Poetry: Red Rag To A Bull

Poetry: Red Rag To A Bull: "To all their misdemeanours To all their folly and liesThy theft, thy fraud, thy treachery So spoken so despisedLike cattle with nought’n..."

Red Rag To A Bull

To all their misdemeanours

To all their folly and lies

Thy theft, thy fraud, thy treachery

So spoken so despised

Like cattle with nought in fodder

So forced I stand to shudder

Tis locked out factory gates

To all thy bricks and mortar

Thy bankrupt welfare states

To bankers pound and sold

Like in oozing festering sores

So neat a Cowell sum

To sweet and candy divas

Thy swindling musical scores

For neat  Beijing sandwiches

In seas of China tea

Thy despot Gordon Brown

Laid his fiddle down on me

AY- In all their misdemeanours

To all their folly and lies

Where Elgar’s sweet fine music

Sold in beauty to thine skies

Where Liberals bought their powers

To votes so sold by knaves

Thy Tories sold this story

Tis Land of Hope and Glory

In all thy light was shattered

Like low Pound high yield Dollars

Thine only God is profit

Ye well heeled toffee scholars

AY- For all thy rent and mortgages

Thy thieving wretched lies

Thy tax avoidance fillies

And their cheating corporate flies

Tis time to show our red rag

Show the red rag to the bull

Tis time to hang our red rag

Hang our red rag round a bull

Tis time to dance a reckoning

To level out thine score

Set all the church bells ringing

Let thy anger voice be heard

I’ve only just a started Lord

Let not their gun smoke quell

I’m sure if you are listening Lord

My slumber with eternity

Would not be spent in Hell

Tis time to show our red rag

Show the red rag to the bull

Tis time to hang the red rag

Hang the red rag round a bull

So be driven hard like nails boys

With hearts of English oak

Tis time to dig our furrows

Let thy toffees wear the yolk

To sweat them like an oxen

In the fields of their theft

Even up thy averages

Hang red rags round their necks

AY-For all my misdemeanours

For all my folly and lies

I cannot hold my tongue no more

For those I so despise

To Shelley, Keats, and Byron

I write these words for thee

Rise up my sleeping giants

For its time to come to tea

Tis time to wear the red rag

Show the red rag to the gun

So come my friends, my comrades

My Sisters, Brothers too

Be not ye all afraid or a mind confused to dull

Tis time to hang our red rag

Hang thine red rag round the bull

Tis time.

In homage to the spirit of revolutionary song, both past and present.

Wherever, whenever, by whatever means foul or fair.

Without fear of their religion, laws, corruption, deceit, bullets, torture and death. Onward, onward.

It is the very least we owe to humanity.

It is the debt we must all render to our salvation, prosperity, and future.

In the words of the Prime Minister of our Nation State

We are all in this together.

Poetry: Tater Ash Woman

Poetry: Tater Ash Woman: "To the job list enduring nether to demise Warming my heart copious in labour In worn out fleece to dirty old jeans In tater ash comrade I..."

Tater Ash Woman

To the job list enduring nether to demise

Warming my heart copious in labour

In worn out fleece to dirty old jeans

In tater ash comrade I lie somehow complete

Not withstanding a falling

Fearnley- Whittingstall so Ramseynesque

Nowhere near an erupting my sweet, sweet burlesque

This banquet of flavours senior Fray Bentos

Savour delights

Dumplings curvaceous still holding mine eyes

In truthful endearing to tater ash nights

Where cold in enduring gift of my plenty

So still I bemused to those pictures of red

Gift me my cottage tumble down shed

Thy fine tree of life no chance I’ll surreal

Those tater ash skies, thine tater ash eyes,

Thy great northern mother taught tater ash tied

I caught by a caption in flawless collusion

So bowl and deliver

I’d steal you fresh flowers then puff out my chest.

I’ll chain smoke my signature to her soulful request

In digging and doing, to tooing and froing

I sold to my savour

In tater ash comrade I lie somehow complete

To the job list enduring nether to demise

So sold to that labour through her all knowing eyes

Who kept all my secrets never told of my lies?

To when’re I may wonder, to when’re I may roam

Thy sweet ladies kitchen will always be home

Like I said to you comrade,

When we’d drank of our drink, ate of our fill

To balance on tiptoe on top of our hill

In tater ash comrade I lie somehow complete.