Blow those whistles louder, Before they come for you, Let not them stuff your gob With gold to shut you up. Shout it from the rooftops, Tell us all that you know, If you’ve got the emails, Flood them to the net. Copies of the contracts? Tweet them from dawn to dusk. Write truth in your memoir, Spill the beans with gusto. Bent ministers and spads? Please kick them where it hurts. Time to clean the stables, Flush all the crooks away, Throw them to the lions, Cummings and baby Gove, Let’s take them down today!
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, Saturday 11th July.
Steer Kharma, forensick, at despatch box, Mewls as Haystacks gang shoots fox after fox. Cummings has stolen all Jeremy’s clothes, To wave them beneath New New Labour’s nose. Forests of money trees bloom at the bank, Quantitavely eased with clink and clank. Billions of pounds are drawn at a stroke, Millions of workers now left for broke. Advisory rules now go up in smoke, Health ministers stats now called out a joke. The track and trace app? A pig in a poke, Changes in benefits soon to revoke, Dole queues grow longer, this mess is severe, Still, grab a meal deal, don’t say it’s austere.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, Friday 10th July 2020
Who wants to be a Blairite millionaire? Exploit Labour voters without a care. Denigrate socialists everywhere, Start needless wars, cultivate silly hair. Lord Blunkett spouts tosh on Radio four, Whilst our Rebecca is wheeled out the door, Mandelson unsheaths his back stab once more, New new Labour now shits over house floor. In Gaza families quiver in fear, As the keys to their houses are stolen, Some of us shudder as we shed a tear, The future does not look quite so golden. Pander to petrolhead racist bullies, Electable in post Jezza woolies?
Please tell us where the buck stops, if you can. The powerful deny it is their man. Whenever there’s a crisis it’s the same. Politicians will never take the blame. Haystack bonce points to owners of care homes, These shitehawks from Westminster catacombs, Irresponsible power at the top, However can we make false spinning stop? Pass the blame, fend off shame, guilt trip others, It will be our fault, sisters and brothers. No one’s job is safe, the walls tumble down, Once again we turn our gaze to the crown, TV and Radio stand complicit, Funny how the bucks never stop, innit?
Harry Rogers, in the Yellow Room, Monday 6th July 2020
Can you tell me how Long is a moment? Eight point four six seconds at start of match? Eight mins forty six seconds knee on neck? Is it one hundred days during lockdown? One thousand one hundred days since Grenfell? Is time elastic? Can a moment stretch? Some moments expand, Some moments contract, Twenty seven years since Stephen Lawrence, Murdered at bus stop? Is that a moment? The years since Brixton, Toxteth, Notting hill? The centuries of slavery subsumed Into literature slowly consumed? These transitory periods of time, Are these all just moments that don’t matter?
Harry Rogers, in the Red bedroom, Sunday 5th July 2020.