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 for sacred lands
comment is free at the
White Nationalist Grievance Party
to stick a knife in you
the circumference of a peck, or me
hilt point cursing the Cenotaph
dragged under martenside
in Oakham rain shining purple acetate
for that which blows up your wife & kids
get buried in flowers Floodgate
marches & to be kindred again
this islands country of Union Jacks
over biscuit tins Cherry-Gardens
white posts, Pederasty & English Sans serif
smug on mugs & tea towels
you accumulate in Polka-Dot tins
enmities against me well-placed bombs
from evil purged tears Angstzonen
Lionhearts lone luminous halo
parvenus march of black shirts
future militants doublemeant decayed
Britannia Unchained & the ridges of
Rent Ability near Albion Gates
pickerings terrible to see Gadarene
a body Pegida drinking tea; God save
its Overton window sinking the sil
that poor soldier laid in anti-Blimps
closing ranks rented off this mortised rim
for you & me, Royal British Legion
Poppy Cross Wreath Type D
& the final fatal tree
Fusilier counter nisus death ceremonial
& the inviolate estuary plant life
struck yob-ended cubic grey
buried in the protest movement
to see the love again, in those eyes?
dinghies poached & what Yaxley? broke
under its silhouette the British speck
& your Habeas Corpus
staked in fireproof letterboxes
‘justice’ warped softly dead
called out sacrifice & care
scrying a buzzword of tearing
from its arms Identity originated here from
a council estate built God saves
Lebensborn e.V. the sun also rises
& & to its own breathing payments
boxed in solemn Seppuku’s
on Armistice Day see what happens now
is put to ghastly music clicks & drones
see the love in those protestors eyes?
see an open neck the language of groupthink,
culled from the Third Way handbook
Are you proud or dead? now,
see Migs in name but not in deed
& here stands the noblest
commando in the airfield
our soliloquies scab pulling
red pillar-nativists to 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,
to what had been hitherto been
a drooping mob’s rosette
balaclavas florid screed,
blotched heroics #WeWillNotBeReplaced ,
Quisling pigs scarlet
& horse wig 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 singing out
mullah British mullah
& O woe my heated bareness,
awhile none else might meet
low near merry england
to cheer at your feet.