I saw that Q a forming On a hot Saturday morning, Without too much of a warning, They gather in Trafalgar Square, They hug and kiss without a care, Mass selfishness truly laid bare. Watch as pale rider gallops through, It searches for carriers new, Infects tin hats and fascists too. Rumours of hype and hoax are spread, They freely mingle without dread, No care or thought of future dead, On Nelson’s head there sits a bird, Immune, unlike this gathered herd, He swoops down low and shits a turd, Anti vaxers sing same old song, Conspiracy feeds on and on, I spy the British Q anon.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, September 21st 2020.
Today I watched TV news for one hour, and wrote down a list of key pandemic words and phrases. With such a blitzkrieg of conflicting information is it any wonder that people are distressed, depressed or have stopped listening.
Whack a mole Moonshot Sudacreme Test and Trace Crush the curve Corona surge Bottleneck Areas of intervention Support bubbles Shielding Circuit breaker Night time curfew Hospitality shutdown Keep checking the regulations Rule of six Back to school Back to work Demand outstrips capacity of world class system Processing backlog Trend analysis distortion Tighter restrictions Open up the economy Quarantine list Non essential travel Informal informing R number Warning signal ICU Exponential growth Work from home Don’t visit other people’s houses Premier League football to restart with socially distanced crowds No mingling Swabs to your nose and throat Infection survey Wake up call All in it together Universities are open Critical point Nothing is inevitable Protocols Sticky blood Tipping point Reducing backlog Turnaround time slippage Self isolation the key National Lockdown Sobering week Community transmission Lighthouse lab system Novel disease Community responsibility Do the right thing Plan for the worst Work for the best Only people can make a difference Wear a face covering No engagement of four governments Vacancy at heart of the UK government Cytokine storm Covid toes Royal mint not making new coins Furlough ending New Year’s Eve fireworks cancelled Stringent national lock-down Accelerated uptick Hoping for a drop-off in infection The last line of defence Christmas is coming, who knows where we go from here on in. Me? I’m going to be self isolated most of the time. Stay safe, as Arthur Lee said “The news today will be the movies of tomorrow.”
Harry Rogers in the yellow room, September 18th, 2020.
Brexit is back on the box Truly electrifying, No Deal is braced on the chocks Soon Boris will be flying. Hide pandemic behind cloud, Move back onto safer ground, Shout Get Brexit Done out loud, Spike 2? Let’s not make a sound. Tariffs just round the corner, We eat our pudding and pie, Pull out plum like Jack Horner, Meanwhile we’re all gonna die. Pritti is all in a twist, Extinction comes true this time, Freedom and truth will be missed, Rebellion is now a crime. Djocko headlines the papers, The virus hides on page four, I’ve a touch of the vapours, Feels like we’ve been here before!
Harry Rogers, in the Red Bedroom, 7th September 2020.
The pale rider saunters into the car park at Tesco’s. She fiddles with her pearls as she observes the obedient socially distanced queue who, in turn, wait patiently to purchase their fuel for the future. The rider hides her identity behind a cloak of invisibility, dismounts from her temporary steed, and slides microscopically along the line in search of a new carrier. Most of the people deny her entrance because they have taken the precaution to bar the way with masks and bandanas, but there, almost at the front of the queue, stands a non-conformist. Unmasked, proud of the T Shirt he wears with the slogan Masks Off, Let’s Be Real emblazoned across his chest. The rider does not hesitate, she wraps her wispy tentacles around his head and pulls herself sinuously into his sinus cavity and awaits his next breath to carry her deep into his unsuspecting lungs. He remains haughty and unaware that he’s been chosen. Inside his lungs the rider leaves some seeds and then departs on the next exhalation from which she floats languorously back to her invisible charger. She remounts and they slowly trot past the front of store security guard and amble by the table with the hand sanitiser dispenser and paper towels, on into the fruit and vegetable section. She rides up and down the aisles, she deliberately follows the red arrows marked out on the floor, and, once, spurs her mount to leap over the shelves straight into the midst of a family group as they gently argue about ice cream flavours. More seeds are sown and eventually the rider leaves for pastures new. She spurs her invisible horse down to Aldi. Another hotspot, more human receptacles, the breeding goes on. Meanwhile other riders await starter’s orders in a variety of situations. Waves lap gently, waiting for the inevitable rollers to break on winter shores.
Harry Rogers, in the Yellow Room, 27th August 2020.
