Showing posts with label social comment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social comment. Show all posts

Tuesday, 16 May 2017

Polling Station Rock

Let’s all rock to the polling station,
hop and bop and bump as a nation
back to the seventies. Let’s all wear
cheesecloth shirts and perm our hair,
dig out crombies, Ben Sherman shirts,
leather biker jackets and mini-skirts.

Let’s sleep on the beaches at weekends,
and walk down the road to call for our friends,
have school milk and uni grants for free,
buttered bread with fruit for Sunday tea,
get up to change the telly channel
and wash our faces with a flannel
in a freezing bathroom without a shower.
See hedgerows bursting with wild flowers.

Let’s listen to air waves fading at night
from Radio Luxembourg and Caroline,
dance in the youth club, hang around town,
pockets full of pennies and half crowns,
watch Monty Python and bunk off school;
the ‘Who’ generation that broke all the rules.
There was something in the air, an albatross
flying high with butterflies born at Woodstock.

So let’s get together and rock to the polls
and save the garden and save our souls,
get rid of the Tories and privatisation
and daddy-dance to the polling station!

© Jude Parsons 2017

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Jezza's Job

So, Jezza!, Lost your job? Well join the crowd
of jobseekers all on the dole. What, no?
You don’t need handouts, thank you? Lucky you!
No doubt you’ve something else lined up to do?
Not really one of us then after all;
you won’t be standing with us in the queue
on Monday morning hoping for a chance
to get shortlisted for an interview.
I’m guessing Channel 5 or even Sky
will want a controversial chap like you,
whilst we obey the rules and take the knocks -
not give them out to colleagues, like you do.
     ‘He speaks for us! He’s just like us,’ they cry.
     Yep, unemployed. On that bombshell – goodbye!

Thursday, 25 April 2013

Darwin’s Goldfish

‘Meet Aussie the goldfish who swims upside down’
(The Daily Mail 08/08/08)

Even the goldfish
are starting to rebel,
swimming upside down,
bored with the status quo.
The rest of us wish
for alternatives as well,
but walking upside down
is probably not the way to go.

A sideways leap?
An idealistic rebound?
Or shall we all just go on swimming
this way up and round and round?

I'm afraid the human race
Has missed it's niche.
It appears we’ve been
out-angled by a goldfish.

Friday, 12 April 2013

Wicker Woman

  (on the resurgence of  the song 'Ding, dong, the witch is dead' on the death of Margaret Hilda Thatcher, 1925-2013)

So those in power want to ban the song.
They feel the water lap around their boots.
This time it’s someone else. It won’t be long
Before it’s their turn knee deep in the sluice.
Ding dong, the doorbell rings. Who’s at the door?
Let’s hope it’s not those badly mannered poor
With their demands of equal this and that.
God help us, now the ship deserts the rat.
The witch is dead and tap, tap here’s the wake
With fire in their eyes to light the stake.
The crone is gone, but here’s her legacy,
A world of ‘trickle up’ economy.
The wicker woman waits upon the hill
If you won’t light the kindle then they will.

Thursday, 4 April 2013


I’m very anxious nowadays whenever I go out;
it seems these new Precariat are suddenly about.
The implication is that they are lager swigging shirkers
who mix with manual labourers like cleaners and farm workers.

They rent their homes instead of buying them like decent folk
and live on less than twenty thou a year. No doubt they smoke
and take drugs too. Apparently they are quite dangerous
because their lives are unpredictable, precarious.

They are the rioters, protestors, knee-jerking despair,
without a future, without hope, a job, a life, a care.
And yet, I do not see them when I step outside my door,
the world seems just the same to my eyes as it did before.

I’ve looked under my mattress where I keep my money hid
in case the banks collapse again. I’ve looked in next door’s skip.
I’ve asked my social worker and my cronies down The Bear.
We cannot see these Precariat people anywhere

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

The Big Lie

The working class is split, the country’s stuffed.
A divided society is what we’ve got.
The Lie is that there is a ‘Them and Us’.

They have too many bedrooms; one’s enough
for wasters, addicts, scroungers, useless blobs.
The working class is split, the country’s stuffed. 

They don’t think like we do, do different stuff,
like eat odd food and worship different gods.
The Lie is that there is a ‘Them and Us’. 

They’re ginger, black, disabled, have big butts,
They cheat on benefits or steal our jobs.
The working class is split, the country’s stuffed.

The government has got us up the duff;
We’ll all be old one day, without a job.
The Lie is that there is a ‘Them and Us’.

We point the finger on demand and cuss -
'We' might become ‘Them’ given different odds.
The working class is split, the country’s stuffed.
The Lie is that there is a ‘Them and Us’.



Monday, 13 April 2009

Demonstation of Incompetence

(on an aborted attempt by a group of protestors to access a nuclear power plant)

Arrested before you’ve protested?
What is the world coming to?
Without even a chance to wave banners
or throw one or even both shoes?

Shackled but not to a railing.
Surely that wasn’t the plan -
to be singing 'we will not be moved'
when youre being shoved into a van?

Caught in possession of items
that may lead some to think you are nutters -
attempting to cause nuclear damage
to a Plant with a pair of bolt cutters.

It seems that the climate's not right,
the environment could have been sweeter.
You weren’t really cooking on gas -
The powers-that-be had your metre.

Although you are rightly concerned
with emissions, you’re sat in the lock up
having failed in discharging your mission.
Who on earth organised such a cock up?


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