Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts

Tuesday, 23 February 2010

A "major" pain

A good post over at Moridura. I agree with most of it, but I might just have made the following tiny but important amendment - quotation marks around the use of that old saw "major parties". The casual observer of politics is constantly told about "the major parties" - no wonder they so rarely vote for anyone else! After all, why vote for a "minor party" in a first-past-the-post (FPTP) system? What sort of stupid choice would that be?! Duh!


You can have any colour you like, as long as it's blue. Or red.

Only two valid choices for you, little voter,
The fate of us all in the hands of these floaters.
Labour or Tory, Tory or Labour?
Empty blue boaters, or reds rattling sabers?

Labour or Tory, long to reign over us!
Don't try to fight it, change is too onerous.
The "minor parties" must never win,
Little voter 'twas ever thus, just give in.

No prospect of change, no hope for the future,
Democracy stitched up with red and blue sutures.
Forty percent, a resounding majority!
(The sixty percent deprived of authority)

Labour the winners! Even if they lose,
Tories the winners! Even if they lose,
Give in little voter, snooze, snooze,
Don't bother to vote, you don't get to choose.
Snooze, snooze, snooze, snooze,
Snooze, snooze, snooze, snooze...



But enough cynicism! Why vote for a "minor party" at Westminster? Well, because change does happen, even if only occasionally under the anti-democracy of FPTP: sitting MPs, ministers and governments do get turfed out; Liberal parties reign supreme then wither away; Labour parties spring up; SDP's rise ("I feel a surge David!") and fall; and of course "minor parties" like the SNP and Plaid Cymru rise and impinge on the "natural parties of government".

Overuse of phrases such as "major parties" unthinkingly (and sometimes thinkingly!) serves to prevent these kind of changes, the very lifeblood of democracy, from happening. And by subtly denying the possibility of alternatives in this way, we are led to the current sorry state of affairs in which only a small gaggle of die-hards will actually be voting for the Labour or Tory parties. Most of the electorate will actually be voting against one or other of them: either "we can't let Labour continue, remember the last 13 years", or "we can't let the Tories back in, I remember the last lot". No wonder people are disillusioned with Westminster politics.

Fortunately the solution to this mess is simple. Contrast the vibrancy of elections to the Scottish parliament and the moribundity of the Westminster elections. The difference is proportional representation (PR). The difference is genuine competition for every vote, a genuine opportunity for different political viewpoints to be represented and a genuine chance for change. Genuine democracy you might say.

Neither of the "main parties" want to bring PR to Westminster, Turkeys voting for Christmas and all that. So if it's change you want, vote for a "minor party" committed to PR for Westminster. In a hung parliament the "minor parties" might not be so minor after all.

Thursday, 31 December 2009

Extraordinary Renditions

Well, I couldn't let December pass without at least one post. In hope of giving you all a giggle, and in the retrospective spirit of Auld Year's Nicht, I've put together some of my poems from earlier in the year in one handy pdf, hosted by the lovely people at scribd since Google blogger only allows images to be attached (or so it seems...?). Below there might just be a flashy embedded version of the pdf, at least I think that's what all that html should do...

Extraordinary Renditions

Wahey! It seems to work. Most of the poems were originally posted on Blether with Brian, before overzealous/inconsistent moderation led me to the greener pastures of Brigadoon. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading them (again) and very best wishes to everyone for 2010! Who knows what the New Year will bring...? A change of UK government, complete with numerous "Portillo moments" (SoS losing his seat anyone?!)? An independence referendum/thwarting of democracy? The first signs of intelligent life on the Labour front bench in Holyrood? Ok, I'm clearly struggling now and have entered the realms of the ridiculous. Time to open that 18 year old Talisker and wrest control of the remote from forfar-quine (she's just put Pride & Prejudice on, yet again...).

Wednesday, 5 August 2009

Gray powerless

And so, shock of shocks, Lord Steel's inquiry has cleared Alex Salmond of misleading the Scottish parliament with regard to the prisoner John Brown absconding from Castle Huntly. I'm sure we can all look forward to a healthy dose of contrition from Iain Gray for wasting everyone's time with his idle complaints...or perhaps not.


Political giant Iain Gray (source: Gary Doak Photography)

Weary fa' you, Iain Gray!

Weary fa' you, Iain Gray!
Ha, ha, this grinnin' poet,
Rejoices that you, Iain Gray,
Invariably do blow it!
When baseless gripes ye wildly bray,
Ye mark how far ye've lost your way,
Wha plants the seed o' your doomsday?
'Tis you yourself that sows it!

He thought that it was Eck's high-noon,
Ha, ha, an' how he crowed it!
But tae Gray's poison Eck's immune!
By now ye'd think he'd know it!
How will this glaikit Labour goon,
Stop his poll ratings hurtlin' doon?
"By meek obedience before Broon!"
At every turn he shows it!

