The Culling of the Forests (an extract)

This is an extract from a longer epic poem, which we hope to see in a full length publication soon. It covers events over the past four and some years

Britons! – an hour is coming
an hour you’ve never seen before
to the solid ground of institution
an axe is now laid at your door
wielding mighty
wielding sore
the blow struck is aiming high
              the felling of the nation’s forests
              timber ancient
              timber dry ….
 
“For in the cycle of civilisation
comes many a point in every nation
where flood
famine
disease
or war
bring relief”
- saith he -
“we’ve grown far too populous
opinionated
some even opulous
change is due like it or not –
I will lead you
I will feed you
I will be the leech on your skin
then such things flabby
such things scabby
will be supplanted by
my smooth and trim”
 
Down all the routes is seen a craft
a crafty brain that thinks it through
 
“We can use a crisis
to unleash all our vices
and crank them up a notch or two –
damaged matter?
flotsam?
Scatter!
              - their ashes to the wind!
too many bed blockers
too many fat rockers
too much dross who don’t give a toss
seize our chance and let them take theirs
              all the way
              either
              down or up
when it comes to shaving the nations stubble
who really gives a fuck
act now and be damned
I’ll take it on the nose
just let me keep on firing fast
with deftly pointed toes”
 
Only take not away moods of night and day
woods and wet ferns
rustling leaves, snapping twigs
movement of fleet feather and hoof lightly sprung
let boughs grow lichen grey green
rocks offer refuge well sat
steep side of slope walked askew
to balance grasp an ungainly root arched by
 
IV
 
And so to homes that house the vulnerable and old
 
              - the vulnerable and old –
 
we pause
for silence
 
Wait a minute and remember
those who were tipped –
                             remotely
                             remourse-less-ly
                             resourse-less-ly
                             early into eternity
                             from their only bed
a coffin is a coffin
no matter what excuses rose
from those who chose
to let the dominoes fall
as fall they would –
Not know – really?
Wasn’t it that same toe
that nudged the stack
a toe on an accelerator pact
to burst the bottle neck
and let it flow
down Styx Row
come what may?
 
“Ah Britain –
you were a kitten
-a-trembling-on-our-knee
no lion will roar
                             now from your shore
once we’re done with you -
for as long as we can swing it
your bells will ring in blue”
 
To watch the storm unleash
is disquieting at best
add worse to worse
the common purse
become a bribing tool
the highest office of the land
engulfed in cabal rule
urgent questions
              - swatted away –
and yet to come
              - winter’s fray –
and oh, good grief, to cap it all
- a messy exit looming tall –
 
Ah Britain!
the kitten
mewing near the door -
trampled underfoot
by strident suit
thrown a scrap and beggars cap
promised this and promised that
but seeing little come of ‘aught
then realising you’ve been
caught -
off guard by rapid coup
 
And what of spin?
 
“it’s not a sin to spin the spin
fling caution to the wind
the ends justify the means
and who cares …
once we’re …
              ‘have-beens’
it’s not as if we’ll go to jail
for negligence or duty failed
in fact we trust an honour is in store –
elected of the realm are we
slight of hand and transparency
the fruit of our democracy
yea – rampant huge majority!
there’s little you can do but see it through
so we’ll keep it clear as mud
bunked down in
coercive bull-doze club –
the real
the right
the mighty shite
the disingenuous, disinforming
fastidiously fondly
oligarch home-ing
the betwixt and between
of zero esteem
the nation’s blight with scything swipe
smugly pulling hard line tight
the now and ever
hideous sight
of blatant bullies armed to fight
the daily defy hiding the scrutiny shy
whilst turning the screw on all that is true
the cunningly working ‘round the clock
to hole us squarely on the rock
the rock of unashamedly murky hue
of
deathly
deadly
new – true – blue”
 
We’ll add to that a merry tune to sing while we go down
we all know how it goes, so after three … hold your nose
 
              Rule Britannia!
              Britannia’s in the drink
              raise the spad insignia
              while we sink
 
              Rule Britannia!
              Britannia’s sinking fast
              salute the skull and crossbones
              on the mast
 
              Rule Britannia!
              Britannia’s going down
              regale the sodden mop
              of schoolboy crown
 
              Rule Britannia!
              Britannia’s ‘neath the waves
              three rowdy hip-hoorays
              for the scuttling knaves
 
 
This all said and done – beware
(despite the toilet flush fanfare)
Societal engineers be warned –
 
              - hell hath no fury
                like a nation scorned –
 
So, who can we trust to be
              ‘The Just’
and navigate us through?
 
Look deep within your hearts O Britons
our lookouts might be you