Tag Archives: politics

The English Pub

I have stood
In many an English pub
Drinking beer
Both indifferent, and sometimes good.
Its queer
How people with nothing in common mingle
And those who go in single
A couple become
(At least until the rise of sun
On the morrow
When sorrow
May come,
Or they say
“That was fun”
And go their way
Or perhaps they are forever
Drawn together
As birds of a feather,
(Well, at least
Until eternal peace
Breaks their heart apart).

I have stood
In many an English pub
And sometimes caused a fuss
When I did discuss
Political matter.
No friendship did I shatter
Though I have heard
Many a foolish word
And spoken more than one or two
Its true.

I have shared a glass
With a pretty lass
At the bar
And wondered how far
(Or near we all are
To paradise
Or vice),
And I have said “good night”
And thought on delight
That never was
Because she
Had no interest in me,
Or maybe
I missed the cue to dance
And my chance
To go far
Beyond the bar . . .

I love
The solid wood
Of the traditional pub
And the way in which people, for the most part
Get along. For at its best the pubs at the heart
Of the community.
A unity
In diversity, where you see
People of every class
Raise a glass,
And as they drink
Think, “this is our pub
For bad or good
And we will keep it this way. Things will change
But the pub will remain
For it is more
Than you or me.
It is tradition, tolerance and diversity.

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Poets and Capitalism

An interesting article in “The American Spectator” entitled “Poets and Capitalism”. The piece contains a fascinating discussion regarding why so many poets have been (and continue to be) opposed to Capitalism, and makes the point that poets have often suffered under Communist regimes and, in the end its Capitalism which enables poets to freely pursue their craft.

I agree with the thrust of the article, which is, I believe worth a read, https://spectator.org/poets-and-capitalism/

A Man May Be

A man may be
A Tory
Of the deepest blue
Or a Socialist of the strongest hue
Of red,
Yet with sadness shake his head
At what
His own lot
Do when
The legislative pen
Falls to them . . .

The Brexit Party Romps Home

The Brexit
Party romps home
Clamouring for the exit
While I (far from alone)
Retain a fading hope for remain.

Boris Johnson spoke of “polishing a turd”.
Those who shout loudest are to often heard.
The word is brexit.
We are heading for the exit,
Yet I retain
A fading hope for remain.

When The Chips Are Down

When the chips
Are down and order slips,
Who will stand, one with the other?
“You are my brother”,
(Tis so easy to say),
But when the chips
Are down and order slips,
Will I be your brother
Or something other
– A man who when order slips
And there are no chips
Says, through trembling lips,
“I am for
Whoever can restore
A semblance of law
Be he
Ever so cruel,
For when the chips
Are down and order slips,
Most men will grin
And save their own skin
For Hobbes’s rule
Applies when there are no chips
And order slips”.

If You Dare

If you dare
To say
(in the politest possible way)
That “the people in their judgement err”,
I swear
That the person of narrow mind
Will find
Some ugly word to throw at you.

“Fascist” or “elitist” they will cry.
I know that it is untrue,
But ’tis easier to lie
(Though inwardly you die),
Than to speak the truth
And have the roof
Come down on you,
For speaking what is true.

Out of Place

I would
That this forest,
This little wood
In which I trace
The seasons slow pace
Could remain
The same.

Spring
Summer, autumn and winter does bring
A natural order to this changing thing
Which alters not, save in accordance with nature’s law.

The woodland floor
Is now with leaves strewn
But soon
Winter’s chill
Will
Lay an icey hand
Upon this land.

Yet it is not as before
As the forest floor
Is strewn with leaves in summers overly hot
For man has forgot
The natural order of things
And his action brings
The leaves too early down.

The town
It flows towards the countryside.
The urban tide
May rise
And sweep
That which I would keep
Away.

The planners say
“The people must have somewhere to stay.
We must build a little on the greenbelt
Where once the owl dwelt
In solitude.
We can not exclude
The young who need their own home”.

The squire has long since gone
And progress marches on.
There is nothing to hold
Dear but gold
And we are told
That we should “embrace
This marketplace
In all things, while the stupid left speak of an equality
Which can never be
For in this world of tears, we can not be
Both equal and free.

Sometimes I look back with nostalgia to the squire
And half desire
Him to rise
From his grave
And the country save
From this tide
Of progress
Where left and right contend
Over who can best defend
This sterile world of high tech screens,
While country scenes
Are lost, save in dreams.