The MPs were prepared to support him Because he said he could get them elected His lack of integrity, his compulsive lies Nothing mattered because He was going to get them elected The party were prepared to support him Because he said he could get them elected The lack of shame, the lack of remorse Nothing mattered because He was going to get them elected The MPs accepted that he broke every pledge Because he said he could get them elected Betrayals of trust, betrayals of principles Nothing mattered because He was going to get them elected The party accepted that he expelled all the socialists Because he said he could get them elected Smears and accusations, reputations ruined Nothing mattered because He was going to get them elected And the electorate looked from tory to labour, and from labour to tory And from tory to labour again, but already it was impossible To say which was which. But nothing mattered because He was going to get them elected
Halloween is Cancelled – Sad to Say it’s True
Halloween is cancelled Sad to say it’s true But let’s review the reasons why It’s what we’ve had to do We can’t play apple bobbing Or related fruit based tortures There’s no one here to pick them So they’re rotting in the orchards And wearing scary make up In whose horrors you could bask Isn’t so effective When you have to add your mask We can’t go trick or treating Round our tired disheveled streets The increase in inflation means We can’t afford the treats So how about a simple step An interim reprieve That might just make things better When it’s next All Hallows’ Eve I know just what I’d like to do To polish up my armour I’d think it quite a treat to go And deselect Kier Starmer. And then I’d get my Kirk mask And drive to number ten And go all Michael Myers On our unworthy pm
Let’s Start Again – a Poem by the Sixty Second Scribe
And so a Coronation For the man to lead our nation He’s selected, not elected And so mandate he has none. Two hundred and nineteen voices spoke A vile and unrepresentative joke It’s proof that our democracy is broke And so mandate he has none And were the members to be polled Sunak wouldn’t have taken gold They had to make the others fold And so mandate he has none But before Sunak can do his thing He has to go and meet the king He’s inherited, not elected And so mandate he has none. It’s time - the mountain must be scaled Tear it all down - it’s sadly failed Till a worthy constitution’s unveiled And democracy has begun
Decaying Ever, Ever On – a Poem by The Sixty Second Scribe
The pm claims integrity Then appoints the one who’d happily See refugees drown out at sea And our decay goes ever, ever on Sacked just days ago for breaks To ministerial code, he shakes his head, defends, ignores the stakes And our decay goes ever, ever on One who dreams of deportation Shames this once proud welcoming nation Stoking national stagnation And our decay goes ever, ever on Claims that lessons have been learnt Clearly lies - more bridges burnt Positions bought but never earned And our decay goes ever, ever on That he lied’s already clear Which marks him out as Johnson’s peer And leaves an atmosphere of fear As our decay goes ever, ever on
Holding Back the Tears – a Poem by the Sixty Second Scribe
Mick Hucknall calls for a general strike (First thing he’s done that I actually like) But as he’s speaking out in our politician’s stead I’d say the writing on the wall can now be Simply Red
Idiot Destroyers of Progress
UK’s reputation plummets Overriding the ECHR And the world can see that we are Truly idiot destroyers of progress Standing alone at the summit This peak of moronic intent Morals and integrity spent Where we go next is anyone’s guess Then just when it appeared to be That our madness could not be trumped The states think they might have us stumped Our lead may not be unassailable The Supreme Court in the ‘land of the free’ Overturns Roe v Wade and shows They’re back in front, albeit by a nose And they have more inhumanity available
Solstician Kryptonite – a song for midsummer
I was asked to write something about the solstice for an appearance yesterday at the Buckingham Literary Festival, and while I don’t have video of the performance, I thought I’d share the lyrics, as they made me chuckle when I was putting it together. We just don’t think of others enough when we carry out our rituals!
What is it, with you people and your sunlight? What is it, makes you start to act like loons? What is it, makes you get all weird and worshipy? Each year around the 21st of June The longest day? Well let me tell you something. This solstice fetish drives me outa my mind You’d hate this daylight mania If you were born in Transylvania So stick your solstice where the sun don’t shine Yes the solstice to a vampire’s Like green kryptonite to superman Like hairdressers to Samson Salt to slugs Like nuts to those with allergies Like sharks to those who surf Like moths to haute coutore Spiders to bugs What is it, with you people and your monuments? Why is it, that they’re lined up with the sun? What is it, makes you gather at the sunrise? Each year, when all the longer nights are done? The longest day? Well let me tell you something. This solstice fetish drives me outa my mind Though I’m sure you’d find it hard to, Spare a thought for Nosferatu And stick your solstice where the sun don’t shine Yes the solstice to a vampire’s Like red wine to brand new carpet Like erections at the doctors Jokes to wakes Like drunk girls to karaoke Like drunk boys to, well anything Like rust to aging boats Pirhanas to lakes What is it, with you people and your rituals? What is it, makes you start to act all strange? What is it, makes you dance and sing and copulate? In ways that seem increasingly deranged? The longest day? Well let me tell you something. This solstice fetish drives me outa my mind At your midsummer spectaculars Spare a thought for dear old Dracula And stick your solstice where the sun don’t shine Yes the solstice to a vampire’s Like a virus to a laptop Like silver bullets to a werewolf Mould to bread Like acne to a teenager Like slugs to finest lettuce Like cheetahs to gazelles Guillotiné to head The longest day? Well let me tell you something. This solstice fetish drives me outa my mind Save my kind from all this dread Spare a thought for the undead And stick your solstice where the sun don’t shine Yes, stick your solstice where the sun don’t shine
Scribal Gathering Showcase – 7th June 2022
The Sixty Second Scribe (and current Bard of Stony Stratford) is a special guest at the Scribal Gathering Showcase at The Crown in Stony Stratford, on the 7th June 2022 as part of StonyLive! A 20 minute set of mainly new material, beautifully filmed by Ian Newman, hosted by Jonathan JT Taylor and with sound by Duncan Carter.
22 – This Feline Has Ceased To Be
The Sixty Second Scribe takes a look at the latest dead cat to be thrown on the dinner table, and while he recognises it for just what it is, he also considers that it might just serve a purpose. It’s difficult to say for sure, but even the supine nature of the British public must have a limit somewhere. Surely?
For more literary tiers poems, click here
You (yes you!) can buy books of my poetry from this very site.
14 – The Sound of the Crowd
The Sixty Second Scribe talks of hope, inspiration, beards and jam making while referencing a Human League song, for reasons that pretty much nobody will understand, but that make him smile. I have a sneaking feeling that will be the only time someone references those four things in a single sentence today, although I guess stranger things have happened. Anyway – this is The Sound of the Crowd.
For more from this series, go here