Follow the Covid Money trail, This government beyond the pale. Stinking dead cats lie all over Ludicrous media cover. Shifty change from democracy Into state of kleptocracy Took place with little or no fuss. Press barons hid it all from us. Whistle blowers soon were forgot, Pandemic blew cold hot cold hot. We found new terms were placed on top, New rules each day, they never stopped. For two years learning curve so steep, At night it grew too hard to sleep. Critical skills lost along way, Confusion made truth hard to say. We came too late to partygate, Drew curtains on the track and trace, Health ministerial snog fest, Oh how they showed us they know best. To be honest we’re not impressed, Not in the North, the East, the West, Even the South has now turned sour, Clamour for change grows hour by hour. We must remember, through it all, To keep our eyes upon the ball, We’ve all been robbed in broad daylight, In open view, without a fight, Massive contracts were handed out, Opposition declined to shout, Billions trousered by their friends, No questions asked of means or ends. We watched breifings upon TV, Fears exploited across country. Yet all the while our human rights, Whittled away, silent news nights, Soon it will be impossible To call them out, nor do fuck all, To stop the march of fascism. Public trust? Anachronism. To some this all sounds rather rude, The truth is we have all been screwed.
Harry Rogers, in the Red Bedroom, 30th December 2021.
There is a great diversion between fact, And optimism built on power needs . Jubilation in hospitality, Hospitals question their mortality. Restauranteurs, publicans, jump for joy, As government adopts wait and see ploy. Many urged to party till end of time, Prevarication truly modern crime. Pale riders stalk dancefloors in London town, The unvaccinated getting struck down, Yogic fliers fill up I C U beds, Political spads smashed out of their heads, Scientists get thrown beneath Tory bus, Protect and survive is now up to us.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 28th December 2021
Confusion rules, we move into Christmas, Ghost story before bed on big day eve Not a patch on reality horror Of year gone before, truly a nightmare. Most of us speak up for democracy, Accept, sometimes grudgingly, power wrought By “winners” of elections in our name. Majority rule accepted in our interest, But sometimes, it’s clear, people make mistakes. Pups sold as pedigree turn out to be Vicious mongrels disguised as labradors Who care not for those that feed them daily. After Boxing Day watch as flags fly high, Laws will change, too late for to work out why.
Harry Rogers in the Yellow Room, Christmas Eve, 2021.
In back garden where red leaved acers grow Foxes meander, hunting before snow. We’ve spent all year on Covid climbing wall, Paranoid about whether we will fall, From what height might we crash to the floor? How far are we from pandemic death door? Media revels in government stats, Mental health fails, even aristocrats Are disturbed by Panglossian failures, Equally appalled by misbehaviour Of public school oiks flying high on coke, Who think government is naught but a joke. A hoarde of starlings, out in my garden, Plunders our birdnuts. Winter does harden.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 24th December 2021
All my friends in Georgia got the Rona Loadsa my pals in London got it too, Still we wait to analyse the data, Whilst everyone knows it’s running riot. Still freedom mongers argue let it run, We all have to have Merry Christmas fun. Palaces for pleasure will stay open Until Boxing Day shutdown takes a hold. Christmas parties must all go with a bang, Delta and Omicron can both go hang, Let’s all do the conga up Downing Street, Masks off, they wallow, heading for defeat, Everyone’s got Rona, some ‘ave ‘ad it twice, Some ain’t coming back, Rona isn’t nice.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 22nd December 2021.
Trouble is when a “leader” knows where the amount of bodies are buried as he does it’s awful difficult to winkle such a whelk out of his shell. Know what I mean? After all he is a former journalist, nay editor no less, and journos know more than most about the importance of information. So whilst it may be true that many colleagues and advisors might have knowledge of yet more damning evidence against him, it is equally possible that he has a fat dossier on almost every one of them. This then is a possible reason for the shilly-shallying about in terms of depositing him on top of the nearest scrap heap where he so obviously belongs. He, of course, can’t help being a pathological liar, he always has been, is now, and ever will be. Also he can never accept responsibility for his own actions, when things go wrong someone else always shoulders the blame. There is, however, always a tipping point, that moment when the public pay enough attention to realise that the Emporers new clothes don’t exist and that he is actually caught naked in the headlights of his own car crash. We are almost at that moment I believe because in my view he has made a strategic blunder. Putting the head of his chief Spad on the chopping block in a humiliating resignation ritual was not the action of a wise man. Doing so has alienated a number of senior politicians and Tory grandees, including the Chancellor. The question I would like answered is who exactly leaked the footage of the practice press conference to the Mirror? What other such baubles might come into the public domain twixt now and New Year? One thing’s for certain, if things don’t change they’ll stay the same, and that ain’t gonna happen.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all, stay safe. Harry Rogers, in The Yellow Room, 18th December, 2021
It looks like a bye bye by-election Where Boris Johnson cooked his golden goose, Now he has to learn to feel rejection, It’s what you get when you play fast and loose. A pizza, some coke, wine laced up with rum, Folks hate “do what I say, not what I do” One can’t break your own rules, run wild, have fun, North Shropshire has spoke, it’s Boris, fuck you. He was their hero, he got Brexit done, But that’s not enough to stay number one, Owen Patterson besmirched the true blue, As leader spaffed on, knew not what to do. How long will he stay? We all wait to see, As soon as he’s gone the drinks are on me!
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom, 17th December 2021.
BJ’s whippet enters the final bend Well in the lead with his backers cheering, At this point dead cat was thrown onto track, Race descended into farce and every one lost. Partygate sprinted straight past Brexit Boy, Left growling as he gnawed on moggy’s corpse, Unhappy punters call for a rerun, Brexit Boy’s last race is done, he is crocked, Cat laced with concentrated Omicron Is the nemesis that leaves him undone, Dreams of endless power leave BJ’s head, Floodlights dim as supporters drift away, What was it that old H G Wells once said? Oh Yeah, “Every dogma has it’s day.”
