HUNGRY FOR POWER

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

GREAT BRITISH FAKEOFF

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.

CATFISHING BLUES

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.

BOOGALOO RODEO

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Your malls are out of date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.

MEMO FROM FUTURE HISTORY

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

ANTICIPATING SPRING

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

PUPPETRY IN MOTION

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 DEPRAVED

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.

WHEN THE SUMMER COMES

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

TSUNAMI IN A BENT TEA CUP

Wot? No Mask?
Just a late night demo.

The art of puppetry revealed
As I walked slow across the field
Inside my mind the clouds didst clear
The truth will always conquer fear.

Tsunami roars from bent tea cup.
The coward with his sleeves rolled up,
A trick he learned from Tony Blair,
Walking the ward, flicks back his hair,

He spaffs some guff on booster jab
A sad, pathetic, Tory scab,
Three hundred miles from Downing Street,
Yet still he does not smell defeat.

This Eton boy won’t say sorry,
Time to hire removal lorry.

Harry Rogers in the Yellow Room, 8th November 2021

WILD SWIMMING

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.

FAUX CHARLEMAGNE DÉSHABILLÉ

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.

MODERN DEMOCRACY

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.