Category Archives: Activism

March On The Sun

March On The Sun

Perfectly sensible  and intelligent people can sometimes be led to do utterly ridiculous things purely because everyone else is doing it. Respectable citizens are reduced to brutal animals or stupid thugs by mob mentality and peer pressure. This is a poem about people trying to kill the sun.

March On The  Sun

The sun is a tyrant The Governor cried
And it sits in our sky with insufferable pride
Overcome with this passion, The Governor died
But the damage was already done

Whipped into a frenzy of anguish and pain
They elected a leader to act as their brain
In their new revolution, for all were insane
And intended to march on the sun

March on the sun
Evading it’s flares
We’ll strike it at night
So it’s caught unawares

March on the sun
In celestial motion
Wearing sunglasses
Applying your lotion

They rose in the air with a haughty defiance
Disdainful of physics, yes raging at science
And anything asking a hint of compliance
They knew that enough was enough

The heights of our atmosphere, where the air’s thin
Was the point where the first of the trials would begin
But they pushed through the clouds with a recusant grin
Knowing full well the road would be rough

March on the sun
Then return in great glory
For endless millennia
They’ll tell of this story

March on the sun
Or you’ll wither in shame
As your actions dishonour
Your family name

The heat of the sun grew, each second that passed
Til they came within range of it’s tendrils at last
And a beacon blew out with a terrible blast
Engulfing the horrified crowd

The flames soon receded, and left in their wake
A sordid reminder of mankind’s mistake
The heat caused their petulant bodies to break
And disperse as a wet, bloody cloud

March on the sun
Like a nuke that we orbit
Our masses combined
We can hope to absorb it

March on the sun
Melted flesh in the void
Home floated the heroes
Completely destroyed

If the sun rises in the East, and sets in the West, why is there sunlight up North huh? It's all lies!

If the sun rises in the East, and sets in the West, why is there sunlight up North huh? It’s all lies!

100th Post: The Rats Shall Rise Up In Glory

The Rats Shall Rise Up In Glory

It was announced in the news recently that scientists no longer believe that black rats were the evil villains behind the spreading of the Black Death in Europe. It has always been assumed that they spread it with their fleas and that the blood of untold numbers of people was on their paws. In the twist of the millennium, it seems that the culprits were actually gerbils! No seriously! Read all about it here! 

This poem is about the absolution of the black rat. No longer hated, no longer downtrodden, no longer shackled with the enormity and horror of a genocide they did not commit. While the theology of ‘The Rats Shall Rise Up in Glory’ is appalling, the point still stands, we owe them a serious apology. This is one of my newest poems and has immediately become one of my favourites, if I may say so myself.

Incidentally, this is the 100th poem on this blog! Woohoo!

The Rats Shall Rise Up In Glory

For many a year, in our fear, villainised
The black city rat, it was spat on, despised
But new evidence rose, so out goes the old story
And the rats shall rise up in glory

Black rats and black death, in one breath often said
We have slandered their name with the blame for the dead
This brand new point of view is so revelatory
And the rats shall rise up in glory

On the heights of St Paul’s, shadow falls on the steeple
A gerbil with fleas, to their knees brought the people
Their knowledge was flat, so the rat took the blame
And the gerbil shall perish in flame

For now we’ve unveiled what we failed then to see
T’was the gerbillic horde! Put to sword they must be!
Now rats sing as a throng, a song celebratory
And the rats shall rise up in glory

But for many years yet, we’ll forget what we’ve learnt
In our shame we’ll ignore what these poor rats have earnt
They’ll be dragged through the mud, labelled bloody and gory
But the rats shall rise up in glory

Rats from East and from West, all the best rats from Devon
And London and Brum, will all come up to Heaven
They’ll swarm through the gate, the great end of history
And the rats shall rise up in glory

Filthy Gerbil propoganda

Filthy Gerbil propoganda

Bottoms, Bellies, Eyelids

Bottoms, Bellies, Eyelids

I was pondering the names of body parts a while back, and it occurred to me that many of them are really quite strange and there is rather a lot of inconsistency in the naming. This poem highlights just three of the many issues I have with the way body parts have been named. I’m considering writing to the British Medical Journal, or maybe starting a petition to have them renamed. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Bottoms, Bellies, Eyelids

Why is your bottom your bottom?
When it’s only halfway down?
Surely, your bottom’s the soles of your feet
That carry you round town!

