2017 07 – Poems

RED BUTTON

  • Somewhere in Whitehall
  •   or maybe Yorkshire
  • lives Red Button
  •   a gangster’s moll
  • (late of Kings Bay Georgia
  • where they also teach torture)
  •   press her for a favour
  • and she can cause a universal
  •   funeral pyre
  • the UK no more
  •   great tracts of the  world
  • in ashes
  •   radiation  galore
  • yet at BBC Question Time
  •   in beautiful York
  • some shout seduce her seduce her
  •   seduce her
  • angrily the tongues clash
  •   kiss her kiss her kiss her kiss her
  • that will work
  •   they imply the bearded man at the dais
  • has no balls
  •   not like these sturdy tykes
  • who with war are enthralled
  •   hoping under the oceans
  • out of satellite sight
  •   the avenging US-made Trident
  • impregnates death
  •   Red Button Red Button
  • don’t heed the commotion
  •   be less strident
  • for you too can draw
  •   the last breath

Wilson John Haire

 

GRENFELL TOWER

  • Twenty-four storeys and a dozen different
  •   stories
  • a blackened skeleton without eyes or
  •   ears
  • the Tory
  •   goes gory
  • profit at any price
  •   privatise all
  • it’s not that they don’t feel
  •   for those flies that beat against
  • the window pane
  •   and dying from exhaustion
  • for they are upgraded to human beings
  •   on appeal
  • or those screaming fledglings
  •   in their burning nest
  • who once were but second best
  •   and are now on the wing
  • in Parliamentary rafters
  •  such is genetically modified good
  • in the hands of the grafters

Wilson John Haire.

 

CLIMBING THE MONEY TREE

  • After Jack met the Chancellor of the Exchequer
  •   on the road
  • and exchanged the old dry cow for a bag
  •   of magic beans
  • it sure did goad
  •   his poor ma who scolded
  • like a woodpecker
  •   and threw them into the garden
  • it seems
  •   a mighty tree grew overnight
  • and being in his teens
  •   he climbed it quickly with vigour
  • to what looked like the Palace of Westminster
  •   or something bigger
  • stacked high from ceiling to floor
  •   from wall to wall
  • banknotes galore
  •   he felt he was due a few
  • when a voice roared OUT
  •   and began to shout
  • it’s six billion plus for two aircraft carriers
  •   one hundred billion for Trident
  • this is not phantasmagoria
  •   it’s billions for failing banks
  • do you think we have a money tree
  •   for the lower ranks
  • now it’s down down down
  •   and looking for the axe
  • no axe and its lose your home
  •  being class-cleansed out of town
  •   it’s take ma and hit the road Jack

Wilson John Haire.

 

NOT ANOTHER BURDEN!

  • It’s the White-Man’s-Burden again
  •   this Middle-East thing
  • they have missionaries but they don’t do
  •   Zen
  • they fly in with a bomber wing
  •   don’t do bibles
  • or hymn-sing
  •   don’t bring law-and-order
  • for it already exists
  •   their mission is to bring
  •  disorder
  •   dysfunctioning puts nations in a
  • wheelchair
  •   till they get the gist
  • and compare
  •   liberal democracy
  • with their bespoke dictatorship
  •   of obduracy
  •  let a thousand weeds bloom
  •   and a hundred Jihadist schools of thought
  • contend
  •   wheel on nurse
  • among those  three wise men from the East
  •   there is a friend.

Wilson John Haire.

 

 

 

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