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.
