With the European Elections tomorrow and our politics so sullied and divisive I am sharing this poem from Poems from the Swamp, my 2018 collection.
The Gauleiter and his Pig
Gauleiter and his pig reside here
swamp, a septic, infected sty,
with wormwood for false prophecy.
Their respectability has that stink
that clings like thin grease, that chokes throats,
insinuation of rancid filth.
wash their hands, insipid Pilates,
know what it is to be clean.
The people have spoken, so it is claimed
newly grim, unpleasant land
mandrakes strangle healthy plants,
tendrils spread amidst the sane,
folk of once fair-minded islands
pestilential and sabre-rattling
when pigs and Gauleiters take command.
and Gauleiter feed on censure,
streets, sniff out the shunned,
dreamers, the effete, the forceless,
water, spread lies, deception
keen reception in willing ears.
These guardians of now lost Albion
battalions in eager service
relentless over small town swamps,
venom and violence with every tramp.
their pigs in lipstick, patsies,
pimps and panders.
and not so quiet fascists
new dawns of moral disaster,
terror, trauma and catastrophe.
Gauleiter and his wallowing pig
belching obscene absurdity.
folk quake and scuttle with truffles
to sate and
satisfy lusty tumescence,
with Destroying Angel, Fly Agaric,
the cosh, the Taser, the mace.
placates appetites like these
the hunger, the greed is fed.
turns seamier, with deepening stench,
from the quagmire writhe and hiss,
serpentine gyres and twists,
the space where once light fell
with impenetrable shadows from boundless Hell.
before, in still living memory
fair-minded folk of a place like this
denouncing friends and neighbours,
faces no longer fit.
rattled the bones of human cargo
tracks destined for nightmarish swamps.
Gauleiters wallowed in loss,
perdition and extermination,
Saturnalia of uncountable cost.
Gauleiter, pig, and the onlookers
droghers who’ll carry the weight of the swamp,
of shame beyond all atoning
this tale and its tellers are gone.