Monday, 22 January 2018

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn

This week I mainly tried to understand Labour policy on Brexit.  I'm sorry to say that I spent many, many hours on this and came to the conclusion that it is beyond my skills as a blogger.  No, something as elusive, as paradoxical, as untamed as Labour policy on Brexit cannot be expressed through the everyday medium of sentences and paragraphs.  If I could present my findings as a dance I would do that but I'm very sad to say that I can't dance.  If my ukulele skills were more advanced perhaps I could attempt to express Labour policy on Brexit with a jaunty, syncopated strum but they're not.  If you'd ever seen my attempts at drawing you would immediately know that my woeful art skills are definitely not up to the job. Pottery? Sorry, I have no clay experience. I'm running out of options now. Let's see, what's left?  Hmm, can I express Labour policy on Brexit through the medium of poetry?  Well, we'll never know unless I gave it a go. Et voila, here is my poem about Labour policy on Brexit.  Simply enjoy.

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
it is disappointing
to learn that your librarian
style hides an authoritarian
more interested in isolation
than international relations.

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
it is your patrician
outlook that I despise.
Your intent of a 70s Bennite reprise
will end my opportunities
in the European Communities.

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
it is just too frustrating
to listen to your view
that single market means EU
and the mistakes that you made
about rules on state aid.

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
it is to my chagrin
that you reject the distinction
between tariffs and friction,
between regulation at source
and the need for a border force.

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
I'm fed up with you spreading
the lie of a correlation
between low wages and migration.
These are the values of UKIP and Powell
and their dispiriting scowl.

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
when you accept Mogg's position
do you not wonder
if you have made a blunder
and now must fight
the policies of the far right?

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
what is your opinion
of my rights to study, to learn
to fall in love, to earn
throughout EFTA/EEA?
You want to take those rights away?

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn,
this is a voter writing.
I care about facts,
not McDonnell's Momentum pacts.
Resign, retire, but stop digging trenches and
take up your rightful place ... on the back benches.

Over and out,

Terry

PS I might still post something on Labour's Brexit policy in the medium of sentences and paragraphs.  Then again, I might not.  It is hard to keep up with their collective madness and even harder to decipher it.  As it stands, my clumsy attempt merely adds to the confusion.

PPS I would love to hear other poems (on any topic you like) in the comments.

PPPS I'm aware the poem was more fun to write than to read but, hey, it's my blog so there might be more of this in the future. We amateur bloggers have a tendency towards tyranny.

22 comments:

  1. Oh dear Terry Entoure
    I have to say that your
    Verses on Corbyn
    Are pretty Absorbin'.

    He hasn't a clue
    On dirait "c'est un peu fou"
    To upset the youth vote
    Without which he's no hope.

    It's to my despair
    That he seems unaware
    Of the consequence of
    what he's doing for love
    (of his England).

    The people have spoken
    Without e'en a token
    Reference to Scotland
    To him it's a NOT land.

    He's counting on Dick there
    But he's a bit thick there
    Much more so than Kez.
    Oh dear, what a mezz (?).

    OK... let's have an end to the wretched thing...

    So Jem, please just resign?
    For you no one would pine.
    And let your successor
    Be very much better.

    OK, I'll get me coat.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Love it!

      I would like it if Corbyn
      spoke of the statistic
      of Brexit entirely
      in pentameter iambic.
      It will not make his message
      any simpler or clearer
      but might bring the end
      of his leadership nearer.


      Delete
    2. This recent polemic
      In fashion poetic
      Has left me depleted
      But not yet defeated.

      And so I continue
      To hope against hope
      That sooner or later
      We'll be shot of this dope!

      Delete
    3. I declare you the winner
      of this poetry fest.
      Let's return Corbyn to the corner
      where he does whatever it is he does best.

      Delete
  2. LOL!

    No poetry from me, you'll be glad to read...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ha ha, Hugh.

      Probably wise.

      One of us is bound to end up with the McGonnagal Prize for dodgy doggerel!

      Delete
    2. Avast there Tris! McGonnagal was a brilliant poet.
      Even though he didn't know it.

      Delete
    3. Indeed he was a poet, brilliant.
      Unlike Corbyn, he was professionally resilient.

      ---

      I'm starting to think I should have expressed this in dance because now I'm trying trying to find a word that rhymes with "dance". What have I started?




      Delete
    4. I'm practising my pas de deux as i type (which isn't easy!)

      Delete
  3. If you are looking for words that rhyme with dance there are a number of helpful websites

    I typed in word rhymes and from one site I got

    chance dance France glance lance
    manse prance stance trance

    And that is only the one syllable ones.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The problem with starting a rhyming blog post is that I now live my life in rhyme. All I do all day is have my lunch then obsess about words that rhyme with lunch.

