The Politics of Dancing

‘O where are you going? Stay with me here! Were the vows you swore deceiving, deceiving? No, I promised to love you, dear, But I must be leaving.’ What is that Sound? W H AUDEN The smells that poison me now were then sweet perfume; That fragrant moment, the smell of blossom, and the scent of fresh mown lawns,  Polish and green leather,  red box excitement. The exultant whispers of Office. As we exchanged our vows in the garden, Flirtatious virgins in power. The jokes the winks the silent ascent that promised so much. Now folded and crumpled, a soiled photograph, Mere memory. What became of those promises?  Of the pact we made? Now in the sheet rain I see only the bitter wasteland of lost dreams Broken fragments of things once concrete, solid, whole, Gained, it’s true, for nothing more substantial than a weak man’s  soul.

AGGRESSIVE HOMOSEXUALS?  With Apologies to G K Chesterton  ‘Former Conservative defence minister Sir Gerald Howarth has warned of the dangers of the "aggressive homosexual community".’  Are they arming as you speak, Are they Howarth? With freshly sprayed ‘Mystique ‘ Dressing oh  so very sheik, Are they Howarth? Are there gangs of rabid queers Confirming your worst fears Assembling on the common land of England? Do the sound of pulses race As the bill proceeds apace; And When the bill is finally through Will they start to fancy you, Will they Howarth? Will the country cease to be Muscular and free In Durham, Cleethorpes, Harrage, Now that we have gay marriage, Will it it Howarth? Parliament that once heard The gilded spoken word Now hears nonsense, though it’s loud From a homophobic crowd Led by Howarth. So leave your daydreams on the pillow Of a land of ball and willow All in white and very gay...

Better by far the worst elected President than the best hereditary monarch, for they would have been the choice of grown up people, not subjects, not children.  As I was walking out today a drunken man stood in my way. An accusation loud and clear He shouted for the street to hear. ‘Why do you not bend the knee, to our great and glorious majesty? Have you no time to pen a rhyme or send Our Queen a valentine? To sing a song or dance a dance, to raise a toast, To give God thanks? For all of this today is free, to celebrate the jubilee? For five more minutes, Though it seemed longer he blocked my way, he was the stronger. His drunken voice continued to berate that I had failed to celebrate. But then I said what’s here to cheer? I see no bounty offered here. Balloons and bunting lots of flags, and pictures   from the royal ‘mags’; orange juice and flavoured crisps Its party time I’ll give you t...

  No minister can you bribe or twist, Despairs the British lobbyist, But seeing what the man will do un-bribed, there is no reason too. Having visited this page I would be grateful for your feedback, either tick one of the boxes below or make a comment via the comments button.

‘David Cameron has called the ban on England's footballers wearing poppies on their kit "outrageous".’ BBC News 09/11/11 Mr Cameron’s in a froth And the Sun is seething hot And they curse the foreign crowd Who say the Poppy’s not allowed. The dead don’t care, The dead don’t care. The Radio pundit can’t believe it Who can possibly conceive it? No Englishman can hide From this blow to English pride. The dead don’t care, The dead don’t care. So we summon up our Shakespeare Stand our ground and make it clear That our courageous footballers Will wear the poppy here. The dead don’t care, The dead don’t care. http://alextalbot2024.blogspot.com/