Here's my poem about the current welcome rush to the heart and head. I guess that makes me a Poet for Jeremy Corbyn too.
LABOUR PAINS
We snapped on a light
and in the glare all was laid bare.
Suddenly Yvette Cooper wasn’t so super,
Kendall won’t mend anything at all
‘cause Liz fights tooth and claw for biz.
As for principles, Andy says burn ‘em.
But the latecomer nails jelly to the wall,
walks tall among the fallen,
cuts a swathe through those in thrall
to the false gods in the shopping maul.
Looking like Santa, cast as Satan,
working like a dynamo, everybody’s smitten.
Bottle what he’s made of, someone nab the patent,
before the bloody Blairites get their twisted knickers straightened.
Groping in the gloom we’d forgotten how to stand,
the air up here so fresh and clean, the view they tried to ban.
Blinking in the sunlight, nerves and sinews flex,
this is how hope feels, it’s betterer than sex.
A pole star restored, a fiery dawn,
this way something bright is born.
Anna Chen
3rd August 2015
Anna Chen's collection of poetry, Reaching for my Gnu, is published by Aaaargh! Press
Margaret Thatcher Died at the Ritz (2013)
1 comment:
I really like this It's good and gooder! It's got balls and class all at once. It's loving, a little funstery and it's sweetly barbed at the enemy. There's a knowingness to it. There's a humanity that smells of justice and casts a Pharisee glare at career politrixians who grease their way through pigshit while telling everybody that it's perfume. Corbyn has a real artist on his side for once.
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