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Two Poems On British Politics

Two Poems On British Politics


The Phoenix lander prods away

Beneath the toxic shale;

The bombshell has his deep blond day

And Elvis starts to wail –


Rich in iron oxide dust,

His quiff stands proud and true;

The moral compass lies there, bust,

Indescribably Blue.


The planet once revered as red

Wears polar caps, off-white.

The liar takes his tongue to bed:

We’re lonesome every night.


The hound dog and the teddy bear

Have suffered geo-death –

The blatherers have gas to spare,

But Elvis draws his breath –


The solar system shudders when

It hears the new agenda:

On Mars a parcel’s marked in pen –

Oh please, Return To Sender.


Popping pills and bright green cheese,

The King is cold as ice:

Down here, there is an arid breeze,

And no-one treats us nice.




I am an olive, pale and green,

But puffed up by blue filling:

I taste, my friends, a tad obscene –

I’m here to make a killing –


I am a bitter canapé,

But wait until the feast –

A pinch of salt sets me away.

Your palm will be well-greased


Once you have opened this, my tin:

Hey Crespo! Don’t recoil –

You’ll also find, when I begin,

That I'll be oozing oil.





Two Poems On British Politics

‘My chances of being PM are about as good as the chances of finding Elvis on Mars, or my being reincarnated as an olive.’ Boris Johnson (2007).

15 December 2019


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