannon may
Hire Sessions, good ol’ boy.”
’Tis chillig, for the hydrogeoles
Now rattle loudly in the Jong.
All kneely are the sportiproles –
And Trump’s gone on too long.
Rob Whitford
Notes:
1. Needless to say, this is a parody of “Jabberwocky”, by Lewis Carroll
2. The first “Grabberwocky” was a much better poem—a “Jabberwocky” parody written in 1939 (http://www.waxdog.com/jabberwocky/nazi.html). Thanks to this for general inspiration, the title and the sadly still relevant verb “to goebbel”.
3. This is Grabberwocky-2a, because it is an amended and updated version of Grabberwocky-2, also on this site, which dates from late 2016. The amendments are in last couple of stanzas.
4. Regarding the slightly nerdy line 3, Beata Szydlo and Viktor Orban were the conservative nationalist Prime Ministers of Poland and Hungary, respectively at the time of the original draft. As of late 2020, Orban is still there.....
To Brexit or not to Brexit
by Bob Moore
One thousand years, it’s almost been
since William came to this island green
defeated Harold on Hastings Hill
to the English it was a bitter pill
He was the last the world would see
to invade this land successfully
and started Britain on its way
to being the country it is today
His descendants ruled throughout the land
the Barons made John sign the Charter Grand
and started Britain on a path you’d see
where all the people could be free
That freedom grew across the years
through war, and strife, through joy and tears
then politicians had their dreams
a Common Market, their future schemes
Many countries share their toil
to grow the food, and till the soil
to work together, as partners should
as equals, for the common good
But then it started to go wrong
it was not equal, and so the strong
began to wield the power now
unelected bureaucrats to tell us how
Our borders now are not our own
others decide who calls Britain home
those other people make the rules
and treat us like an Isle of Fools
The French, the Germans , the Spanish too
have tried to tell Britain what to do
but a Thousand Years we’ve kept them at bay
that is , we have, until today
From Agincourt, and Flanders Field
we’ve paid our dues not ones to yield
Trafalgar, Dunkirk, Normandy
Our Fathers fought so we’d be free
now we may vote it all away
and this is our last chance to say
to the faceless ones across the sea
we are still Britain, we are still free
Brexit Sonnet No.7
‘Words Escape Me’
Have you seen them, can we track them down?
Words escape me, on the run, or lost.
We had them once, now they can’t be found,
This Brexit friction hides a fearsome cost.
Pluralism can’t be seen or traced,
I’ve looked real hard but not a sign from May.
Binarism has won that crucial, crazy race,
Whilst Tolerance, my once best friend has gone away.
What of Inspire, our fine Olympic friend?
He was there to share that great event,
But now, Falsehood’s beat him on the bend,
And where was Multiculturalism sent?
Camerooned we are, left to shout ‘In’ or ‘Out’,
Our Language, Culture, Country – now in doubt.
©Keith Murphy
Brexit Sonnet No.5
‘To Clothe The Wreck’
A game of chance, the climb to rule this land,
As much a slip of others as trip of yours.
Oft’ ruled by chance events, not thoughts well planned,
Same for freshers new, as time-served bores.
And now we see the cards in shuffled deck,
Prepared again to face the green baize cloth.
Plans anew prepared to clothe the wreck
That’s Brexit, now sad without its champagne froth.
But cards are dog-eared, faded, worn and ripped
With two faced jokers squirming in the pack.
The dealer haggard, drawn and ill-equipped,
Can’t stabilise for strength they plainly lack.
Quantitatively ease this wretched, worn out pile;
Print more talent and from Brexit, please resile.
©Keith Murphy
Sovrinty’s a grand ole gent,
But sovrinty don’t pay the rent.
I got six kids’ moufs to feed.
Sqeezin’ stones don’t make ‘em bleed.
Theresa gal sure went and blew it,
But oo blimmin’ else is there to ’ do it?
Oo else is there to clear the fog?
Wot’s your take, mate? That toff, Reese-Mogg?
Oo ever duzzit, do it fast!
‘ow long’s this Brexit lark to last?
