Tuesday 11 March 2014

A nation of discontent: The Commons

The union's place of ancient power,
cradled with those within,
from public glare they deliberate and cower,
and condemn our thoughts as sin,
refuse to listen to our pleas,
with every passing vote,
a castle without water or trees,
defenceless without a moat.

Motions passed with incompetence,
motions a people all concede,
most a situation without importance,
a detriment on a people they impede,
a question we all need,
in order to defeat,
those our power to us deceive,
with comfort on their leather seats.

These people will not learn,
and never shall be wise,
to ignore when your people yearn,
the people then shall rise,
to install their sense of freedom,
a revolution the people need,
to renew our kingdom,
as a garden removes a weed.

They like to talk of fairness,
a subjective definition,
though under our new Blairess,
fairness without fruition,
when the majority have to pander,
but how can it be fair,
the majority a double standard,
when the minority they mostly care.

Whether age, health, sex or skin,
when all to blame for another,
a scapegoated majority treated akin,
some are more equal than others,
This is where the politicians hide,
within the halls rustic,
and remove themselves from the people's side,
and deny our people's critique.

And this is where our laws are made?
they buy what others sell,
where laws are treated as passing trade,
 all mostly from Brussels,
where are we to hold account,
when others make our laws,
from those we hold without reasonable doubt,
the people deserve more.

Why do we elect these swine?
as our vote matters not,
as we pay our levied tithe,
those centrists leave us there to rot,
from the beauty of the outside walls,
the cancer lay within,
sell our nation as the Eagles whore,
our blood - our armies bathes in.

These elected serve not our will,
only their own ambition,
yet blood they will happily spill,
on America's black gold mission,
They speak of Multiculturalism,
as if that makes things better,
if we don't conform before the Cataclysm,
our minds arrested and fettered.

This house is without independence,
when pressured they consistently yield,
without citizen recompense,
we lay dead upon their battlefield,
take heed from their poisoned words,
the serpent's tongue needs a whetstone,
supporters of this venomous hoard,
 their skulls prop up the grindstone.

This house needs to stand upon it's own two feet,
instead of on it's knees,
bring yourselves out of those seats,
allow us to be free,
enslaved under western rhetoric,
these slavers hold the whip,
ode to the people's twist,
the contract is ours to rip.

Saturday 8 March 2014

The road to Tsardom.

In light of the Russian intervention within the Crimea. I have to notice and write about the utter hypocrisy of the Western world and how I am ashamed to reside here.

Ukraine in trouble and turmoil,
protestations and riots thus embroil,
Kiev in northern flames aside,
and southern bears of Russian tongue reside,
Whilst they worry - the Russian proper awakens,
and armies gather on the border adjacent.

Putin leads as champion of the east,
as Alpha of all of Russia's beasts,
unorthodox methods for motherland rejoice,
orthodox God for Ukraine and cower by choice,
Half of Ukraine bow before might,
half plead wrongful for western insight.

He does this for his people protect,
compared to western arrogance and western neglect,
the Russian bear draws sword and sharpens his teeth,
while in the west we delight at hypocrisy's feast,
Putin's goals and noble aims,
makes us seem foolish compared to our oil games.

John Kerry America's malcontent,
under hypocrisy's firmament,
his policies are highly inappropriate,
a betrayal of reason and Logic's Iscariot,
They have no reason - who are they to invade?
Remember Iraq, Afghanistan? Logic Betrayed!

President Putin your title defames,
character dwarfs political aims,
taking Ukraine with ease,
crown thine-self and do as you please,
thine infamy has spread from near to far,
Take away the pressure and name thine-self Tsar!

Tuesday 11 February 2014

A nation of discontent: Prologue

This is dedicated to the ever dedicated genii within the halls of power whom we vote yet receive no right to object compared to that of our Celtic brethren.

All across our glorious isle,
one nation feeling pain,
three are Celts and stood beguiled,
the English left in chains.
where's the glory upon my land?
while other's a freedoms song,
where the Celts reveal a tempered hand,
then muzzle the English tongue.

With our money they change the topic,
their people have an institution'd voice,
with our money they line their very pocket, 
in our oppression they rejoice.
whilst we welcome all who come,
what money is left they've spent it,
with this formula from a Baron,
who goes by the name of Barnett.

While these nations plenty prosper,
St George falters and dives,
in England our money goes to whom I wonder?
our silence loud and poverty thrives,
now our union splits apart,
more from our English rage,
a new beginning and a fresher start,
foretold a prophesied sage.

By St George set our England free,
save us from pillage and plunder,
relieve our people in our time of need,
redemption from the Socialist blunder,
the contract that they carved in stone,
Britannia is broken at it's borders,
revolution's shot and overthrown,
chaos gone with renewal of order.

Maybe our people should stand and march,
and rattle the sharpened Sabre,
from those our freedom that they clutch,
Show them our kingdom has gotten braver,
remind to those with given power,
it it OUR will that they serve,
drawing near to the darkest hour,
by blood or words it's our right that we reserve.