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GLUG!

A poem By Ross Lombardi

By Ross E Fortune LombardiPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 4 min read
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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!

.

.

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About the Creator

Ross E Fortune Lombardi

Writer. Gamer, Goth

A (Constantly Failing To Be Funny) satirist!

[email protected]

Mutare non est meum

Cantus moriar

BLOG:

http://lombot.co.uk

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