A Welsh golden eagle dies in the hills, Student high fliers well know how this feels, Llywodraeth have failed to act fast enough, No wonder young voters will cut up rough. Demise of justice, first ministers fault, Education system not worth its salt. Meanwhile, on his jollys, Johnson’s away, So nobody knows what he’s got to say. The Brexiteer Reich grinds close to it’s end, Cummings events? Dear god, heaven forfend. Control slips away, they go round the bend, It’s all got too much for this lot to mend. Whilst bailed MP deletes his twitter feed Pandemic chaos is too hard to read.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 18th August 2020.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 18th August 2020.
I wrote this for a friend who had a falling out over social distancing.
MAKE YOUR OWN HONEY
Covid, Brexit, Marmite, Starmer, There’s always gonna be something. Art and music, TV, Fashion Humans all have different views, Sometimes things flare up with passion, Heard from the pews, or on the news. Sometimes one has to stand ones ground. Go dancing to a brand new jive, Be the one with the coolest sound, Fly home each day to your own hive. Life can be sad, can be funny, Press on and make your own honey.
Harry Rogers, in the Red Bedroom, 14th August 2020.
The special relationship between kleptocratic assassins who cannot see beyond the maintenance of the corner that the ultra wealthy have painted themselves into, has created the condition of misery for millions. The turn of the millennium policies that wholeheartedly embraced globalisation jointly espoused by neo liberal politicians has dragged us into the maelstrom of rapid decline in manufacturing, public service provision, infrastructural repair, and the welfare of social structures. This is not some fictional ramble along a bramble choked coastal path that we can easily turn back from and go back home to the comfort of tea and cucumber sandwiches enjoyed in the rose tinted past we are encouraged to think we relished in the make believe idyll of the post second world war years. This is a full throttle roar along a Randian dragstrip, paved with the failure of individualism, exposed as a dystopian nightmare by the paucity of intellect, and will, now so clearly revealed by the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when the major capitalist economies transmogrified from being democracies into kleptocracies, perhaps behind the scenes there has always been a certain amount of brown paper envelopes filled with public cash being transferred into the bank accounts of senior politicians and their families and friends but surely never has it been quite so blatantly obvious. The handing over of more than a hundred million pounds for the supply of faulty facemasks to a company with no previous experience in PPE is treated as a mild mistake by the media. Had this been a Labour administration the right wing monolith that passes for a free press in this country would have been howling from the rooftops. As it is parliament is in recess, the new normal is in full swing, confusion rules, panicked residents in coastal and rural areas are fearful of the much trumpeted second wave as people flood in for good old fashioned staycations. Denial by groups of anti vaxers who terrorise shop workers as they try to do their best to implement ever changing rules and guidelines demonstrates clearly that the New Normal is a place where the wafer thin veneer of civilisation has given way to barbarism overseen by leaders who wallow in decadence. Winter is coming and the kleptocracy shows no sign of slowing down, I try not to dream of a no deal Brexit. Unfortunately there is no where to run to. In these circumstances lock down is the only haven of safety.
Here come sporadical lockdowns, The latest order of the day, Leicester one day, your place the next. What powers are needed for this? Are there any sporadic apps? Or are these just the random thoughts Dreamed by wily spad conjurers Who have to give their ministers A semblance of something to say In order to confirm that they, In their wisdom, actually Do something, or do anything. In the vague hope that chaos theory Will somehow come to our rescue, These dark prestidigitators Foist their sleights of hand on us all Daily. As media trumpets Blare out latest tossed off press release, Funded by magic money trees We all slither down on our knees, Smeared and mired in Tory sleaze. Wild campers pitch tents everywhere Furloughed workers stand down and stare, Weeks go by as the deadline nears, All are filled with sporadic fears Somebody said six million, That’s just a random estimate. No-one really knows how many Will draw universal credit, Welcome to Sporadicity.
Millions of Brazilians Have witnessed all these scenes before Paliamentary pantomime Has locked down everybody’s doors The army ringed now around London Stock markets fall down through the floor There’s no knowing where this leads us The MPs bluster on, so sure Their nationalistic reactions Echoed loudly on radio four Butterfly show goes on and on No dreamliners fly anymore We are told it’s for our own good For the aged, for the poor Evoke the spirit of the blitz Best wishes from second world war Spout about spiritual health Whilst televising martial law Soon round up any dissidents Is that what this is really for?
Harri Rogers, in the red bedroom, Pencnwau, 19th March 2020