Sunday, July 25, 2010

Affairs of State












His Eminence is in conference
with the entire legal team,
discovering new laws
to circumvent the old laws,
legislation so full of flaws
that any respected public servant, quite unplanned
could experience the workings of criminal justice first hand.

His Eminence’s agenda is full today.
The financial wizards and bankers are in,
their objective to discover an original way,
a new place to salt away the loot,
just in case of that rainy day,
a secluded island in the Caribbean,
an Eagle‘s Nest, an Alpine scene,
which would you choose?

His Eminence has been delayed.
A stretch limo full of whores
posing as ministerial candidates has strayed
from the confines of the palazzo
and their images have been displayed
illegally for the whole world to see.
Are there no depths to which the Internet will sink?

His Eminence’s schedule is on hold.
The make-up girl became quite hysterical,
her blood froze when someone told
her she had just one hour to ready his face
for the daily piece to camera interview.
The studio air turned literally blue.
The lighting was far too hot she felt.
Who would take the blame should the wax all melt?


His Eminence cannot be disturbed.
He is completing a birthday list
for a bright young thing,
sweet sixteen, so rarely kissed,
a future laid before him,
for her, an opportunity not be missed,
a brief taste of power over an aged fool,
small sacrifice for missing school.

His Eminence is resting now.
If only you could see his angelic side,
note how while he sleeps his mind is occupied,
how even now he cannot keep
his wandering fingers still,
like a pastor worried for all his sheep,
or counting banknotes in his sleep.

Just passed 10,000 hits thanks to surge in Northern Italy, so this comes by way of thanks!
A quick response from Italy gave me this link. I'm sure you'd like to meet the Italian Minister for Equal Opportunities. Satire becomes life! Found a more interesting pic!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvteGj8EaD0

Thursday, July 08, 2010

Wasteland















Whenever I see a dripping tap,
I fear for the future.
Whenever I fear, I see
a future of dripping taps.
Whenever I see the future,
I fear a dripping tap.

The fear is in the last drop,
the shrivelled crops,
the burning field,
the sea of sand's relentless creeping,
the birdless sky,
the buried city,
the undiscovered artefact,
the mystery of not being,
the price for not fearing,
the price for not seeing,
the price for not turning back.

This is for Stephen Derwent Partington. He'll know why!

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

Leave it to the diplomats....












In the White House, rules a black man,
his ideals, his principles fading
faster than a spray on tan.

Beyond the Great Wall, the Central Committe decrees
more electricity, more technology, more shopping malls
to keep the masses on their knees.

In Moscow, the Mafia lays down the law,
pisses in our faces and as the vodka flows
pisses even more.

In Number 10, the Bullingdon Club meets,
to allocate severe cuts, divvy up the spoils,
throw more people on the streets.

In Tel Aviv, the Irgun rules,
carves up Palestine
under the noses of those other fools.