Relaunch Sir Keir again Hungry for power Driving Labour Forward The culmination Of Keirs conference speech Going back in time Launch into the future Keir has a message A message for the left All party members Your votes now count for nowt His gang’s decided Democracy is dead Now is the right time To pull your whole house down Those he ain’t chucked out He’ll run them out of town Keir’s on a mission He has had a vision He’s snooker loopy He loves to pot the reds Forget the Tories The enemy’s within Claw one more defeat Let Johnson off the hook All on UN day To support Palestine Cynical or what?
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 30th November, 2021
Prickly Patel is unwelcome, No seat at the table for her, Her boss is un-amicable, No diplomatic dignity, Disdain for neighbours in Europe, A Twitter fest from Peppas pal, Devour her spare ribs down the Mall, Open fakery bakery, Where donuts bake new omnicons, And journos can’t tell rights from wrongs, Let the vultures manage culture, Blast made up news to empty pews, Rerun old backwards videos, Let’s bask in former afterglows, Enlist editors over lunch, Whilst dead bodies float dans La Manche. Bring back those thoughts of trace, and test, This Christmas HAS to be THE BEST!
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 28th November, 2021.
Coercion, Consent, Ideology All clash as chaos rules modernity. A drunken catfish in rolled up shirt sleeves, Unmasked in public again and again. Now, as fog clears, reality revealed, Behind his tomfoolery and bluster We see our future cunningly concealed, Every Brexiteer has been sold a pup, So too believers in levelling up, Catfish say one thing then do another, Adopt new personas willy nilly, Smile cavernously then swallow us whole. We see you Catfish, we’ve sussed out your goal. Oi, Grandad, fetch me your old fishing pole.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 25th November 2021.
Your shoes are wearing out Your pavements are cracked up Your wages are too low Your police are corrupt Your TV is banal Your life is paranoid Your health is very poor
Your services don’t work
Your murder rate sky high Your shock jocks plumb the depths Your donuts are obscene Your children are obese Your buses are not clean Your malls are out of date Your cheese just is not cheese Your country’s on it’s knees
Your politics are shit Your bandwidth is too slow Your adverts are not fun Your arrogance is huge Your empire has collapsed Your mayors still cancel votes You’re at each others throats Your eyes are full of fear Your proud boys can still buy Fresh ammo for their guns You’re fucked Amerika
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom 21st November 2021.
Somehow freedom got confused with Crowley, Acquitting Rittenhouse unleashed a wave Of belief that people have the right to say “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.” Responsibility thrown to the wind, Liberty besmirched, fires of hatred stoked, Vigilantes given total carte blanche. Chaos ramped beyond civic control, A mistake that hindsight paints horrific. Only when we learned to control ourselves Did we become able to enjoy freedom, And stem the pointless loss of human life.
Harry Rogers, in the yellow room 19th November 2021
Sidewinders slide under warm desert sun, Where rubies shine before searing’s begun, On high talks open to control methane, Meanwhile leaders still use private planes. As unfrozen Siberian tundra Belches trapped gases into the sky, Permafrost disappears whilst refugees Burn down forests beside Polish borders. Blah blah merchants congratulate themselves On producing one more glossy report To gather dust in endless bottom drawers, Militarists fantasise future wars, Media moguls blow each tiny mind From their own corner of the metaverse. Bulbs are soaked ready for implantation In front of trellis where deck used to be. Here we live outside of the virtual, Away from the misrepresentation, Sheer artificial bloody fakery, Cooked in Zuckerbergs techno bakery, Awaiting Spring to birth reality.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 17th November, 2021
Leonard showed us all some puppets, Bruisers smashed in their canvas rings, Old men knowing too many things, Except, of course, who pulled the strings, Brassicas were not dug by kings, Nor their queens by the look of things. And yet their farts the same did stink As those that have no time to think, Whose years are spent on what they do Ensuring pleasure all for you. We rage about equalities, Yet still consume vast quantities, But round the corner change does lie, Soon there will be no fruit to buy, The cost of energy sky high, Fred Hirsch, it seems, had got it right. Puppeteers string up their new shows, Bandwagons roll around the globe, All done in the pursuit of growth. Limits and social? Forgot both. Draft another batch of plans, Pitch faux electric caravans, Survival blueprints faded now, We’ll have to slaughter sacred cow. More puppets carved than Leonard knew, Yet still we don’t know what to do. If we did we would soon upend Pinnochio from number ten.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 12th November 2021.