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom, 15th December 2021.
Spread thickly across slices of burnt toast This over bitter oleaginous Sticky mess now engulfs our whole nation. A recipe written in double meaning Sugared beyond sweetness to be force fed Into expectant Brexiteer gullets. Britain, a giant foie gras factory, Produces paté by the lorry load For overweight ex public school breakfasts. Language, choice tool for engendering fear, Mangled by catastrophic abusage, Turns gibbering fascists into heros And journalism to propaganda. George set his book forty years too early.
Harry Rogers In the Red Bedroom, 14th December 2021
Arrogance always precedes a fall so it seemed possible that change was imminent, but nothing fights harder than a cornered rat. The desparate catastrophising of the pandemic in order to focus people’s attention away from the depraved indifference and endemic corruption that underpins the Orbanisation of British political constitutional life points to a severe attack of paranoia on the part of the Prime Minister and his sychophantic advisors and supporters. However what this clique and their claque fail to recognise is that vast swathes of humanity don’t agree with the Hobbesian belief that when someone falls down the first inclination of the human being is to laugh, rather they are more inclined to agree with Rousseau and go and help them up. So when Stratton and the crack spad squad were caught on video laughing about breaking covid rules whilst others toiled under Draconian regulations, and in some cases died, that was too much for the majority to bear. Whether this proves fatal to the Johnson premiership remains to be seen. No doubt Johnson intends to take paternity leave after Xmas so it will be entertaining if nothing else in the short term to observe how the whole partygate saga pans out with Raab at the helm whilst The Prime Minister attends to parental duties. I suspect there are grey suited rumblings in smoke filled rooms taking place but whether this is more than a diversion away from the rightward march of history is hard to tell. After all, they do need a fall guy to take the blame further down the road, so maybe Johnson clings on for a few more months yet…..
Have we found the single point of failure? Bring on tinsel, stilton, buckets of fizz, Christmas jumpers, walnuts, packets of whiz, Special advisors, old school friends, chiz chiz, Prime Minister hosting annual quiz. Oh what jolly times were had by this crew, Who told the whole country what they should do, Destroyed last Christmas for me and for you, Let’s chuck them out in twenty twenty two, But they won’t go lightly, this bunch of crooks, They’ll keep us hanging on tenterhooks, Media buddies are rewriting books, Downing Street caterers hiring new cooks, Judges are cleaning up their regalia.
Harry Rogers In The Red Bedroom, 13th December 2021.
Wait for eternity and never hear Eloquent argument for speaking truth. Well, not from Labour leadership members, Their abject silence on Assange destroys Common socialist credibility, But then, with so many extreme centrists Complicicit in American war crimes, How can we expect anything better? They will never condemn Blair, Brown or Straw For their murderous criminality. This then explains why they are prepared to Throw Julian under their clapped out bus By adopting a total silence vow On the day British justice soiled it’s pants.
Harry Rogers, In The Yellow Room, 11th December 2021.
An antique, solid silver, mustard spoon Sparkles crystaline in deco splendour, Small, perfectly formed and ergonomic Passes at the parties that never were. Sculpted bowl contains perfect brainshine toot, Correct amount for late chat and frolics Or mid afternoon, pre speech, pick me up. Passed between financiers, libertines, Politicos, Journos, Celebrities, Rock stars,. lawyers, crooks and minor royals. If only this arcane tool of beauty Could voice the conversations it had spawned, How much history, oiled by Charlie, Came into being through scoop filled mind games?
Harry Rogers In The Yellow Room, 9th December 2021.
There’s a pandemonium of parrots Squawking loudly beneath Westminster Bridge, Old Bill found more than a bag of carrots, Stashed in bottom drawer of some MPs fridge. Every single day tear our eyes away, From obscene constitutional warfare, As in some nightmarish Chekhovian play, Where power abuse hides behind false care. Such arrogance flaunted direct to face, Blatantly smirking as honesty dies, Steal popular ideas from any place, There’s no opposition to counter lies. Parrots fly back to each media perch, Truth, peace, and justice are left, in the lurch.
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom, 7th December 2021
Three pronged approach to drugs, Prime Minister impersonates drug squad, Officer on a night raid in Kirkdale, Say large sums will be earmarked for rehab, Avoid joining Met on Westminster raid. Don’t take sniffer dogs into spads offices, Don’t check honourable orifices, Ignore past ten years of service cut backs. This laughable Batmanesque persona, Played out on every daily news channel, Must have been dreamt up by someone on drugs. Move seamlessly twixt tragedy and farce, Back and forth like a giant pendulum, I’d love the chance to kick him up the arse.
Harry Rogers In The Yellow Room, 7th December, 2021.
The Laws, diminished by depravity, Introduced by indifferent MPs, Who care not for elderly sick and poor, Even though they’ll have their photo taken In hospitals, care homes, and hospices As displayed humanity signalling, Are designed to push us ever onwards Down the road to accepting anything. So now people over seventy five Are to be de-prioritised, moved down The list of societal importance Because the NHS is in crisis. This NHS, that we older folk paid National Insurance contributions For decades in the belief that it would At least look after us in our dotage, Is now being slaughtered on the alter Of capitalism. Artificial Smiles at bedsides with shirt sleeves rolled, ties tucked, Badges displayed, comfort me not one jot. Propaganda designed to set youngster Against old, places all blame anywhere Except where it belongs, Parliament. Where lies modern scrutiny in these times?
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom, 6th December 2021.