Why is your belly your belly?
When your back has a literal name?
Surely, your belly should be called the front
If we’re going to treat both the same!

Why are your eyelids your eyelids?
When your lips aren’t considered lids too?
Surely, these parts were all named by a numpty
Who fluffed it, but though ‘That’ll do!’

My bottoms, ladies and gentlemen.

My bottoms, ladies and gentlemen.

Everybody Has A Bottom

Everybody Has A Bottom

Now, I’m not one for public nudity or flashing or whatever, but I think there’s too much stigma surrounding bottoms. I mean seriously, barring very rare deformities or amputations, EVERYBODY HAS ONE! Why are we so embarrassed by something that we all have?

I’m not saying you should all get your bums out. I’m certainly not going to get mine out. That being said, let’s not hide our bottoms. Carry it with pride, use it wisely, and never apologise for it.

BOTTOMS 2014!

Everybody Has A Bottom

Everybody has a bottom
But we keep them wrapped inside
Hidden for the vain and perverse
Preservation of our pride

Everybody has a bottom
And the silence takes it’s toll
For the keeping of this secret
Is a wound in every soul

Everybody has a bottom
But we never speak it’s name
So we live in constant terror
That the world will know our shame

Everybody has a bottom
And it now needs to be said
Sharing bottoms will not kill us
Not if we’re already dead

I guess I won't be needing these anymore

I guess I won’t be needing these anymore

Facebook Activist

Facebook Activist

Facebook brings all sorts of people together and gives people a platform to share pretty much anything they want. It’s a brilliant way of spreading news and organising people. It’s also great for activism. Activism on Facebook is not a bad thing. Activists having Facebook is not a bad thing. What is bad is the rise of the ‘Facebook Activist’. You probably know what I’m talking about. The person who share the picture of a poorly child with the caption ‘Doctors need 500 likes before they can operate’ or who shared all the ‘Kony 2012’ pictures but couldn’t tell the difference between Kony and that bloke in the film Predator (no seriously, look it up).

This is probably one of the angrier poems I’ve written. I didn’t mean it to be but it just turned out angry. Hope you enjoy it anyway.

Facebook Activist

Some big dictator, new in town
It’s time to take this monster down
10 likes equals 1 revolution
10,000,000 equals full solution

Coppers shot some kid last night
So share this picture, put it right
10 shares equals one care for Ben
Those coppers won’t do that again!

There’s been some rioting in Greece
But 50 posts will keep the peace
I bet 90% ignore
We can’t just sit here anymore

You really care ’bout this ordeal?
Get off your bum, do something real
To really bless the human race
Delete that post and shut your face

But first, let me take a shelfie

But first, let me take a shelfie

Bogey Nights

Bogey Nights

There have been many different dance crazes over the years. Dance music reached it’s peak in the late 70’s when Disco was in power. Sadly, things have (in my opinion) only gone downhill from there. Sure, I don’t actually dance anyway but the rise of dubstep and ‘house’ or whatever it’s called signal to me the end of listenable dance music. I’m aware that this may be because I have the soul of a 90 year old man, but I stand by my statement. This poem is both a pun and a profession of my belief that a bogey night would still be better than the self-indulgent rubbish being vomited onto our dance floors.Rise up! Take back our clubs and bars! I don’t actually want them but it’s the principle of it!

Bogey Nights

Bogey nights, the best in town
In Lycra tights we get on down
And then our fingers, knuckle deep
A green, mucosal harvest reap

Some are long and some are sticky
Some are red and white and icky
Open wide, your tongue awaits
No need for cutlery or plates

On bogey nights, the folks are slick
The finest noses you could pick
It’s all in all a funky romp
With crusty mucus you can chomp

A party bag, so you can take it home for later

A party bag, so you can take it home for later

When We Eat Through Our Bum

When We Eat Through Our Bum

Everybody’s always worrying about global warming wiping us out or Earth being hit by a meteor. We’re all very well informed when it comes to climate change and the dangers of nuclear weaponry but I think that a far more serious matter has been neglected. There are questions that must be answered and possibilities that must be prepared for. We must not allow politicians to avoid this topic any longer! Write to your local MP today. Here is a short poem I have written to summarise my feelings on the matter: 

When We Eat Through Our Bum

When we eat through our bum and poo through our face
What will become of the human race?
Lest poo stain our faces and food soil our bums
Let all of us pray that that day never comes

Bon Apootit

Bon Apootit