Most right wing politicians, to their shame,
Look around for fresh scapegoats they can blame,
For all of their mistakes they’ll never name,
They treat peoples lives like a silly game.

All their fake promises that never came,
Media headlines that read the bloody same,
No traitor perpetrators in the frame,
Pile on more celebrities with fake fame.

Cowed opposition sounds so very tame,
Agree to make more weapons that will maim.
Use their laws to undermine each new claim,
Their smiles more poisonous than aspartame.

New Labour and Lib Dems both sound so lame,
Ain’t it time to light a different flame?

Harry Rogers, Edwinstowe, 23rd December 2022.

They wrote him out of history,
Threw his life away,
Shat upon his integrity,
Each and every day.

Fake liberals from radio,
TV, Guardian,
Rewrite twenty seventeen hope,
Distort leftwing plans.

Those thousands who packed out large halls
Clearly understand
Conference manifestos fall
Within traitors hands.

Two hundred thousand plus now gone,
Expelled or resigned,
They all sang democracy’s song,
Trashed and lost behind.

Oh “There is no alternative.*
Shouts from Starmer’s ghouls,
Regurgitate cold Blairite shit,
We’re taken for fools.

When next election rolls around
We will not forget,
How quick they tore union flags down,
Why should we forget?

‘Neath wheels of Labour Party bus,
Lie our hopes and dreams,
Watch Kinnock’s sprog as he tells us
Send Army scab teams.

No time to waste we must move on
From traitors that sneer,
No time to listen to fake songs,
Cowards flinch in fear.

Our Red Flag belongs not to them,
Besmirched memories,
Soon with their lies we will condemn,
Workers enemies.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 20th December 2022.

Bangers, jumping jacks, aerial bombshells,
Fire crackers, starbursts, sky rocket maroons.
Most human beings are fascinated
By loud celebratory explosions.

There is no getting past the oohs and ahhs,
Colourful bangs and thunder filled flashes,
We take children to thrill at the crashes,
New Year’s Eve, Bonfire night, party bashes.

In Preseli hills silence is broken
Hunters with shotguns shoot game for their pots,
Across Atlantic they shoot Ocelots,
Wherever they’re fired guns all sound the same.

Balaclava, The Somme, London’s East End,
Stalingrad, Fallujah, Hiroshima,
Ukraine, Syria, Palestine, Yemen,
Ordnance factories build weapons year round.

Atrocities happen over again
We close our eyes to harbingers of pain,
Stay silent as carriages roll through rain,
We pile high bodies, numbers are insane.

Talks break down, watch us start another war,
Another failure of diplomacy,
Clear another giant burial ground,
Compose another solemn requiem.

This year’s war, next year’s blockbuster movie,
Next generational PTSD,
Stiff upper lips never talking to me,
Medallions clink, shiny history.

Peel away thin civilisation skin
Reveal true barbarism, stark, within.
Whilst ever we reach for bombs and guns
Our species can’t claim to be civilised.

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 10th December 2022

Jim, make my deep red mojo bag
Give me some hope tonight
Pour me some Florida Water
I’m going out tonight
I got High John The Conqueror
To take me into town
I’ve got old Toby’s gris-gris root
Ain’t never let me down

Mr Mojo Risin’
Make my mojo bag
Make it in the moonlight
My deep red mojo bag
.
The deepest red that he could find
Came from within his heart
A few drops of his blood he shed
To give me a good start
He stood outside the dark grey hut
Howled at the moon above
Invoked the dark gods of passion
To fill the bag with love

Mr Mojo Risin’
Made me my mojo bag
Made it in the moonlight
My deep red mojo bag

Going down town tonight
Going down town tonight
Aaaahooooo, Aaaahooooo
Going down town tonight

Harry Rogers: In the hut, Aberbanc, 2nd January 2017

A poem reposted from 2013

“Where do you come from?”
That’s the first thing strangers ask me,
I am never quite sure exactly what they mean,
Are they interested in where I was born?

Do they want to know where my parents were born?

Maybe it’s a question of where I have just been,
Or possibly they want to know what I’m thinking,
Perhaps I seem a little bit left field for them,
A bit too way out for their sensibilities.

Why do people always ask me
“Where do you come from?”

Why don’t they ever ask me
“Where are you going to?”

Where do I come from?
I’m a Welsh, German, Cornish, Jew.

I don’t have a clue,
Do You?

Harry Rogers, Pencnwcau, Aberbanc, April 2013.

They’ve got us
Up against their wall
Up against their wall
Against their wall again

They want to
Try and shoot us down
Try and shoot us down
Shoot us down again

Every time
We will rise again
We will rise again
Rise back up again

Because you
Cannot kill ideas
Cannot kill ideas
Ideas never die

We know that
Our hope never dies
Our hope never dies
Hope will rise again

And we will
Always rise again
Always rise again
Rise back up again

Come see our
Red flag fly again
Red flag fly again
Fly on high again.

It’s time we
Came together now
Came together now
Together again

Let’s all rise
Under one banner
Under one banner
One banner again

Come fly those
Flags of unity
Flags of unity
Unity again

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 8th December 2022

Silver sunset over Cardigan Bay,
Another still day across Irish sea.
Such beauty should overwhelm misery,
As Braverman steals human rights away.

With ghoulish gusto she wades into laws,
She sneers, slashes silk, lacerates vellum,
Revels whilst audaciously spitting venom,
Destroys asylum on Britain’s fair shores.

Panders to fascists, believes she is strong,
Stokes up Brexit fire, fans racism flames,
Ignores danger in prejudicial games,
Makes it quite clear, refugees don’t belong.

Red streaks fade from St George’s Channel sky,
As darkness descends let’s ask ourselves, WHY?

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 4th December 2022