(It Looks Like) The (Far-Right) Revolution Will Be Televised

You will not be able to switch off, brother
You will not be able to believe that which is unfolding before your eyes
You will not be be able to lose yourself in social media distractions
Or celebrity culture or fantasy warfare on your computer console
Because the far-right revolution will be televised

The far-right revolution will be televised

The far-right revolution will be brought to you by Marr mouthing cheerily
That it’s OK, they’re elected
The far right revolution will be brought to you, Blue Peter-style, with
Skewed so-called fact-checkers ladling propaganda into the empty heads of the watching masses
The far-right revolution will feature glamorous political editors
Dripping poison; your pixelated friends, killing you slowly with their siren songs
While the cognitive tools necessary for your self-preservation lie idle on the floor

The far-right revolution will be brought to you by jocular political leaders
Just like the people you know down the pub. Chuckling and making sounds
Which seem soothing and familiar (but listen to the words they are pure terror)
The far right revolution will feature a lack of critical analysis
And a facsimile of balance which does not compute
And people who should know better, not knowing better
Blinded by prejudices they never thought they had.

There will be instant replays of brothers being hurt by the baying mobs
There will be instant replays of brothers being hurt by the baying mobs
While commentators mouth, ‘it’s OK, they are elected’
There will be highlights on the ten o’clock news and Myrie will wonder
Why he hasn’t resigned yet, while singing the lyrics of that Jay-Z song
The one in sepia cartoon form, featuring Nina Simone

The far-right revolution will not follow GBBO
The far-right revolution will not be back after BGT
The leaders of the far-right revolution will one day feature on SCD
The far-right revolution will be built on apathy and lies.

The far right revolution will be televised, people.

Only because we’ve allowed it into our lives.


The Party

Your party is a beast
Insatiable and dangerous.

You feed it your souls,
Your country,
Your reason.
Yet it demands more

The thing –
With its prickly
Hirsute countenance,
Sitting in the corner glowering –
Barely acknowledges the
Hard won gifts which you
Lay at its feet

You are all tethered;
Miserable serfs to its whims.
Within reach is
Weaponry with which
You might obliterate
The devious fiend
And free yourselves.

Why do
You hesitate
Time and time again?

Misplaced loyalty
Or fear
Or weakness?

Shout Outs II


Here’s another shout-out from my little book of poetry.

This one is directed at Kitty Stirling, an artist, and more importantly in this context, a neighbour of mine at a music festival last summer. During the course of a conversation, she said something quite profound and later that day, in between music performances, I mulled over her words. Subsequently, this poem tumbled out.

It’s not my best piece of work. Hell it’s not even my piece of work – any depth which it may contain is solely due to Kitty’s words.

Which is why a shout out was appropriate.

More shouts to come…

Soul Bait

They dangle it
From up high.
Through the rippling
You may see the sun
And think this
Easy manna from

Beware beautiful
Brave soul
For attached to
The prize
Is a hook
And attached to the hook
May soon be you.

In our modern existence
We carelessly tag this
Click bait
As may fish
If they could verbalise
Call it bite bait
The reality for fish
Is that it is their
Which the angler seeks.

And for us,
Boys and girls,
We should know
That they who send
Down the treats
Seek to impale
Our essence.
Our very souls.


This contained magic
A liquid which would sing
As it ran through your fingers.
To breathe its aroma was to
Be intoxicated with joy. I
Would dance at the very thought
Of it.

I, of course, ingested and
Experienced little explosions
Of elation as I tasted this
Ambrosia, for sure
With its origins in a heavenly

I still return to the phial
Listening carefully as if
Sweet melodies might once
More be
I lift the grey dust to my face
And masticate dirty powder
Vainly expecting flavours of bliss.
It makes me sneeze
But I try to inhale it

No perfumes here today.

It has gone. No more.
Magic there once was
But somehow it flew.
There be only
A sad and moribund

Soon Gone

We dance here
As if at 3am
In blackest
Of shebeens
Beer and spliff in hand.

We imagine an
Eternity of existence
Here on this
Mortal dance floor
The break of day
That must be
Can surely
Never be
To you and me

But friends
I’m soon gone
It won’t be so long
I still dance
Leave imprints on the floor
So that maybe someone
Will recognise that
I went before

Ancora Imparo 2018

Don’t let anyone tell you

That you are the

Complete article

That you’ve reached the

End of the path

That you are



Or other adjectives

Which contain an

Air of finality

About them.

Truth is,

In an ever evolving


We are fluid;



Even if the cosmos

Was static

Chances are

The multidimensional

Complexity of our

Beings would continually

Throw up new




To explore

And realise

I’ve discovered something

Major about myself recently.


A holdall filled with large rocks

Slung over my back

That I’d been carrying since youth.

I’d never thought

To question

Its function or whether it

Were preventing flight

Ancora imparo

As the



Apparently liked to say.

Destiny always

Has a plan.