GLUG!
A poem By Ross Lombardi
GLUG!
By Ross Lombardi
.
May I present the Gammon
This bigot clings to his frightened father's beliefs
Fake knowledge of politics, flags and jingoism has he.
.
From the stink of this once called the green and pleasant land
Wanting to survive has become a crime
.
Become at one with the social media digital sea
At these poisonous fools’ conspiracy slanting’s
Look at these tinpot foaming delusional bullying rantings
.
The furious face guzzles another beer can
Slapping down another hate-filled line.
.
Glug! Glug!
.
.
May I present the Sad SJW
This snowflake clings to his frightened grandfather's fears
Memories of historic politics, flags and atrocities in their name have he.
.
From the stank of this once calm and stable soul
Longing for empathy and justice has become a crime
.
As innocent lives worth more than his own
Become our countries sacrifice to the northern coastal sea
Lives that are worth far more, than his can ever be.
.
The shattered losers face knows that justice is running out of time
He grabs a guzzle of more, now warm, white wine.
.
Glug! Glug!
.
.
May I present the wannabe politician
Cry Havok for England and Saint George Smugly smiles the media posh whore
Spouting rubbish hate, flags and jingoism will he.
.
From the waft of a Nazis arse, this Nigel Fratage rubs the racist wishing lamp on his cock
Holding his “I am one of the lads” pints on news prime time
.
Become at one with the fascist held nationalist voice
As this hell bites salty words hail a fame spree
Behold his Nazi-style words, newly packaged legacy
.
This infernally slappable face
Shoves down our throats, warped versions, of the swallowed patriotic line
.
Glug! Glug!
.
.
May I present the News Outlet
This cried out news, “Read All About it”
No care of truth, knowledge or honour have they
.
From the heritage of the finest investigative journalist institutions,
Wanting to have integrity now, today has become both a professional and unforgivable crime
.
As this future fish and chip wrapping
Now telling lies and selling derisive hate to you and me
Become at one, all at once, with trite pseudo-liberal hypocrisy.
.
The last parts of our democracy go under,
For the third and final time.
.
Glug! Glug!
.
.
May I present the Cabinet Ministeress
.
Cry Votes for The Party and Saint George Smugly smiles the figurative media whore
Spouting rubbish hate, flags and jingoism will she.
.
The new off the shelf, Pretty fascist barbarous fashion doll
The brand New plastic toy called “Patel”
.
Echoes for cheap votes nationalist voice
This she demon’s salty words sweetly talk down her nose to silly plebs like me
Behold her bigoted and smelling of bad fish, rancid legacy
.
This make-up acceptable made face of the darkest agenda
Shoves down our gullets, slick versions, of the swallowed party line
.
Glug! Glug!
.
.
May I present the Fisherman
.
The Sea Captain watches a crying child cling to his drowning father
Full knowledge of politics, flags and fishing quotes has he.
.
From the smell of raw catch in his cargo hold
Wanting to save refugees has become a serious crime
.
As this crab faced man's grim countenance watches on
Knowing how would feel, if that child was his, from off his own paternal knee.
But too scared of losing all he has, he must live forever now with this sick cowardicey
.
Two panicked pairs of hands, off driftwood, go under
For the third and final time.
.
Glug! Glug!
.
.
I present the father
.
This Father clings to his dying frightened son
Real knowledge of politics, flags and jingoism has he.
.
From the stench of death and horror of his own, homeland
Wanting freedom from that terror has, somehow, become a moral crime
.
As this future fish food’s see’s brief hope
In the eyes of a captain on his ship in the northern coastal sea
His fading mind screams to itself, “Why are they not helping me?”
.
This father's panicked face goes under
For the third and final time.
.
Glug! Glug!
Glug! Glug! Glug!
.
.
LOOK!
Keep Looking at THIS child!
This crying child clings to his dying frightened father
No knowledge of politics, flags or jingoism has he.
.
From the stink of this once called the green and pleasant land
Wanting to survive has become a crime
.
As this future crab foods salty tears
Become at one with the northern coastal sea
Behold our once proud England’s, now shameful new legacy
.
The panicked eyes of this child go under
For the third and final time.
.
Glug! Glug! Glug!
Glug! Glug!
Glug!
.
.
We ALL allowed his murder to happen!
.
.
.
Yes,
We both DID!
.
.
About the Creator
Ross E Fortune Lombardi
Writer. Gamer, Goth
A (Constantly Failing To Be Funny) satirist!
Mutare non est meum
Cantus moriar
BLOG:
http://lombot.co.uk
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.