Woah there! Ooff. See, not so bad. Welcome to the Poetry Hallway.
If poetry is a kamikaze fighter plane of righteousness screaming towards its terrible target, then perched on its left wing is Andrew Walton. See out the festive season in his wiry, wry company. Sorry, no chairs. Park your bottom on the radiator.
Boxing Day Blues by Andrew Walton
|Nige on the hunt! (Andy Brain)|
Goodwill to all men, and lots of Christmas cheer.
Farage dons green wellies and joins the Surrey Hunt
Cigar in hand, spots a camera, pushes to the front.
Irresistible lure of publicity stunt.
Toady in his element, on turret of trundling tank
City spiv turned country toff, get back to your bank.
While Nigel farages round the fox-hole,
City Link workers are flung on the dole.
I hope he chokes on his Brussels sprouts
With his UKIP chums and their upturned snouts
To a din of grunts and scoffs, they spout
Tales of bestial gay donkeys, to which they gave a clout.
Captain of the “People's Army”, he leads from the rear
Let's get him a phone app, thoughtful gift, this time of year.
UKIK is its name – you give immigrants a great punt
Off the cliffs of Dover, while prize porkers grunt in clover.
On Question Time yet again, no-one to speak up for us.
Foreigners they take the blame, but we all get the brunt
Tory cuts, stretched services, a privatised NHS.
Don't blame the poor for Britain's problems – it is not their mess.
It's not the fault of immigrants, you can find the real culprits
Wealthy, hypocritical, racist UKIP shits
Wearing Barbour, green wellies, puffing on cigars
Tearing up the countryside in oversized four-wheel drive cars
|IDS does not approve. (Andy Brain)|