Senryu – #indyref2

Without people’s will;
Independence cannot come
Soon enough for us.

2020©DSCoremans

Picture Used Taken: Stirling, Scotland (November, 2016) ©DSCoremans

Senryu – Politics

Government has failed
To provide; for the nation
Trusted politics.

2020©DSCoremans

Picture Used Taken: London, England (June, 2007) ©DSCoremans

Sonnet – #indyref2

Chaos; their downfall and their sordid shield,
this small government of one trick ponies.
Inexperienced, out of touch phonies;
who grasp a fiery sword too hot to wield

This cabinet lacks experts of the field;
all opportunists or Johnson’s cronies.
Waste of nation’s time on ceremonies;
another option most found unappealing

and while Corbyn’s loss may be Starmer’s gain
will this new party change, or stay the same.
Let’s hope they oppose in more than just name
and cast off their antisemitic shame.

If labour cannot show that they have healed
Then Independent Scotland’s fate is sealed.

2020©DSCoremans

Picture Used Taken: Stirling, Scotland (November, 2016) ©DSCoremans

Sonnet: Science-Fiction

I would rather it were science-fiction,

Than painfully, profound reality.

I cannot believe that the world if free,

When Poverty, seems like an addiction.

Living from one pay-check to the next one,

Is a societal sickness. Disagree?

When Rent over Food is necessity.

How can one plan for what is to come?

Recklessly destroyed resources now rare

Ready revolutionary replacements

Because soon fossil-fuels will disappear

And all that will be left is displacement.

Our children will not thank us for failure,

Or for repeated, reckless behaviour.

2019 ©DSCoremans

Zanze: Burning Bridges

Burning bridges as you exit
And then lining up your pockets.
“What’s the point of fucking Brexit!?”
Hear the war cry of the rockets.

Burning bridges as you
Begin to walk away
From talks which are now through,
And from your path, you stray.

Burning bridges,
For what seems fun.
Drawn like midges,
Your feast begun.

Burning
And then legs it
Your plan is concerning
Burning bridges as you exit.

2019©DSCoremans

Zanze: Written In The Sand

Written in the Sand is a word.
It is the only word written.
Overhead, flies a fearless bird,
It sees not the lines of Britain.

Written in the Sand is
A message to mankind.
Though to the writer this
May be here to remind.

Written in the
Stones from the sand,
Smoothed by weather
Passing the land.

Written,
Does not mean heard.
Does the message fit in?
Written in the Sand is a word.

2019 ©DSCoremans

A Poem: How The Fuck?

How the fuck,
Did she survive?
Just like Brexit
She refuses to die.

Like a cockroach
Crawling on parliament floor
She may be the leader,
But the woman’s a bore.

“The worst thing I did?
Why running through wheat.”
She says to the nation,
Pretending she’s sweet.

But if ever this woman,
Was sweet, now she’s sour.
Like three weeks old milk,
In a fridge without power.

She marches the country
Blind, into darkness
She tells us she cares
But really, she’s heartless.

Her own party wouldn’t invite her
To an event in her home.
I know, it’s as awkward,
As the dance moves, she’s shown.

48 letters, were finally sent
The rest of the Tories think it’s time that she went
Yet, it would appear, she’s been spared her exit,
Because no-one else wants, to touch fucking Brexit.

Free Verse: You OK With This?

In your street, there lives
Someone
Who moved to the UK
Years ago
From elsewhere in the EU.

They maybe own a home,
Work and pay taxes,
Have British children.

Our government
Is making them pay

To register
As foreigners
And ask permission
To stay in their homes.

You OK with this?

*****

What about
We take it one step further?
What about
Making Them
Wear armbands
To help identify them?

Or sew stars to their jackets,
Or pink triangles?
Better yet
Why don’t we move them
Out of their homes,
For their own safety,
And into specially designed camps.

This is fascism.

This is dangerous.

This has happened before.

Yet…We…Let…It
Happen again.

Rather than learn
From that which has come before us
We have allowed ourselves
To repeat
The mistakes of history.

None of this is in my name,
Yet I am forced to feel
The shame,
Of living within
A country who hunts,
The marginalised,
And all of this is done
By out of touch…politicians.

You OK with this?

Sonnet: Forty-Eight Letters

Forty-Eight letters that’s all it will take,

To topple a giant with no mandate,

And a heart full of selfishness and hate.

Who would rather her people never wake,

 

Her ill-thought plan an untested half-bake,

Her appetite for greed will never sate.

Isn’t it time to make the Torries wait?

Why are we rushing in for goodness sake?

 

Some decisions need consideration,

We cannot rush head first into darkness,

Burning ancient bridges as we exit.

So if after careful moderation,

We find the awful offer is heartless,

Then stand united and help end Brexit.

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