There’s no glory, morning or otherwise,
Only Tories spinning out alibis.
On local news Liz digs her hole deeply,
Costs heading north rise ever more steeply.
Language bamboozles uninitiates,
In truth a monster has vaulted their gates.
In courtyard below chickens run headless,
Attack dogs released, shoot from lips wreckless,
Chancellor’s trousers ripped out and threadless,
Number ten strangled by Thatcher’s necklace.
Property owning democracy fails,
House prices crash as young mortgagees wail.
In City shorters spur on recession,
Monster scales tower, deepens depression.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 29th September 2022



When state roundabouts fall out of kilter,
Mayhem is distributed far and wide.
Centrifugal normality becomes
Chaotic. Everything goes haywire.
This mad, economic, merry-go-round
Spins perfectly whilst you grease the spindle,
Do this and the ride is smooth every time.
Ignore the proletarian column
Central to community carousel
Through austerity, and then feed the rich,
Will bring about fairground catastrophe,
Unparalleled in modern history.
All those bobbing riders have been bucked off,
Now they think it is time Lizzie fucked off.

Harry Rogers in the Yellow Room 27th September 2022


Top paddock Labour sheep await Leader
To dip them all in centrist rhetoric.
Lights dim, giant union jack filled screen
Covers wall behind serried platform hacks,
Whilst flock baaas its way through god save the king.
Party line parroted off pat by all,
Tell everyone we believe in power
Because now we’re ready for government.
It’s as if there is no-one to tell them
The game is up, we all know what they are,
The internet teems with truth to power.
Each time Sir Keir appears he looks haunted.
Why wouldn’t he? He’s been royally caught out.
We know exactly what a shit he is.

Harri Rogers, in the Red Bedroom, 26th September 2022


Welcome to the group.
Thanks, good to be here.
What can I tell you?
Where are we going?
That’s a good question.
Who’s our enemy?
You are right to ask.
Are we all comrades?
Are toys still in pram?
What is unity?
It’s the holy grail.
What’s the correct line?
We’re working on it.
Are we nearly there?
It’s a long old road.
Does anyone care?
We will soon find out.
What shall we do next?
Let’s set up a march.
Will anyone come?
They have done before.
Did people listen?
We don’t bloody know.
What’s our solution?
Stop asking questions.
But I need to know.
Oh you do, do you?
It would be helpful.
Are you C.I.A.?
I’ll get my coat now.
That’s a good idea.
When’s the next meeting?
We’ll let you know, bye.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 16th September 2022


Camp out on pavements, these hip hip hurrahs,
Marmalade sarnies, Duchy biscuit jars,
Union Jack jackets, black hats and black ties,
Mourners wake each morning, tears in their eyes,
Meanwhile a pen breaks, hand covered in ink,
He hates it, hates it, thinks that it all stinks.
Out on London streets queues stretch five miles long,
On Radio Four they sing same old song,
Corgis, Britannia, her husband, her kids,
Meanwhile the country has gone on the skids.
Beethoven’s death march, over and over,
Uppity horses dreaming of clover,
At least she’s at peace, inside her oak box.
Me? I still think it’s a load of bollocks.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 15th September 2022


LOTO, on bended knee, tugs lacquered forelock,
Prohibits PLP from utterance
Of any words about any subject
Other than in deference to dead queen.
Anti monarchism completely banned .
No calls for a socialist republic,
Only fawning lost era platitudes.
Never mind respect for arcane system
That exists because of historic theft,
Plunder,and murder, instilled by state fear.
What about respect for public servants,
Who need immediate support and help?
Six billion pounds for a funeral?
Six billion more for coronation?
Labour grovel to divine right of king,
Pander to ancient aristocracy
Whilst we struggle as health service breaks down,
And media give platform to bent clowns.
I won’t take flowers to St James’s Park,
Nor vote for liars who hide in the dark.
So let’s repeal all land enclosure Acts,
Sell off all royal trains and boats and planes,
Sack fake journalists from our BBC,
Bring on an end to their sycophancy.
Let’s start to debate new democracy.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 14th September 2022


A BBC announcer quotes
From his Mail On Sunday,
From HIS Mail On Sunday,
Not THE Mail On Sunday.
No more hidden in plain view,
Emboldened now they reveal
True colours as they bask in
Crass funereal half-light.
No more objective pretence,
Nor both sides of the argument,
Nor repressive tolerance,
Just naked propaganda.
Young children pile flowers high
Outside royal palaces,
Mass indoctrination stunts,
Wrapped up in fake pageantry.
Feathers, tabards, gartered tights,
Uniforms, lanyards, medals,
Meticulously gilded,
Horse drawn carriages rolled out,
Multiple gun salutes boom,
Ridiculously fielded.
All football matches cancelled,
Yet the Test Match carries on,
Enough Is Enough sidelined,
Labour sings the same old song,
Unions recall pickets,
Workers left in lurch again.
Myrie says cost of living,
Not important anymore,
Elizabeth’s death far more
Significant for us all.
It’s truly cataclysmic,
All this enforced mournful pain,
To all intent and purpose
Media has gone insane.
Cort├Ęge moves to Hollyrood,
Watch brothers reunited,
Charles speaks soft of his mama,
Creates brand new Prince of Wales.
I will say one thing, despite
Yet more flashing in the pan,
I’ll not sing God Save The King,
For I’m still republican.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 11th September 2022.



A refugee from planet Earth
Came by my house today
He asked me if I had some work,
A place where he could stay.

I took him in, I gave him tea,
I made him up a bed.
I bandaged up his broken knee.
I washed his bloody head.

Set him onto mowing my lawn
Trimming my hedge, digging my veg.