Goldilocks returns home from lone sojourn To photo opportunity up north, Bounds into chamber, folders under arm, Ready for the fray as any other day. As if nothing has changed in any way. Regular sycophants hoot as ever, But there is a sullen pool behind him, Who no longer hang on jolly, bluster Fueled, words, often spontaneously spoke. His jokey aphorisms work no more. Triangulators plot to bring him down. Goldilocks still believes his depraved charm Will carry him on, never be betrayed, Subtly, knives, slowly plunged, fill his back.
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom, 12th November 2021.
See the briar creeping around the field, It might prick you and it might make you bleed, But if you wait, let it grow tall and strong, Then it will please you, fill another need, Help it grow right up the side of your house, Tangle through branches of your old beech hedge Let it wander where it’s wild way will go, You’re gonna love it when it makes it’s show.
When the roses bloom When the roses bloom That’s when I’m happy When the roses bloom
I watch honey bees flying to and fro Picking up pollen, always on the go One time one might sting you, might cause you pain, But they’ll ignore you, keep out of their way, With any luck they’ll come to your roses, Somehow these mighty workers know the score, For month after month follow their noses, They make royal jelly using natures law.
When the honey comes When the honey comes That’s when I’m happy When the honey comes
Outside is gloomy, skies are icy grey Winter days are so cold, the grass sodden, Gales do blow, trees shed their leaves, branches creak, Daylight fades early, only robins cheep, The cold winds stop blowing across the hills Winter rains fall no more, leaves are on the trees, Sunshine beats down, oh how the grass does grow, But how the smell of mowing cheers me so.
When the summer comes When the summer comes That’s when I’m happy When the summer comes.
Harry Rogers, In the Yellow Room, 10th November 2021
Wild swimming in stormy weather, In runoff filled tributary, Across sewage strewn flood plain, Westminster wet suit wearers wail, Whilst anti bacterial soup Spills out mouth of estuary Into warm plastic filled ocean. Tory wibbly wobbly surfers Wiped out up shit creek, paddleless, Out of sex wax, their points broken, Now washed up along Brextit beach, Unrescued by private life guards, Drowned by their own corrupt bow wave, Another day in Johnson’s cove.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 6th November 2021.
This tousled blonde ersatz aristocrat, Who practices depraved indifference, Against our own elder generations, In teeth of struggle against pandemic, Revealed as faux Charlemagne déshabillé, Perceives himself to be an emperor Bestride global stage, jetting privately Twixt conference and fancy restaurant, To plot and scheme with press idolator, Recognised as buffoon by leader peers, Rants of fairness and natural justice To protect crooked coconspirator Caught with fingers jammed in lobbying till, Destroys last pretence of democracy.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 4th November 2021.
Call out all the VIP contractors Those sharks that even now, at this late hour, Rip the last dregs out of public service. More vicious than a clan of hyenas, They cackle as they strip flesh from the bones Of New Labour’s hard working families. Socially responsible zeitgeist pies Pulverised by desert winds and Randians Who care for nothing but their nihilist lives. Circus activists gather in Glasgow, Tory advisors peddle alibis, Africans suffer from more Covid lies. Only on the streets might a truth be found, Everyone and their dog hears trumpet sounds, Old Bill stand ready to smash underground, Use new statutes from their merry go round. Somewhere across some other side of town New chimneys go up as old ones fall down, The Queen takes a break from wearing her crown And sharing the stage with BoJo the clown. Next week the news will be wrapped round our chips, Our fish protected by British gun ships. Joe Biden signs new arms deals with Turkey, Behind scenes meta verses grow murky, Stirred by digital aristocracy, Wonder at our Modern Democracy.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 1st November 2021.