Poor Iain's tongue such drivel saith,
Ha, ha, he ought tae stow it!
Wi' his pal Murphy, puppets baith,
The London line, they toe it!
While "Scottish" Labour puts it's faith,
In Gormless Brown, yon flimsy wraith,
Frae Stranraer up as far as Aith,
The Scots will overthrow it!

Friday, 17 April 2009

The Farcical Joke o' the Nation

Karaoke time!




"Fareweel for a day, oor London hame,
Fareweel oor spinmeisters hoary!
"
Fareweel ev'n tae the concept o' shame:
"Honest guv, I'm awfy sorry!"
Now Broon sinks deeper in quicksand,
Wi' every desperate gyration!
Nae tactic too low or underhand,
For this farcical joke o' the nation!

What coarse new bile do they now brew,
Wi' their new set o' spinning sages?
While the moral compass drifts askew,
Common decency disengages.
Some token regret they feebly feign,
Tae mask their degradation;
But weasel words can't shift the stain,
On this farcical joke o' the nation!

O wooden Broon, there's jist no way,
Your "apology" will quell us;
In Hell we'll see a snowy winters day,
Ere Labour ditch their smears libellous.
Broon girns an' glowers wi' fizzog sour,
Mumblin' his latest rotation;
But he's caught an' bowled by spin uncontrolled,
Jist the farcical joke o' the nation!

Saturday, 28 March 2009

Address to the Unco Greedy, or the Fiscally Frivolous

O ye wha for exotics fell,
Sae joyous and sae jolly,
Ye'd nought tae dae but buy an' sell,
An' tak yer neibor's lolly!
Wi' hands stuck firmly in the till,
Mere ethics didnae matter;
Now poor Joe Public foots the bill,
For City boys grown fatter!

Hear me, as Sterling hits the floor,
An' outflows gush aortal,
Ye'll rue the day ye voted for,
New Labour, wha now chortles?
Aye, since these thoughtless, careless fakes,
Are sic a bunch o' chancers,
Gie me political earthquakes,
Tae excise Labour cancers.

They've run the state intae despair,
Then City rules made stiffer;
Whiles bringin in the HBOS laird,
Wha sacked the trouble-sniffer;
For though Moore tried HBOS tae save,
By his concerns confidin',
The risk was his tae be sae brave,
An' for it Crosby fired him!

Think Labour, how you us repulse,
Wi' each new steamin' dollop,
O' lies an' spin, yer base impulse,
Twelve years o' pure codswallop!
Ye've spinned and lied while oot ye bailed,
Each bank. Is this the Third Way?
It's on Broon's watch that we've been failed,
Despite the "global" respray!

See Socialist-lite, poor glaikit Brown,
A' half-truths and hoodwinking:
While Goodwin's crucified alone,
This tawdry culprit's shrinking.
O how we pray he'll see too late,
Th' electoral consequences,
An' his mair dreaded, hellish fate,
Deflation o' expenses!

Broon's highly-salted, tortuous claims,
Fly up in a' oor faces.
Before he seeks tae shift mair blame,
Suppose he truth embraces!
Oor dear comrade, convenient shrugged,
When easing regulation,
An' bonus-junkies kept their drug,
Wi' his administration!

Now keenly scan Broon's masterplan,
Tae get thae green shoots bloomin':
Frae us he'll hang (for ages lang!)
Mair debt! How mad he's spumin'!
One point must still be made quite stark,
How Broon sae badly blew it:
"We'll save tomorrow!" his hallmark.
Oor monstrous debt? He grew it!

Who ruled the mart, 'tis he alone,
Decidedly did fry us;
He solves each problem with a loan,
Then prudently acts pious!
As oor imbalance grows acute,
Broon's flush is truly busted!
Oor emperor's in his birthday suit,
Growin' ever mair ham-fisted!

Monday, 16 March 2009

Awa' Whigs, Awa'

Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Ye're but a pack o' Labour goons,
Ye'll dae nae guid at a'.

Oor thistle withered with nae care,
Frae thorny Labour roses;
An' Whigs served well as their manure,
Nae need tae hold their noses!

Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Ye're but a pack o' shrivelled prunes,
Ye'll dae nae guid at a'.

Oor ancient Ming's showin' signs o' rust,
If Salmond maks him crabbit.
The Clinton hand oor statesman shook,
Wad leave auld Ming sair wabbit!

Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Ye're but a pack o' bland buffoons,
Ye'll dae nae guid at a'.

LibDems' decay tae light-flyweight,
Has left them scarce survivin'.
Poor Tavish couldnae get much worse,
Doon tae the canvas divin'!

Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Ye're but a pack o' burst balloons,
Ye'll dae nae guid at a'.

Slim cogence frae Vince Cable's trap,
On independence squawkin'!
At least he came in Nick Clegg's stead,
Tae spare us mair beige-talkin'!

Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Awa' Whigs, awa'!
Ye're but a pack o' daft baboons,
Ye'll dae nae guid at a'.