      That is a good tip. That will save me racking my peanut brain

      Delete
  4. Terry Entoure is now blogging in dance
    If you're not too busy you should give it a glance.
    What he is saying expressed in a prance
    His movements are designed to his readers entrance.

    I hope he is careful... otherwise he'll fall over and break his leg

    Sorry the last line didn't rhyme, but although they say in England that you can have your cake and eat it, the truth is a little more mundane.

    As the French say, you can't have the butter and the money for the butter.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'd love to be able to perform expressive dance but I'm feeling a rap battle coming on!

      I'm the lyrical lancer
      who takes on all chancers.
      This figurative dancer
      whose footwork is faster
      than a panther.
      I'm just a freelancer
      but Corbyn's a prancer,
      the brexit advancer,
      and union financer.

















      to stop a chancer

      Delete
  5. TerryEntoure thought he’d take a chance
    and blog about Corbin through the medium of dance.
    He took one step forward,
    then he took two steps back,
    but thought that his message
    still showed a real lack.
    He said to himself,” Give up, it’s a farce,”
    then stumbled and suddenly fell on his arse.
    And so, gentle reader, I’m sure you’ll agree,
    Terry’s fall captured Jeremy to an absolute “t”.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Fantastic!
      That was exactly my tactic -
      to avoid the didactic
      and injure myself chiropractic.



      what would happen but it would have been the only dance that communicated the message properly

      Delete
  6. "T" is for titter
    As I'm sure you know
    And I'm sure that he's grateful
    That you had a go!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm collecting the poems
      in a huge jeroboam
      for they are totems
      of our collective emotions.

      Delete
  7. Surely with Corbyn the Time Warp is most suitable?

    Corbyns jumps to the left
    And then a step to his right
    With his hands on his hips
    He brings his knees in tight
    But it's the pelvic thrust... I think I'll stop there. *retch*

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm just glad I didn't read this one before I went to sleep!

      He's certainly doing the hokey cokey Brexit - you put the customs union in, you take the customs union out, you shake it all about...

      Delete
  8. Terry,
    I could not let this opportunity poetic slip away without appending this ode that sprung, almost unbidden, to my pen -

    To Britannia, now re-awaken'd!

    Some lines penned in contemplation of the forthcoming exit of the United Kingdom from the European Union.

    Britannia, cometh now th’ hour indeed
    for Thee to fill Thy people’s need,
    to now fulfil their hearts’ desire
    and fan their patriotic fire!
    Now call to mind the glory days -
    Waterloo!, Trafalgar’s blaze!
    The Battle of Britain’s valiant few!
    The Royal Navy’s derring-do!
    Th’ Armada smashed by gallant Drake!
    Brave armies battling for Thy sake
    To crush thine enemies wherever met
    To build your Empire where sun ne’er set.
    At Quatre Bras, Thy sons stood fast
    At Islandlwana, fought to the last
    At Alamein, they trounced the Hun
    And when, not battles, ever honours won.
    Now also is the time at hand
    To once more free Thy blessed land,
    Inspired by that glorious past
    To gain full Liberty at last:
    Released from foul Europa’s pow’r
    Make this Britannia’s finest hour!
    Tell Frog and Dago, Wop and Kraut -
    Thy People spoke - Britannia OUT!
    Now shall the foreign mongrels learn
    The mettle of Britannia stern.
    We do not need their tawdry club,
    Their councils and cabals we snub.
    Their Customs Union too we shun,
    Our own, and better, one to run.
    The Channel we shall make our moat
    ‘cross which no refugees shall float
    To seek “asylum” as they claim,
    When robbing us is all their aim.
    Nor shall we suffer here to stay
    Blackguards who we’ll send on their way,
    Back to their putrid native soil,
    Who here will never strive and toil -
    Pakistani, Romanian, Pole
    And suchlike shall not claim our dole,
    Nor take the jobs of Britons born,
    While British culture they would scorn.
    We’ll ship them off across the sea
    And make proud Albion once more free.
    That freedom then will make us bold
    And we’ll return as once of old
    To standards that we held so dear,
    No longer cowed by foreign fear.
    Aye, rest assured we shall not flinch!
    We will bring back furlong and inch.
    No kilometer nor yet hectare
    Shall measure out this realm fair:
    Nor shall the kilo more confound,
    Potatoes shall be weighed by pound.
    No litres of petrol, nor of ale:
    Gallon and pint shall both prevail.
    So, Britons all, be of good cheer -
    The New Jerusalem is builded here!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Absolutely love it. You're on creative fire. Thank you for posting.

      Ladies and gentleman, the Brexit poetry prize is awarded to andimac.

      Delete
    2. Have to admit that that takes the cake.

      Well done, Andi!

      Delete

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