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Thursday, 16 January 2025

Giddy Carousel (draft II)




The word ‘curry’ first appears from a cookery book during the reign of, I think it’s Richard II, 13th century

Nick Griffin

 

As I write, highly civilized human beings are flying overhead, trying to kill me.


George Orwell


Airbrushed minarets sacred lands

comment is free at the 

White Nationalist Grievance Party

to stick a knife in you 

the circumference of me, 

or hilt point cursing the Cenotaph

dragged under martenside

in Oakham rain shining purple acetate

for that which blows up your wife & kids

gets buried in flowers Floodgate 

marches to be kindred 

this islands country of 

biscuit tins Cherry-Gardens

enmities against well-placed bombs 

evil tears in Angstzonen 

Lionhearts & their lone halos

the parvenus nouveau black shirts

past to future militias doublemeant 

decayed Britannia Unchained 

& the ridges near Albion Gates 

O pickering to see Gadarene

or Pegida drinking tea; 

God saves its Overton window

poor soldier prostrates 

anti-Blimps closing ranks 

off this mortised rim 

for you & me, Royal British Legion 

Poppy Cross Wreath Type D 

& the final fatal tree 

Fusilier confit counter nisus 

death passes inviolate 

& estuary plant life yobends 

buried cubic grey for the protest movement 

to see again & love again 

& dinghies poached & what Yaxley broke

under its silhouette British speck

indelicate & your Habeas Corpus

staked fireproof letterboxes 

‘justice’ warped softly dead

called out sacrifice & care

scrying a buzzword tear

from its arms Identity originated here 

a council estate that God saves

Lebensborn e.V. the sun rises straight

to its own breathing payments 

Seppuku myself on Armistice Day 

put to music & the language of groupthink, 

culled from the Third Way handbook

are you proud or not dead?

see the Migs in name but not in deed

Yaxley silhouettes instead here stands the noblest 

commando in the airfield

soliloquies red pillar nativists pull

a jingle of spurs & the crashing of boots at the curb

how much is enough?

How much is nothing scrubbed ?

stiffer than parade-ground disciplines

which gave life, warmth & action, 

a drooping mob’s rosette 

balaclavas florid screed, 

#WeWillNotBeReplaced , 

Quisling pigs scarlet 

& horse wig blotched heroics 

under stars draught 

gerrymandered white ash now

around the husk perimeter, 

Blood & Honour groupuscules 

a banner drop of burning poppies 

its swooning pile on my breastbone own's 

quite dwelling the world continues

daydreaming over the standing-reserve 

& what falls out? w

omen in veils, 

gathered near a well in a small village 

a thousand children where whiteness is spectral   

the cadastre sings out

mullah British mullah

& O woe my heated toes, 

awhile none else might meet 

low near merry England

to go & cheer once more at my feet.