Whiter than pure White.
What type of shadow will linger when I'm gone,
What ghost of me will haunt heraldic halls of fame,
Ive tried my best to cover over all my tracks,
And where impossible have spread the taint of blame,
As my multitudes grew daily more uneducated as I progressed,
So now many fortunately will not read tales of my fall,
They will however hear my faultless baritoned Songs of Praise,
And thus be enthralled by my final curtain call,
And though Im sure they will crave an encore or two,
Im afraid this time I have to let them all down,
Though they thirst for my genuflected Presidential wave,
Or merely to gaze upon my ermined sceptre and crown,
Many was the voice that tried to thwart me,
But they were smeared, bullied, killed and died,
Or evicted without the youth to defend themselves,
Or disallowed quite legal protests staged outside,
Some would have me painted quite deluded,
But I must tell you now honestly as I stand here,
I would gladly have gone so very long ago,
If my adoring public did not hold me so dear.
The shadow, Sir, is evil, blighted with contaminating lies,
The epitaph rings oh so hollow down echoing old halls,
The ghosts are of past heroes glaring down in anger,
From their framed historical pictures on ancient walls,
They see this puny actor with fresh blood upon his hands,
Dripping away souls for naught where honour once resided,
They see a caricature who has achieved absolutely nothing,
And who is yesterdays news, now ridiculed and derided,
Who strives to assert authority with storm trooper tactics,
Pursuing new ill thought laws denying human rights,
And putting us all on big brother intrusive databases,
So he can swoop on you quietly in the dead of night.
What legacy and great feats were ever attained,
Those born today will merely inherit his wind,
Those promises so great and visions so strong,
Were lost in clouds of lies, deceit and spin,
Big Brother now creepingly rules from his database,
Uneducated masses being a decidedly useful plus,
Why do you think Tony did away with learning,
All the better to rule unquestioned over us.
His legacy is an Emperor stripped naked,
After years of Presidential style media lies,
No one believes a word politicians say,
For too many wolves have already cried,
No one ever heard any apology either,
For all those years they have been betrayed,
For all the incessant talking then inaction,
On all the grand promises He made,
So school report at end of term,
Reads not so well as He would pray,
Master Blair failed dismally in every subject,
And lied his way through every single day,
Tony has made severe errors of judgement,
Whose consequences for others have been grave,
Yet Tony feels the need to blame others,
When it was decisions he alone had made,
When Master Blair faces honest depositions,
Or in debate is questioned on his words,
Said opponent is invariably vilified,
Or stained, discredited, killed or slurred,
Tony could do better and try harder,
If only there were a next term to come around,
For he has sunk so very low at present,
It would be impossible not to find higher ground.
And amazingly now the great Lion of the public,
Ignored and silent for so long, lets out a low growl,
Bares his teeth and gets up to his feet,
And with resonating roar begins to prowl,
Who is this usurper of all we hold dear,
Who is this mouse upon the throne,
Who is this actor with nothing real inside,
Who thinks we are his dog to proffer the odd bone,
We are this mighty nation forged with pride,
We have history and tradition saying we can fight,
We have been blind to believe all of his lies,
But now we are going to put it right.
We deserve to believe our vision,
We deserve education not lies,
We deserve hospitals that cure us,
Not ones that ensure we will die,
We deserve to live in peace,
Not cower in our homes in fear,
Above all we deserve the truth,
Yet it is only ever lies we hear.
So Tony just tiptoes silently and shamefully away,
Leaving absolutely nothing noteworthy in his place,
No everlasting Valhalla legacy of greatness,
He is too afraid now to even show his face,
Dead bodies still pile up daily at his door,
Intent to haunt the reason for their demise,
Blood pouring slowly from their mouths,
In an ironic parody of his ceaseless streams of lies.
And the king is in his counting house serene,
Licking his lips with anticipatorary glee,
Counting his chickens too fast it now seems,
In his dreams of dominion over you and me,
As the liar leaves the final battlefield,
Unscathed, unlike his fallen servicemen,
He who presumes automatic anointment,
Would, it seems, have to think again.
For the ruling of our country is not a bauble,
To pass on as if meaningless and trite,
No, there has to be the sanction of the Lion,
And there has to be a Parliamentary fight,
If our glorious President chooses to abdicate,
Because he is patently not fit to rule,
There should surely be a general election,
Not just passing on the baton to a fool.
And the Lion roared I will be heard,
I want a vote of no confidence right now,
And ferocious was the look in his eyes,
And knotted very tightly was his brow,
What insolence to think that we would,
Meekly sit and watch them all decide,
Who would now become our Prime Minister,
And just assume it someone from their side,
Does our great country not have a say in,
Who governs us in our historic name,
It is not just a game of pass the parcel,
Now the liar has finally been shamed,
If theres to be a new king of our country,
The lion roared with all of his might,
Then let it be put to a general election,
If these curs have the stomach for a fight,
This pack of sycophants so spineless,
They allowed that craven liar Blair full rein,
Are we going to be ruled by these timid men,
Are we all content to be subjugate again,
Or are we all proud to be born British,
Proud of centuries long of fire and toil,
Proud of standing proud alone quite often,
Against all those who would own our soil,
Are we then now so meek and mild,
We have even lost the will to think and fight,
Are we going to sit back and merely take it,
When we know to hell and back it isnt right.
