Things would be so much calmer If we never had Kier Starmer, Nor those goons at Panorama, Yup, life would be a Brahma. But that ain’t gonna happen, He’ll make a pledge, break a pledge, Surround himself with liars, Push good comrades off the edge, Set light to socialist pyres. Announce another relaunch, Build new castles in blue sky, Welcome back traitors who flaunt Their facility to lie. Trot out in desperation From all our televisions Shout loud across t’nation, He’s got these five new missions. Emboldened by online polls, He dreams of future landslide, His army of Twitter trolls, Commit Corbyn homicide. He’s no media charmer, An idiot in armour, Yeah, life would be a Brahma, If we never had Kier Starmer!
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 27th February 2023.
Ten years ago my good friend Marc Gordon and I were doing performance poetry gigs as The Chilly Dogz. We got paid to do a gig in Merthyr Tydfil and with the fee we booked a day at Studio 49 in Narberth, Pembrokeshire, on 14th February 2013 where we recorded an album of love songs called Ripples In The Water. Here are those songs in MP3 format.
All remember Nagasaki Never forget Hiroshima Now we stand and cry together On the beach at Fukushima This is where we meet our Nuclear nemesis The fuel companies are lying Political leaders are lying Certain scientists are lying Just keep right on lying Chernobyl partly melted down It killed a million people Fukushima is much more Deadly for the Japanese But that’s not where it ends It’s only the beginning Pollution in the atmosphere The Pacific ecosystem Is well and truly fucked Mutant mammals birds and fishes Turn up all around the globe We’re irradiated, we don’t EVEN know All remember Nagasaki Never forget Hiroshima Now we’re standing together On the beach at Fukushima We’re all in it together On the beach at Fukushima
I feel a presence as I clean my shoes, Alone, yet watched, I am not on my own. On my radio I hear dreadful news, Rwanda bound refugees plane now flown. Such immorality, beyond compare, Easily forced on already war torn, Herded airborne cattle into despair, There to wonder why they were ever born. Earnestly politicians justify Their sad actions with fake humility. The more I listen the sooner I cry, As terror fills the space beyond pity. A beak taps window, I look up from shoes, Brown thrush blinks at me, free to fly, to choose.
A syndrome has run rife through New Labour, Love for a centrist TINA hijacker Who has painted them into a corner Where he injects bile against left comrades, Into veins of all loyal supporters. With his vapid anti strike rhetoric, Top down control of what to think and say, With four precise folded butcher’s aprons Now time to plunge daggers further into Space between shoulder blades of last leader. Sycophantic journalists cream their ink, Lies flow steadily across Rubicon. When they lie they make sure it’s a big one, Tell It over and over until it’s true……
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 20th February 2023
Scrutiny swirls hard around poor claimants, Until you become totally homeless. It’s at that focal point of penury, When helpless victims lose everything That society turns its gaze away. Safety nets rendered useless by tax cuts, Sink holes swallow up young and old alike. Beneath our feet John Lennon’s hell exists, Behind Chinese walls of scorn and disgust, Beyond all bourgeois imagination, Forgotten children commit suicide To escape spirals of desperation. Tragedy is hard wired into us all, Some people can live with this, others can’t.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 19th February 2023
Guillotines, Guns, & Gas Donald, on his way back, Injections not enough, He needs to make things rough. Death by all means he calls, Line groups up against walls, Film each one as they fall, Fear will conquer us all. Phone up DOA bugs, Grass purveyors of drugs, MAGA on fire again, Donald’s back on his plane. We’ve seen it all before, During second world war, Public executions, Soon became commonplace. Recall Edelweiss League, Pirates and Navajos, Hung by necks in a row, Darkest days in Cologne. This ogre with small hands Sings on blood soaked bandstands, Soon we’ll witness live pain, Donald Trump’s back, again.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 18th February 2023
I drive at dawn Black against blue I’m nearly home Black against blue Crows against sky Black against blue Murder on high Black against blue I watch them fly Black against blue Stark in sunlight Black against blue I’ve missed ravens Black against blue Conspiracy Black against blue Huddle of rooks Black against blue Parliament Black against blue Black Jac-y-do Black against blue Clattering train Black against blue Magpie mischief Black against blue Conventicle Black against blue No place like home Black against blue Teifi Valley Black against blue
Harry Rogers, in the Red Bedroom 16th February 2023.
Now, at last, we see it, unvarnished truth. Not truth based on freedom and built through hope, But a complete flowering of naked Unadulterated, revelation. We see equality equated with Patriotism, two omnipresent Union jacks furled on left and right sides Of a grinning Quisling extraordinaire, As he punches home final coffin nails. Death to democratic socialism, Goodbye to all political freedom, Farewell to honesty, integrity, It’s all over, Socialists shown the door, I’ll never vote Labour for evermore.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 16th February 2023.
