Politics

Choosing Choice

dreamland knickers

The Devizes Neighbourhood Plan referendum

at the Town Hall on Thursday 17th September

*

My alarm clock shouts at me with noisy voice

“Wake up!  It’s Thursday and you have a choice!”

Of what to have for breakfast, eggs or bran

And of voting or not voting on the Plan

I’m not that sure quite what it’s all about

Perhaps I’ll go online and check it out

The library know their stuff, they’re pretty fair

Could ask at the Town Hall, there’s people there

That funny poet woman says “Vote Yes”

Or otherwise the town will be a mess

Without a Plan we just won’t have a clue

Of what outside developers will do

But other folk are saying “No! Vote No!”

I’m so confused about which way to go

If I don’t vote I haven’t had a say

It’s only a few moments from my day

I’m going to go to town now and the Market

Could take the car but it’s a job to park it

Might take my bike or simply take a walk

And wander round and meet some friends and talk

I wonder what they think, I’ll ask their views

They might, like me, be wondering what to choose

Meat from the butchers, or some humble spam

Or whether to have a quick one in The Lamb

I’ve chosen breakfast eggs, I’m on a roll

I’m going to town, I’m going to simply stroll

I’m going to look at options and take note

I’m choosing choice and I am going to vote

If stuff goes wrong I’ve got till ten o’clock

The day is long, I’m on it (where’s that sock?)

 *

by Gail

The Devizing of a Plan

IMG_0431 - Copy 

A personal view of the Devizes Neighbourhood Plan

and the referendum at the Town Hall on Thursday

*

All careful plans of men may fail and fall

And falter, crumble; leaving broken stone

No reason to devise no plan at all

For no man lives by wild chance alone

There has been an edict from on high

“Thou shalt build houses here within ten years

Three hundred homes and thirty three…” then why

Not have a say and ease those planning fears

This Plan has seemed quite hard to understand

To many folk irrelevant, a bore

Yet now the vital hour is at hand

The issue far too pressing to ignore

“What consultation has there been?” the voice

Comes from the floor, comes loud and with an edge

“No one told us that we had a choice

And where are all the leaflets, in the hedge?”

It goes like this; the Trust have made a plan

Consulted up the Brittox, in the post

Collated all the info, then began

To work out where we wanted homes the most

They spoke with Parish Councils, factored in

The traffic, schools, the shops and open space

They put in measures to avoid the sin

Of building ugly stuff that spoils the place

Without the Plan the builders have free rein

To ride roughshod across our lovely land

At which point, just don’t bother to complain

The horse has bolted, galloping, unmanned

If jobs for boys there are let them be ours

Let local builders lay their firm foundations

On brownfield sites, not green fields full of flowers

With guidelines from the Plan’s considerations

No plan is perfect; yet no plan at all

Will simply give us no control, not clever

Consider this; vote Yes at the Town Hall

Or mourn the loss of favoured fields, forever

*

by Gail

 

Corbyn’s Muses

Corbyn's Muses

What ridiculous term will the media come up with to describe the women in Jeremy Corbyn’s shadow cabinet?

These are my thoughts on the matter…

*

Don’t call us Babes, such nonsense just confuses

We’re equals standing side by side with men

If you must, then coin us Corbyn’s Muses

Inspiring hearts and minds with voice and pen

We’ve got here through integrity and toil

Intelligence and knowledge of the game

We’ll labour endlessly for British soil

Don’t denigrate us with a silly name

by Gail

Out of Line

Regarding the alleged naughtiness of Lord Sewel, former Deputy Speaker of the House of Lords and Chair of the Privileges and Conduct Committee…

 

Out of Line

“Order, order!” he shouted “We’re all out of line”

“I’ll see to that” quoth the whore

“And if you’re a good boy we’ll do three in a bed,

You can snort off my titties and more”

Oh silly old Sewel you poor addled old fool

So clearly misguided and randy

That the question of cash and the secretive flash

Were obscured in a cloud of nose candy

 

 

by Gail

 

Fair Game

seeing red...

 

 *

Tally ho boys, sound the horn

The fox is on the run

Who let the dogs out

On a killing spree for fun

Tally ho boys, we’re entitled

We few, we happy band

To terrorise your wildlife

As we trample on your land

*

From the hedge a wordsmith

Chuckles with defiance

Cropping out the ‘orsie’

From the ‘Countrysidealliance’

* 

by Gail

Tin Pot Dictator

Just stood on a stage and read this at the Devizes Festival Poetry Slam…

Untitled

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, you’re Kim Jong Un

Blasting me to pieces with an anti-aircraft gun

For momentary guard slip and forgetting of pretence

Public execution for your Minister of Defence

*******

There were less dramatic options, like demotion and sacking

Not as entertaining, mind, as death by ack acking

As for that piss take poster in the Ealing barber’s shop

You’d show them a Bad Hair Day with a more severe crop

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, you’re that bloke Pol Pot

Who tried to turn the clock back to Year Zero, or Dot

It must have been torture, being rubbish at school

So you got rid of all the clever ones that made you feel a fool

*******

Clad with a well cut uniform and medals on your chest

A gun, a throne and megaphone you’re better than the rest

Making up for all those failings that you feel so acutely

Power that tendeth to corrupt, in you corrupteth absolutely

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, going by the name of Vlad

As in Lenin and Putin and that weird Impaler lad

You’re Saddam Hussein and you’re Ho Chi Minh

Declare resistance to be futile and dissent a sin

*******

Flatter your enemies lest they stab you in the back

Equip the walls with ears to hear what loyalty you lack

Hide the Stasi in the khasi to hear the shit go down

Watch for subtle facial movements like the nuance of a frown

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, but Godwins Law states

That the first to mention Hitler loses rational debates

From bad art and rejection came forth carnage we presume

Stick a moustache on the elephant in the middle of the room

*******

Rally troops remaining, keep the enemy at the gate

For there just might be a coup and it just might be too late

There are movements in the corners of the bunker in your mind

Where one eye is always open in the kingdom of the blind

*******

You’re a Tin Pot Dictator, mowing down the picket

You’re the warden who gave a crate of vegetables a ticket

Pass the tar and feathers if I ever call you Mate

I am the voice of decompression in a Tin Pot State

by Gail