Bear Skin and scrambled eggs now stripped away, Dress uniforms mothballed, medals in drawers, HRH no longer formal today. Like a whipped corgi, cowered on all fours, Now banished to the proletariat, Haunted as he drives to secret retreat, Actions will come out, bet your house on that, Behind scenes there will always be more meat To flesh out dusty scandal skeletons, Whilst we watch as we ride our Pelatons. Dark cupboards, sticky cobweb filled corners, Crammed with depraved rumours and back stairs tales. Such decadence, ascribed to those former Firm favourites, into open does sail. Beyond The Pale sordid meeja dams burst, Petty editors scrap to get in first.
Harry Rogers In The Yellow Room, 14th January, 2022.
There’s a bag man in number eleven, Whose whole raison d’étre is to bring home Bacon for all his City cronies and fellow MPs who are in on this techie scam. Back home all hell breaks loose over booze-ups, Haystacks Johnson, not so giant these days, Appears on the ropes in false flag scandal. Opposition leader, Starmer, performs Like a third rate student union hack, Choosing to ignore monstrous corruption, Instead carries on mining yesterday’s Farcical partygate misdemeanours, Whilst our personal NHS records Are asset stripped under his very nose.
Harry Rogers, In The Yellow Room 13th January 2022.
Wait a minute, wait a minute You ain’t heard nothing yet Wait a minute, I tell you You ain’t heard nothing You wanna hear Toot Toot tootsie? All right, hold on, hold on Lou, listen, play Toot Toot Tootsie Three choruses you understand, and the third chorus I whistle Now give it to ’em hard an’ heavy, go right ahead Toot Toot Tootsie goodbye Toot Toot Tootsie, don’t cry That little choo-choo train That takes me Away from you, no words can tell how sad it makes me Kiss me Tootsie and then Oh baby, do it over again Watch for the mail I’ll never fail And if you don’t get a letter then you’ll know I’m in jail Don’t cry Tootsie, don’t cry Toot Toot Tootsie, goodbye Goodbye Tootsie goodbye Goodbye Tootsie, don’t cry That little train That takes me Away from you, no words can tell how sad it makes me Kiss me Tootsie and then Hey hey, do it over again Watch for the mail I’ll never fail And if you don’t get a letter then you’ll know I’m in jail Don’t cry Tootsie, don’t cry Goodbye Tootsie, goodbye
I took a charabanc to the country On the road outside Croydon Aerodrome. Walked through stands of acorn laden oak trees, To cafeteria with a juke box. Slurp up a strawberry ice cream milk shake As Buddy sings about his Peggy Sue. Beatnik with a sketchbook in the corner, Sketches apocalyptic post nuke scenes, After Hiroshima what does life mean? Evermore paranoid until we die, Sixty five years on it is all still there, Buried in deep recesses of our minds, Once seen annihilation images Are hard to erase no matter how much Bubblegum our culture sticks us up with. Tell me again, why do we need Trident?
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom, 11th January 2022.
Dance into limelight with racquet in hand, Believe other poeple don’t understand Why borders and rules no longer apply To gladiators who fly through the sky. This self serving delusional rebel Cloaks himself in Spartacus’s armour, But he is no new people’s champion. Tainted with individualism, Courts down under will not call his balls in, This is one tie breaker he cannot win, Secluded now in self isolation, His plane fueled up in anticipation, Which ever way his case will twist, or turn, Next time he plays true fans will make him learn.
Test negative for permission To leave behind television, Drink with your mates inside the pub, Twerk all night in favourite club We all just love to celebrate Each holiday we stay up late. Take risks after work, why worry? We’ll be sorted in a hurry. MPs appointed a banker, Bean counting pedal and cranker, Without any knowledge of health, Another guardian of wealth, As NHS England Chairman, Just one more trip on the stair plan. Be merry, go out, eat and drink, It is much later than we think. Shake it up baby, twist and shout, Get together, work it on out, Exactly what’s safe in their hands? Clocks tick whilst we don’t understand.
Harry Rogers, In The Red Bedroom, 5th January 2022