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Tads in Hot Weather
Opulent snakes and ladders
on which bullion with ice
pillow gets kippered
on merit gutless peeling in virtue,
a bouquet of life the lawn
decibel noise reduction panels &
the doors are closed,
squinting gables through premium
petrol curls up a secluded Ponte Giardino
and down with our enemies rest on
cash in chub stained dawn ruses
you can't chasten a flower-filled consort
of fair ideals the subordinates keep
keening on some cordoned fence
crusted in doubloons and trackie bums
poor bleeders piss off and die
like a rat in the rubbish,
gilts fléches in Teutoburg Forest
as Autumn of Euro-Ketchup
nothingness & never today
Giddy Carousel
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
I call it 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
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
a scrying 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 it to music &
the language of groupthink, put it to music
culled from the Third Way handbook
put it to music
are you proud & not dead?
see the Migs in name but
instead Yaxleys silhouettes
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
#WeWillNotBeReplaced ,
& horsehair 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 my heated toes,
awhile none else might meet
low near merry Englands woes
to go & cheer once more at my feet.
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I want to see them starving
the so-called working class,
Their wages weekly halved
Their women stewing grass
When I drive out each morning
In one of my new suits
I want to see them fawning
to clean my car and boots
Phillip Larkin
For Ray Hill
I love unbroken people
the kind who have no problems
the kind who are self-contained
Table Talks the air gets rarified again
authoritarian personalities,,
The Island State of Mind
palingenetically you hear yourself
negatively decline in the
Expansion of the Visitor Economy,
hearts that died for
for what we said
a Flag in the sand?
quad rolling in corners ; no
& there will be no Paradise,
no 72 virgins & you cannot burn
Men-in Gear to rename everything again
Diseased Community Centres
Councillors leaking in a swell of trails
what remains a beating heart
a single name
a transient song,,
to sing on some blighted crop
pale white crosses lay in my hand
for children for the rest of you,
which leaks & your buttocks quivering,
the most beautiful sound
is Cliff Richard’s correct speech
enter the pantheon of folk music
enter at the end of sleep.
I do not apologise for having a problem with an alien ideology,
an alien way of living and thinking that is being given a free reign
to infect the country of mine and my children’s.
No one consulted me on it.
Did they consult you?
They certainly didn’t ask our children.
Hows that? British standards.
their so-called rights above
those of young men who
risked & sacrificed.
So kill your own,
in your walls are names
who recorded the sentence of death
this is my flood of choices
this is enhanced serenity
of a drone pilot
& forced to wiping off
at the diadems floodlights
like criminals of everyday life,
screaming but it drops off
the front page to watch at home
sans reveries & stars are imminent
& dream covered nothing
the marching procession
of all clusters gleaming impunity
splits into reappearances
as this circulation repatriates
in two immaculate halves;
& place, a free man
hanging from a namestand
a doxed crepuscular crusade light
under millennial woes
pictures of little children soldiers
for you to lay under
“Christian Patrols” Miss Britannia,
Indigenous People’s Day
a banner drop on the A49
a storm cloud above
the vastness of this night
where nothing can hurt
digilantism Wolfpack Hunters
& The Guardians of the North ,
local residents safe & sound,
in the Sanctuary by the wellhead
the ewe does not bite it buries
& my companion Boatswain
holds the ladder to lump hammer
the lintel & PROPAGANDA
salvaged by Spidermans
purpled flour bombs in the sky
for BBC PAEDOS
I watch on BigChut & Gab
Braveheart Fight Club
don’t belong to the realm of fantasy
time to go, noose all
Peado’s arrangements
glaring backside the FLA in the morning,
under clamps of heat
its common boiling
virid pilule dream
seedbeds coming over the hills,,
fence collapsing blond soldiers,
coming over the hills,,
forehead glowering 4k Epic Reds
coming over the hills,,
& I was wearing a CP Company coat,
which was hooded with goggles—
I looked like a frog.
And I was joking, saying ‘ribbit, ribbit’.
A load of beer & a shit joke.
