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Tuesday, 14 January 2025

Giddy Giddy Carousel (Draft)




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 

or the circumference of me a peck, 

or 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 

shiv marches to be kindred 

again this islands country of 

biscuit tins Cherry-Gardens

white posts, Pederasty 

enmities against me 

well-placed bombs 

from evil tears in the Angstzonen 

I am free with a multitude of Lionhearts 

& their lone luminous halos

the parvenus march of black shirts

past to future militias cant 

what doublemeant decayed 

Britannia Unchained & the ridges of 

Rent Ability near Albion Gates 

O pickerings terrible to see Gadarene

a body strung up Pegida drinking tea; 

God saves its Overton window to sinking sil

that poor soldier lain prostrate like anti-Blimps

the closing ranks off this mortised rim 

for you & me, The Royal British Legion 

Poppy Cross Wreath Type D 

& the final fatal tree 

the 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 on Armistice Day 

put to ghastly music 

the love in those 

protestors eyes? 

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 silhouette 

instead here stands the noblest 

commando in the airfield

soliloquies red pillar nativists 

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.