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.