We spend our whole lives searching out Reasons why and what it’s all about Priests and teachers offer choices wide But hardly ever do we take a look inside When we were babies we tasted anything Hot or cold we picked up every single thing Tested out the world and all that was new Somehow along the way we forget what to do We let other people show us their way Sometimes listen to what they got to say Occasionally it’s more than just show We put it on the pile with the other things we know
But when you meet your maker You won’t know what to do ‘Cos when you meet your maker You’ll find out it is you
We let politicians show us their way Sometimes listen to what they got to say Once in a while it’s more than just show Put it on that pile with those other things we know
But when you meet your maker You won’t know what to do ‘Cos when you meet your maker You’ll find out it is you
We are what we do We are what we do Yeah when you meet your maker You’ll find out it is you.
Harry Rogers In the old study, 2011. (Archived lyric)
Keep your head down, avoid all bright lights. Don’t admit responsibility, Ignore thousands of hearts upon walls, Push away those years Before Covid, When families were wholly normal. Pump post pandemic propaganda, Exude After Disruption credence, Despite six hundred deaths every week, Increases in hospital admissions, A clapped out health service on it’s knees, Despite all this continue to lie. Stonewall all questions that might hurt you, Continue to drag out enquiry, De-prioritise reality, Concentrate on deflection of truth, Rise without trace to top of the tree. Continually offer something Undeliverable dressed as new. Convince people that crumbs from tables Will keep them well away from breadlines. Keep scandal powder dry until just Before next general election. Resort to old war footing tactics, Scare us totally fucking shitless. Flood our lives with patriotism, Manufacture more ammunition, Rattle sabres louder every day. Crown a new king to lead us all on, What next? Aliens block internet?
Harry Rogers, In the melon sorbet room, 15th February 2023.
She was coming on – – -Really strong Just like a red rag – – -It was wrong Her jiving was driving me crazy My memory’s a little bit hazy If I was still a younger geezer I’d take a chance with this little teaser Just like Monroe did to Gable She laid it all out on the table I looked at her and said – – – Get outa here I turned my back – – – Picked up my beer (chorus) Leave me be Leave me be Please, Please, Please Leave me be She was coming on – – -Really Full Just like a red rag – – -To a bull We would’ve had a lotta fun Back then my engine would run and run Her jiving was driving me crazy My memory’s a little bit hazy Just like Monroe did to Gable She laid it all out on the table I looked at her and said – – – Get outa here I turned my back – – – Picked up my beer (chorus) Now I always say Leave me here With my beer Leave me be Please, Please, Please Just leave me be
Harry Rogers in the old study, Aberbanc, 30th July 2011
SOMETIMES LOVE THROWS YOU A CURVE BALL YOU WON’T KNOW HOW TO FEND IT THAT CURVE BALL CAN BREAK YOUR HEART IT WILL BE SO HARD TO MEND IT BUT ONE TIME THERE WILL BE A DAY WHEN YOU SEE THAT CURVE BALL COMING WHEN YOU’LL HIT IT WITH YOUR SWEET SPOT AND SEND IT SKYWARDS HUMMING WHEN YOU FIND YOUR SWEET SPOT AHHH THAT SWEET SWEET SPOT YOU’LL SEND THAT CURVE BALL FROM WHERE YOUR LOVE BURNS HOT WHERE IT’S BURNING BURNING BURNING BURNING UP ABOVE YOU’LL HIT THAT CURVE BALL WITH THE SWEET SPOT OF YOUR LOVE SO STEP UP TO THE PLATE TAKE A SWING AT LOVE AND IF YOU GET A CURVE BALL HIT IT WITH YOUR SWEET SPOT YOU MIGHT FIND YOUR SWEET SPOT BEFORE IT GETS TOO LATE YOU CAN HIT THAT CURVE BALL WITH THE SWEET SPOT OF YOUR LOVE ONCE YOU HIT THAT CURVE BALL IT WON’T SEEM SO TANTALISING SOON YOU’LL HIT THAT CURVE BALL WITHOUT EVEN REALISING HIT THAT GODDAM CURVE BALL WITH THE SWEET SPOT OF YOUR LOVE
That day we heard what you said Sounds fine and dandy Your words echo in our heads Sounds fine and dandy People took you at your word So fine and dandy Vote for what we thought we heard Sounds fine and dandy
Then we all saw what you did, Not fine, nor dandy, How in hell you kept that hid, Not fine, nor dandy You ask us to trust in you, Not fine, not dandy After that we can’t trust you, Not fine, nor dandy.