NO roared the Lion reverberating mightily,
We will again wield those swords our bloodlines forged,
We will advance strong against this sniveling enemy,
For the age old England and Saint George,
And force them finally to put it to the vote,
Just tell them thats exactly how its going to be,
Maybe then this country can be run by heroes,
Maybe then we can all be free.
The Wicker Man.
On an island carved from granite,
Which down dark centuries provided light,
A dawn heralds a totally new monolith,
A new might born out of night,
It stands powerful, tall and imposing,
Dwarfing the loftiest models ever planned,
Seemingly indestructible and super solid,
Its the long prophesied Wicker Man.
And Lo, it says what all would hear,
It breathes air into all our sails,
And no one questions its honesty,
For statistically it never fails,
No one thinks to look inside,
For preview portents of the morrow,
A glimpse behind the media front,
Would show the Wicker Man is really hollow.
Programmed to realistically act out his part,
Chameleonesque to suit his current plot,
Never afraid to make pronouncements,
Of all the gleaming goodies he has got,
But when he tells us hes sincere,
And of all the honesty in his soul,
We dont realise hes just a Wicker Man,
And all thats inside is a hole.
Thats why he cant tell wrong from right,
Truth from fiction, pleasure from pain,
Because he hasnt got a soul or heart,
Just a self deluding convenience brain,
So whatever needs to be said to smooth,
Is intoned whilst looking straight in your eyes,
It matters not what hes telling you sincerely,
Is yet another pack of advantageous lies.
Ten years later there are those that can see,
Through that multi faceted outer shell,
Perceiving theres actually no substance,
Beneath the polished surface of farewell,
He trots out lists of achievements great,
From another land or another time,
To underpin his legacy and Churchillianness,
When all hes willed is poverty and rising crime,
An NHS to die for, merely enter their doors,
An education in illiteracy, shorn of history,
And decimating our troops in His illegal wars,
A population frightened in its own homes,
Who quietly dread the onset of feral night,
All because they three times trusted,
The Wicker Man would put it right.
His last speech was another treason,
His master class in barefaced lies,
There are no lasting epitaphs,
Glorifying Him in our eyes,
All that shimmers through the gloom,
His tenancy has created for us all,
Are rows of white marble headstones,
For those He sold out most of all,
For we can rebuild after Him,
Once he spontaneously combusts,
But our soldiers cant reincarnate,
To contest His abuse of trust,
Now the Wicker Man is abdicating,
In favour of Gordon the Smug,
Will we now see through his stupidity,
Or start taking a new drug.
A drug that created worthless pensions,
And transmuted golden surplus into debt and tax,
Creating one trillion borrowed souls,
Due to lending restraints being relaxed,
A country floated on flimsy credit cards,
And heavy remortgages to balance the sums,
Record insolvencies and rising unemployment,
Is what that creates for us crumbs,
While the smug Chancellor eats of cake,
And says all is fine and hes divine,
Just put your total trust in me,
Now where have we heard that line.
The Wicker Man will burn in hell,
For the lies hes coldly told,
His cabinet will perish in purgatory,
For allowing him his hold,
And this smug oaf who would follow,
Whose maths is surely recently learned,
Should be treated as the latest pariah,
Not to be trusted but to be spurned.
For who are these to presume,
They govern wisely over us,
They abuse our mandate and lie,
They patronise all of our trust,
They presume we are so stupid,
We can be fed fiction as if fools,
That we need them to think for us,
That we need new sets of rules,
To tell us all what to do,
Where to go, and how to act,
Assuming we will just simply obey,
And believe their twisted facts,
We are the British Lion,
We deserve the truth,
We deserve proper education,
For the future of our youth,
We deserve medical assistance,
Without the fear of bugs,
We deserve to receive the best,
And not rationing of expensive drugs,
We deserve to live in a nation,
Without millions more every year,
Putting strains on existing services,
For those who are already here,
We deserve a proper General,
Who really cares for our land,
Who treats us as intelligent,
Who carries out his plans,
We deserve actions not words,
We deserve honesty not spin,
We deserve not a polished speaker,
But one having integrity within,
Who tries to make us all,
One country and one mind,
We need someone we can trust,
Not more of the old lies,
We need a Churchill reborn,
A pure Rolls Royce with elan,
We need someone of substance,
Not another hollow Wicker Man.
Yo Blair.
http://www.stiffsteiffs.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/poems6.htm
Direct Emails mr-bong@blueyonder.co.uk
poems@blueyonder.co.uk
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