I wash all the blood,
He cuts the roses.
My near neighbourhood
Look down their noses.

We are happy here,
With blood and roses,
The blood and roses,
Those blood red roses,

Harry Rogers, Harriboy’s Hut, 30th October, 2016.


For many people life after twelve years of Tory austerity is beyond desperate. This poem is a bleak reminder of the effect poverty has on society.

Early, in the dimness of the morning,
He goes to the window.
He opens the curtain wide.
He takes a little look outside.
He sees something, something,
He sees something in the trees.
Something, hanging, in the trees,
Where the children play.

He looks, closer,
Doesn’t know what it is,
Hanging, in the trees,
Where the children play

The sun rises over the flats,
Shafts of light bounce between
The branches and the leaves.
Another Eltham day is dawning,
Next door’s cat mewls at the door,
The street is slowly awakening.

He looks again to the shape,
The something, hanging in the trees,
Where the children play.
He sees his next door neighbour,
Hanging, in the trees,
Where the children play.
Hanging in the trees,
Where the children play

In the early Eltham sunlight,
Where the children play.
Another warm autumn sunrise,
Where the children play.
Police car parks, beneath the trees,
Where the children play.
Why did he have to do it there?
I hear the small crowd say
Why couldn’t he find somewhere else?
He did it
Where the children play

Harry Rogers, in the old study, Aberbanc, 2013


Tomorrow is already yesterday.
We know exactly what P.M. will say.
All been said before, again and again,
Compare and contrast hats, bows, handbags, pain,
Journos across platforms raid history,
Archives, videos, ancient mystery,
Proof manufactured to help build new clone,
To scramble our brains and fill up our phones.
Exhausted, jaded, people now cower,
Comparisons painted hour by hour,
How will she handle levers of power
Inside ultimate ivory tower?
On streets comrades gather, as times get tough,
When October dawns enough is enough.

Harry Rogers, in the Red Bedroom 7th September 2022.


Black and white sunshine beams forevermore
From those photos stashed away in boxes.
Hugs and smiles, suspended permanently.
Immutable halides show unknown ghosts
Recognised by fewer as the days fly.
Albums passed down show family strangers,
Wreathed in real sepia and blue black tones,
Dressed in their finery, or uniforms,
All long dead but living silently here.
Bandmasters, tourists, dinners and dances,
Beaches, camels, holiday romances,
Pets, cars and houses, men who took chances,
Somehow different from modern selfies,
Old photograph stories wait to be told.
Who will be haunted enough by the old?
How fleeting imagery leaves us behind,
Times forgotten patiently hid, waiting
For discovery by storytellers,
Driven onward through curiosity
To reincarnate identities new.
Forever shining whilst paper survives,
Write new found memories of long lost lives.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 5th September 2022.


At last, removal vans driven away
From soiled nest. Chalices, brimmed with poison,
Await new occupant on mantle piece.
And yet, are we sure nightmare is ended?
How broken is that Bo-Jo yo-yo string?
Will he come back to walk his dog again?
New media rumours of coups persist,
Boys Own comic hero fuels dead embers,
With his multi ifs and buts and maybes,
Desperate Hasta la vista, baby.
Twists and turns, as an eel on a barbed hook,
Mired in slime, coiled tight around fishing line,
But soon floodgates burst due to pent up truth.
Inexact terms swept away as blue boy
Revealed as the sociopath he is.
His false dawn broken now Brexit is done,
Clear cerulean sky permanently
Obscured by darkest clouds of depression,
Final TV speech reveals his mettle,
All he offers us? A fucking kettle.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 4th September 2022


On the fate of Boris Johnson,
Now that he has reached a swan song.
What ever will become of him?
Will he keep going to the gym?
Populists so feel the need
To suck up praise, to supercede
Each action on our media
Expand on Wikipedia.
He’ll hang glide into LBC,
Tippy Toe Tango on Strictly,
Slip us all a Bake Off cake,
Step onto Gardener’s World rake.
Become an even bigger luvvie,
Segue back to being scruffy.
Oh how we’ll laugh at his antics,
Cockups, guffaws, speeches frantic,
God help us he won’t go away,
On our screens ever and a day.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 2nd September 2022.


There is no point going mimsy
Bigger is better by far.
Giant Nuclear power
Plants make absolute green sense.
Go large.
No point telling little lies,
When telling any pork pies
Best make sure it’s a whopper,
And then keep on telling it.
Go large.
If you’re gonna stab colleagues
In their backs use giant knives
Buried deep and ultra quick,
Act fast, don’t prevaricate.
Go large.
If you’re going to bribe pals
Stuff envelopes royally,
With high denomination
Banknotes, small ones ain’t so good.
Go large.
When you crash and burn just smile,
Laugh off all criticism,
Totally ignore failure,
Ramp up your propaganda,
Go large.
Whilst plotting your next comeback
Raise your media profile,
Keep taking photos of stunts
Stay huge in the public’s eye.
Go large.
Or disappear.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 2nd. September 2022.


Soon we’ll all be riding in AI cars
Watching our TV on the motorway
Or maybe looking up at the stars.
Next thing we’ll be playing AI guitars

A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
Riding riding A.I. Cars

You can read a book on that old M1
Do pencil drawings as you. go along
Write poems and letters to anyone,
If you want you can write a brand new song

In your
A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
Riding riding A I. cars

Make a lino cut, knit jumpers and socks,
Hold business meetings zooming face to face,
Play your loud guitar with a band that rocks,
Anything you want as you ride place to place

A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
A.I. A.I. A.I. cars
Riding riding A.I. Cars

Harry Rogers in Yr Cwtch, Newcastle Emlyn. 1st September 2022.