We want our leaders To walk it like they talk it We need our leaders To walk it like they talk it Not like you just did Threw your promises away, We cannot trust you To walk it like you talk it.
Pledge after pledge after pledge, Thrown beneath your bus You trashed your former comrades Shat all over us Denigrated picket lines Not fine nor dandy We’ll never, ever, trust you Not fine, nor dandy.
It’s what you do Not what you say It’s what you did Not what you said We will never Trust a traitor Nor will ever Vote for traitors.
Harry Rogers, In the melon sorbet room, Sunday 5th February 2023
I took a look inside Your real cool heart It’s just not nice inside Your real cool heart There’s a block of ice inside Your real cool heart Gripped me like a vice inside Your real cool heart For more than forty four years You were a friend of mine When young shared our drugs Our women and our wine Lately something I noticed Your heart beats real cool You treat everybody Like your very own fool I took a look inside Your real cool heart It’s just not nice inside Your real cool heart There’s a block of ice inside Your real cool heart Gripped me like a vice inside Your real cool heart You set yourself up As the arbiter of taste Ah but when you look Your whole life’s been a waste But nobody out there Would say it to your face ‘Cause you think you’re better Than the whole human race I took a look inside Your real cool heart It’s just not nice inside Your real cool heart There’s a block of ice inside Your real cool heart Gripped me like a vice inside Your real cool heart Another weird thing I’ve noticed It’s not an endearing feature You never pour the tea for others You‘re the most indolent creature Everybody thought you were so cool They have done right from the start Beatnik poses when you were at school Were hiding up your real cool heart I won’t look twice inside Your real cool heart It’s just not nice inside Your real cool heart There’s a block of ice inside Your real cool heart Gripped me like a vice inside Your real cool heart It’s been like that from the very start Go away with your real cool heart
She is sitting on a stool at The Purple Pussycat Sipping a highball from a Coca Cola bottle She’s wearing a white raincoat and stilettos That’s all, just a white raincoat and stilettos On the stairs outside there’s an argument Between the doorman and two right villains Next thing one geezer with a shooter comes Through the door, robs the till, shoots the mirror Behind the bar and runs off laughing hyena like Me and her still sit on the corner of the counter Clutching tightly our illegal highballls in our hands She looks bewildered in her White raincoat and stilettos Totally stunning in her White raincoat and stilettos Nothing else, just her White raincoat and stilettos Outside on Gérard Street on this very early Sunday morning warm July rain is teeming From next door’s basement comes the noise Of late night Chinese poker players screaming Our barman sweeps up broken shards of glass She asks whether he’s got any purple hearts I slide a small brown paper envelope across The silver flecked black Formica counter top She tips two blue triangle tablets in her palm Chugs them with lukewarm scotch and coke I watch her quivering in her White raincoat and stilettos Shaking like a leaf in her White raincoat and stilettos Nothing else, just her White raincoat and stilettos She turns to me and says she’s kinda worried Says she has to tell someone what’s happened She’s just finished working an American John He fell off to sleep as soon as the job was done His stacked wallet lay open at the bottom of the bed Saw five thousand dollars, it went straight to her head She slipped on her white raincoat and stiletto shoes Grabbed the money from the wallet, ran to the Pussycat God she’s so excited, never seen so much cash before I’m feeling slightly blocked as she shows me her score She looks triumphant in her White raincoat and stilettos So super lively in her White raincoat and stilettos Nothing else, just her White raincoat and stilettos
Someone dumped a car battery in our duck pond, Along with fourteen cans of congealed enamel paint, Two hundred bent rusty nails, a broken tool belt, A mildewed collection of Ty beanie babies, Two mauve plastic Adirondack style broken chairs, And five large black bin bags filled with chicken giblets. A month later everyone from twenty miles round Has added their waste to this gigantic mountain. Ducks have flown, people groan, stench is blown, herons moan. Local council used to do all waste disposal, They’d take everything, dump it out of view, Life was so much more aesthetically pleasing, Pre compulsory competitive tendering. Thatcher’s privatisation fucked everything up, Britain has become a paradise island For fly by night, mafia, white van man, shitbags.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 2nd February, 2023
Slips on his Cross of St George Undies, Resists urge to scratch new facial tattoo, Laces up his old steel toecap boots, Takes black Harrington off hallway hook, Doesn’t give washing up a second look, This most ancient throwback bovver boy, Ignorant and forever angry, Is off to local rubber-dub-dub To baaa baaa with his flock of white sheep, Once a skinhead always a skinhead, He is Millwall and no-one likes him, And he proudly says he doesn’t care. Drives off on his vintage chromed Lambretta, As his wife moves her suitcase to front door.