Militant Thistles

polemical poetry to prickle the politics of "permanent austerity"

atos Poor Doors Sheriff Stars spikes

thistles stretch their prickly arms afar

Black Triangle bedroom tax Disrupt and Upset

Harry Gallagher

In A Little Corner Of An English Pub

 

 

Come warm your chap bitten skin

by the logs-on-the-fire picture

on the wall of this old bank,

picked up for a knockdown sum

by a cheap chain pub firm,

selling nostalgia and piss

on the back of their staff

and their cheapaschips lives.

 

Take your place in the corner,

stage whisper how things

were better in the old days,

when Summers ran endless

and England was English

and who won the cup anyway?

 

And how you don’t really care,

but why don’t they integrate?

Mind, they’re all the fucking same

but you can’t say that anymore.

All these PC do gooders,

trying to tell us what to think.

Well listen Abdul, this is England.

Engerland! Engerland! Engerland!

 

And we’ll sing and we’ll sing

about how as little boys

nobody praised us,

nobody loved us

and nobody tucked us up in bed.

 

And how it never did us any harm,

it’s just we like raising our right arms

to show we belong

to someone, anyone.

Harry Gallagher's new collection Northern Lights is out now from Stairwell Books. He has previously been published by The Interpreter's House, Prole, Ofipress, Poets' Republic, Black Light Engine Room, Algebra of Owls, Clear Poetry, Rebel Poetry and many others.  www.harrygallagherpoet.wordpress.com

O Little Town

 

 

O little town,

O little town.

Home to the hopeless,

the wornout and frayed,

where the past is a picture

on the present’s ragged wall,

where the river’s a reminder

of how faraway the world is.

 

But who needs a river

when you’re putty

in the fingers

of a kind eyed bailiff,

who bears a perfect pained look

that says There goes another,

just like the others,

falling through the cracks

of a brokenbacked town,

crying for a saviour in the dark.

 

 

Trumpy twittered

 

 

Whisky flowing,

advisors abed.

Manchild on his phone

raging undead

about liars, fakes,

all who are wrong.

Sadly for him,

1 character too lon