Working Class Tory

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They live in their mansions and pay for their school

They’re told that their destiny is that they're born to rule

That the poor all deserve it cause the poor are fools

They tell you that sharing is good when you’re small

But when you grow up they will grasp for it all

Til you’re so disillusioned you’ve killed off your soul

A working class Tory is poison to me

Once in a while one will fluke a success

And reach for the heights to look down on the rest

Then pull up the ladder and laugh at the plebs

They say ‘we’re full up, we can’t take any more’

Call people ‘illegal’ and ‘rapists’ and more

These comforting lies are just par for the course

They bleat when they’re pulled up for their hateful words

Claim free speech is dead and that 'woke' is a slur

Without understanding how consequence works

They say poor old Boris is doing his best

That rich men deserve their financial success

That one politician’s the same as the rest

A working class Tory is poison to me

Elections are lost cause of a photograph

Of a badly-chewed bacon sandwich in the caff

And a mock-up of a good man that looks Stalinesque

Sunk cost is a killer, psychosis writ large

“We’ve always been Tories and that’s who we are”

But do you suck off the scrotes who are stealing your car?

This isn’t inevitable: it’s a crock

We’re told we’ve no power, but we’ve got the lot

We can make it better. We can stop the rot.

No man is an island, no man’s a lost cause.

The world is unique; there’s room for us all

We can work together – if that’s what we want.

If you vote for a Tory then how do you sleep

If you vote for a Tory then how do you sleep

A working class Tory is sickening me



A working class Tory's a traitor, you see

Celeriac Mahatma

Did you hear of the man with the bad attitude

and the power of a trash compactor

he was prowling the world searching far for the girl

who had left him alone for an actor

Well he ain’t one to fight, but he ain’t gonna fly,

if you push him he’ll get real fractious

he won’t start anything, cause he knows he will win

you’re the field, boy, and he is the tractor

Celeriac Mahatma

Watch out!

The first thing you learn, he got wisdom to burn,

and his flames are as hot as a black star

and if you take him on he will grimace and grin

your mistake was to try and step up there

He’s a vegan, and more, and he’s bone to the core

his breath stinks like a velociraptor

he’s a merciless rat, he’s a back alley cat,

he’s a rapacious, primal scream scratcher

Celeriac Mahatma

Oh boy.

The Great Punctuation Sale

Roll up for

the great punctuation sale

we’ve got thousands of capital letters

from the estate of e.e.cummings

a rare comma said to have been used by Mark Twain

look out for a lovely collection of semi-colons

found in the attic of Kurt Vonnegut, Jnr

Come early for

this event of a lifetime

marvel at the short macho sentences

discovered in a bar frequented by Hemingway

ampersands half price and thorns ten a penny

em-and-en dash will be playing live.

Also for sale

today and only today

a bundle of deleted ellipses

from a sloppy first draft sci-fi romp

a well-kept selection of Greek-born pillcrows

be sure to bid for the mix of tilde and full stop

which is meant to indicate sarcasm

Everything must go.

Everything, must go.

Everything. Must go.

Everything must; go.

Everything – must – go

and so on.

And this is not poetry

Hello. And so:

180k dead

Tories +2%

Getting pissed up whilst the rest of us can’t mourn

Tories +4%

Awash with Russian money and compromised to shit

Tories +6%

Foodbank use up 170%

Tories +8%

Fuel and food prices soaring. Heat or eat. Kids going hungry.

Tories +10%

Right to protest curtailed. Illegal to gather and show solidarity.

Tories +12%

Billions written off for the fucking big companies. Mates given huge contracts.

Tories +14%

Are we getting this yet? Does it make sense? Clearly not.

Tories +16%

There’s nothing poetic as far as I can see

when these corrupt charlatans keep getting voted in.

What the fuck is wrong with the UK?

I'm tempted to say: Everyfuckingthing. 

Fuck this place, and fuck you if you voted for these cunts. 

You have blood on your hands. You are complicit.

Makes me want to believe in a God so you get judged 

for your fucking collaboration in this self-immolating shit. 

Imagine a government at war with its own people.

No need to imagine it.

Just open your fucking eyes. Jesus. They're evil.

Tories + 2000000%

Fuck me too for not doing more about this. 

Fuck me for feeling hopeless.

Shoo -20%.

But I’m not done yet. Far from it:

I'm cursed with belief in the human spirit.

(Performance online - click here)

A Thousand Days of Sun - full novel

 If anyone's bothered, here's a link to my 80k word novel, which formed part of my PhD. The analysis is also included so fill yer boots. 

No refunds.

This is not a list

I don’t cook

like I used to

I have no urge

I just don’t want to

I had two books

to write

for myself, or maybe

one might

have gotten a deal

or both

or neither, but now

fuck knows

if I’ll ever go back

and carry on

I think perhaps

those days’ve gone.

I don’t smile

like I used to

I’m finding ways

to want to.

I can’t be arsed

setting up mics

I can’t be arsed

getting sound right

It does my head

right in

That the fucking songs

keep coming

one take is all

they’re gonna get

Instant upload

done. Dusted. Next.

I keep waking up,

no matter what.

Mornings are bright

tho I’m not.

I’m stuck here now

Until I’m not.

I’m stuck here now

no matter what.

I wasn’t gonna

make a list.

I tried not to.

I aimed.

I missed.

The Boy Who Got On The Bus

A while back, a kid got on a bus and didn’t sit next to a girl with a beautiful neck, deciding to sit next to me instead.

Yesterday, a different young woman got on the bus at a different stop, and sat on her own.

A few stops later, a young lad got on, and they knew each other a bit clearly cause he sort of did a little shy wave to her and she did the same back.

Now, there were plenty of free seats and he could have taken any single one, or a double to himself, or – and this would have broken me – sat next to me.

He could have left it at that. A wave, a little acknowledgement of each other, and then sit somewhere, headphones on, looking out the window and sometimes glancing at her reflection in the glass.

But he sat next to her, and it was lovely, because he was a sort of little hamster-faced bloke but he was smiling and not talking to her but listening and she was smiling and chatting with him. And, yes, she twirled her fingers in her hair sometimes, and, yes, he was on his best, nicest behaviour, but it was clearly honest.

I don’t know what happened when they left the bus to go to their college or whatever, or whether they would go out or get on with each other outside of the confines of Arriva’s grimy-windowed chuggers.

But for that ten minutes, they were both in the moment, and in the moment together.

It was lovely, and it was enough.