Satsuma Tumour
Sense of Humour?
That Groomer Rumour
Cometh the Hour
Cometh the TAN!
People Power Glower should Flower
Grassy brassy knolls
But proles at the polls
Sold their Souls
To joust like Faust
Ignore Marcel Proust
Cower before the Ivory Tower
Odd bod elite’s law
Tweets of Sod and God
No Enlightening
Repeats the prism
Or algorithm beats
Every criticism schism
“Ism”..a frightening..lightning rod
Pot..black..kettle knack
Debauched cheats pedal to the metal
Out of whack flak attack
Unsettle our mettle
Plot to settle that score
Scorched and torched serfs
Any petal in fine fettle
& the earth's core
The present prince of Prussia prances proudly
With preaching priests, while prattling proles suppress
The primal pressure to prank the pretext
Of proper praise for the precious primate.
"Four"
Four
With that word, the world came to an end
In flames of nuclear power
That man did send
Death
Swept through Eastasia and Eurasia
The scale was tipped by one last breath
Oceania’s
Pride
Three
Three giants threw spears at each other
A scorching war destined to be
And Big Brother
Died
Nuclear sunlight beamed through cracked glass
Waking up the proles, who soon cried
Seeing the grass
Two
Two strayed partners, ready to relive
The proles, the remade Eden due
One choice to live
To the self appointed patricians of government
Take back your schemes
Take back your doles
What makes you deem
That I was one of your proles
I may have needs
Wishes it’s true
Keep your snake oil and beads
I’ll get along without you
You came along with all your clever machinations
Supported and all paid for by enforced donations
So take back your dosh
We’ll make no fuss
Just remember by gosh
You got it all from us
France is now ruled by Macroniens,
A species of urban boboniens,
Passably bright,
Not too far Right,
But perhaps just the latest d….d phonyens.
To keep France in order, the PoF
Must avoid moves might put them off :
An appeal to the Centre
Is a smart way to enter,
But too motley his triumph to bring off.
Credit, and how ! where credit is due,
Macron’s talent is rivalled by few.
He’s redrawn for the times
The political lines,
Like Bonaparte, de Gaulle and their crew.
His hold on power is complete,
Jupiter with cast hyper-elite.
No proles are in sight,
Now that can’t be right,
They may come to think he’s a cheat.
Though Canton claims it’s communist, it’s not.
Beijing, like Belarus, breeds oligarchs.
There’s nobody alive who’s heard of Marx:
a rickshaw ride’s the only kind of trot.
Seek Mensheviks in Minsk, you’ll end with squat.
In Kursk are cadres countable as quarks,
and proles in Petrograd? Like hunting snarks.
It’s Putin’s perestroika, not Pol Pot.
Why did the whole thing vanish in thin air?
Why’s Sputnik spat on? Why is red so square?
We needn’t be complacent in the West.
There’s lots to learn within the Warsaw Waltz
for, as a tool to scrutinise the faults
of Christian Capital Conquest, it’s the best!
After Big Brother, and the Party had gone, the telescreens remained. No longer though did they remain solely in former Party member’s quarters. Telescreens had spread to the realm of the Proles. They no longer spied, or spewed out Party doctrine, no, now the telescreens enticed. They showed pictures of luxury items, and wistful holidays that were nearly affordable to those on mining wages, soldier’s wages, or hospitality wages. In the former Party quarters they advertised more expensive vacations and household items, desirous pleasures that were still priced close to the affordable, but only tantalisingly so. These commercials were followed by broadcasts of monetary values and credit ratings. For in the wake of Big Brother and the Party, all were seen as equal -Inner Party, Outer Party and Proles- by the Credit Agencies.
generations fought
struggled against tyranny
for future’s children
and in their freedom they seek
servitude to desires
My office window as no bars
and the doors are sometimes left ajar.
I earned no trip in the back of a police car
And no judge and jury pondered long and hard
It's called winning at life, I've earned a capitalist gold star.
You pick your leaders and take your chance
And hope they don't lead you on a song and dance.
And pray your life chances they enhance.
And a penchant for wars they don't advance.
And be very wary when they take a moral stance.
Freedoms just a mirage used to fool us stupid proles.
And gives the bosses and Politian's total control.
Don't rock the boat or you will be swiftly on the dole
one of society's victims a poor homeless soul .
So kiss the wife goodbye and all your life goals
You have been sold to the man for corporate gold.
to be free,
is between,
the metal and ink,
the multitude and the one,
where match has found powder,
where ideas have found guns.
Between foe and friend,
the rise and descend,
a new beginning,
born from violent end.
Between the dreams of the young,
the impatience of old,
where the heart burns with pride,
but the blood has turned cold.
Between the indifferent rich,
the proles who've grown tired,
where a sea of blood,
meets horizon of fire.
Some view things as hopeless,
say acceptance is key,
but I'd rather die standing,
than living on knees.
For what can they do,
to a people with no hope,
refusing surrender,
will no longer cope.
When beasts are unchained,
a thunder with cleansing rain,
rambunctious, unyielding,
it won't be contained.
Liberty for man,
to distant to see,
but one things for certain,
he will have to bleed.
if you want seat at banquet
to partake in the meal,
uproot indignation.
replant it in steel.
If we seek to be free,
to control destiny,
observe this to do list,
heed this decree.
You must live,
fight,
kick,
scream.
Unite,
march
stand
lead.
Claw,
bite,
falter,
succeed.
Shoot,
kill,
and die,
free.