A glossary of terms for the protection and benefit of young learners of English
soverinty - sovereignty
don’t (third person singular present tense - doesn’t
ole – old
gent - gentleman
maufs – mouths
squeezin’, goin’, - -ing
‘em – them
gal – girl
oo - who
blimmin’ - expletive filling word like bloody, damn, etc.
toff - a sometimes derisive term for member of the upper class from a non-member of that class's point of view
duzzit - does it
‘ow - how
You and I are not the same although,
We breath one air. Yet I still know,
That we could make it work. We,
Fed our frightening spree.
Rather with you then,
Alone again.
As hate nighs,
Big Ben,
Dies.
There once was a swine loving Tory,
who sought out election glory.
but he was called on his bluff
and quit in a huff
and thus ends that Tory's story.
"I love you more than breakfast"
(I said on our first date)
You thought that I said "Brexit",
and punched me in the face!
?It wasn't like you had a view.
You didn't really care.
But every time you heard the word,
it made your nostrils flare.
?The first time we heard Davis speak,
he mentioned "Brexit" twice.
You screamed and then karate chopped
your deluxe custard slice.
At other times you were quite shy,
friendly, mild and kind.
Our relationship grew stronger
as our hopes and dreams aligned.
We bought a flat together,
but couldn't watch the news,
and never bought a paper
in fear of Johnson's views.
The neighbours were confused at first,
as when they said the word,
you'd want to drop-kick something,
like an ornamental bird.
You rugby tackled Zimmer Frames,
and slid on every table.
It didn't matter if you heard
Corbyn, May or Cable.
Then one day you heard the word,
and didn't get upset.
You didn't want to kick a hedge,
or fight a football net.
The word no longer caused you,
to get annoyed and terse;
but then you heard Trump make a speech,
and you acted ten times worse!
Brexit Is Icumenn In, May's gone cuckoo!
No shame is poverty, if the heart by gay !
As Chaucer's Wife of Bath was wont to say;
Is this the tale that's told by May?
For Theresa's plan is surely on the way
To draining much of Britain's wealth away -
And no one's supposed to show dismay.
Though it be hateful, poverty is good,
A great incentive to a livelihood,
To covet which seems to be the very thing,
That Britain's people in future yearn to cling,
As Chaucer's Wife of Bath did sing,
How the poor will cheer when the price of food
And heat goes up as fast as the £ goes down,
For he with nothing, the Wife of Bath did own,
Is rich though you may think they'd boude
The May refrain that accepting poverty unhurt,
I’d say, is rich, although he lacked a shirt.
Quakers, Methodists and the C of E
Will rejoice to hear this Christian tale,
How poverty, when the heart is lowly,
Brings one to God and teaches what is holy.
But that was before the people got the vote,
And were’nt allowed to read the great Good Book ;
They had no choice but to say by rote
The words the cleric said were words of note.…
By God, I think that Mrs May is barmy
To think that Brits will take it calmly
When they catch on that what she's at
Will mean they've not enough to feed a cat.
When that days comes, O Premiere Mrs May,
Then think of what that the Wife of Bath did say :
The truly poor are they who whine and fret
And covet what they cannot hope to get.
(The words in praise of poverty appearing in The Wife of Bath’s Tale, page 308 of Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, Penguin Classics, translated by Nevill Coghill, edition 1968, are in italics).
So Britain's made its exit
From the Union it was part of.
No one can predict what this
Will really be the start of.
Hits to the economy?
A government in flux?
Changes in the worth of pounds,
Of Euros and of bucks?
Political upheavals
As the EU muddles on?
Equilibrium upset
With Britain really up and gone?
It's way too complicated, though,
For me to understand.
I watch the news but just don't have
The facts at my command.
The commentators slyly
Have some questions up their sleeve.
My favorites are "Will Portugo?"
And, too, "Will Italeave?"
Brexit Sonnet No. 31
‘The Greatest Showman’
What a shame we could not launch and hold,
Those Brexit plans in Falcon’s heavy grasp.
Sixty four tonnes of payload so we’re told,
Canst it yet be done, who should we ask?
I’m sure some space in car we could have found,
For Brexit’s backseat drivers; we do have some!
A flick of switch, then whoosh, a roaring sound,
And Elon’s car with cargo heads off to Sun.
The Greatest Showman’s crown has just been claimed,
Three stages used to get this drama done.
Two stages land but one missed at what it aimed,
A ‘super majority success’ by two to one.
Now space is ex, hats off to Mr. Musk ,
Make Brexit ex and scatter plans like dust.
©Keith Murphy