Jazz Can’t Get Enough

June 20th, 2010 by Eric

Jazz astounds
Jazz confounds
Jazz rebounds betwixt the soul and the bones
Perpetual motion in search of a home
Never at rest
Aural physics of the blessed

Jazz resounds
As Mr. Marsalis and his crew pours wine into my ears
Is it red? white? or blue?
Both hot and cool

Keys unlocked
Sharp, not flat
Arranged anarchy
Melodious insanity

Jazz abounds
Notes without end
Improvisation’s bending of imagination
To spontaneous combustion

Poetry as sounds
Jazz can’t get enough

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After The Voting Was Done

May 15th, 2010 by Eric

In celebration of the birth of a new style of British politics, and the overdue education of the British voter about how their constitution really works.

I.

On election day, the voters made their decisions.
Their pronouncement, many interpreted.
Some said people agreed on Tory, or progressive, or none!
But the truth was rather more complicated.
Not one choice was made, but very very many,
Their multiplicity left each other’s frustrated.

Cameron announced he could work with Clegg,
And Clegg was as keen to reciprocate.
For the talks they sent in two teams of four,
Both knew a deal tough to negotiate.
Not just each other they’d need to appease.
Party members and voters they’d have to placate.

Brown sat still in Downing Street,
Prime minister uninterrupted, as per constitution.
When one resigns he recommends his replacement,
No allowance made for any interregnum.
With none in majority and no clear successor,
Brown should continue ‘til the dealing was done.

As Tories asked LibDems to put them in charge,
Labour dared to hope they’d be the ones to remain.
Secret parallel conversations commenced,
With a view to keeping Labour in power again.
Only when all the hands had been on the table,
Would we know who had best played the game.

A noisy thousand marched upon London,
Saying this was the time for a fair voting system,
Or asking to retake Parliament (from who, we know not).
Let’s just say their views weren’t entirely consistent.
It was to Clegg that they made their demands,
Who was polite as ever, and promised he’d listen.

Newscaster Kay Burley moaned at great length
As the protestors walked by her outdoor broadcast.
From the throng Billy Bragg granted impromptu interview,
But hostile in general was the crowd that amassed.
They shouted “Sack Kay Burley, and down with Murdoch!”
“Go home and watch Sky News”, scolded Burley, at the last.

Across television, radio and internet,
Countless opinions were being said.
Some didn’t vote for such-and-such party,
Some didn’t vote for such-and-such government head.
Pretty much all of them were perfectly right,
This system’s just one vote per one MP, instead.

II.

The public faced instability and pacts unwanted,
They fretted over jobs and the public purse.
Would a new government collapse like a house of cards?
Or would poor losers return to office like a curse?
Would the people be served a steady diet of cuts?
Or drowning in debt, would they be further immersed?

A price had to be paid for Labour’s defeat.
One intractable man, the obstacle to coalition.
He’d been difficult with the LibDems before,
And was unpopular with most of the nation.
For Labour to stay, Brown had to leave,
Whether pushed, or going by his own volition.

So Brown said he’d go in four months or so,
Enough time to select his replacement.
A dignified election for Labour leader,
Would compensate Brown’s weighty displacement.
The press mused about Labour’s tactical genius,
But all still depended on the LibDem’s consent.

Labour’s spin doctors were sent out to spin,
Though nobody knows what Campbell’s job’s supposed to be,
It seems you no longer need a proper career,
To be invited to spout off on national TV.
Bolton got riled at being told what he thought,
So he told Campbell off, in a style most unseemly.

Salmond said he’d work with the Westminster parties
As he calls them with such obnoxious conceit.
But he started to consume his humble pie
When he thought his exclusion was likely complete.
There’d be no handsome payout for Scotland
If the coalition had no need for SNP seats.

Who’d dish up the biggest plate of electoral reform?
Hague said the last offer was an AV referendum.
Labour trumped that by offering AV straight away,
Plus a PR plebiscite, as an addendum.
But LibDems worried Labour’s government might not last
Long enough to realize the proportionate intention.

LibDem and Labour made little progress.
Some thought it a ruse to sharpen Tory appetites,
To prompt more compromise from the Tories,
But that Clegg always had Cameron firmly in his sights.
Tories and LibDems were making real progress.
In the concluson, Labour gave up, without a fight.

III.

Brown left office with great dignity.
Not a squatter at all, no matter the report.
Britain’s constitution requires a prime minister,
He left when the contest was no longer sport.
To Buckingham Palace he left with alacrity,
His wife and his children were his escort.

Brown’s recommendation to the Queen was given,
David Cameron would be his successor.
Soon after Cam boarded his silver jaguar,
Taking him to become the big job’s possessor.
With the Queen, Cam’s photo was also taken,
The Queen now become Cam’s political confessor.

Cam returned and he spoke plainly to the press
Standing outside the famous door of number ten.
Nobody knew who would be in Cam’s cabinet,
But by then coalition seemed to be most certain.
Cam looked back and thanked Brown’s long service,
Then looked forward, to good times’ return.

Gordon Brown said his fond goodbyes,
And (rightly) blamed himself for his failing.
To a job in charity he hoped to go,
Though knowing him, it won’t be plain sailing.
He proclaimed himself Labour through and so through,
But it’s his inflexibility that was often cause of his ailing.

The news came out in fits and in spurts,
Over who would sit round the big table.
A double-headed leader would preside over affairs,
Clegg answering when Cam was not able.
Two men of same age with mutual respect.
Born of a familiar breed and similar stable.

Osbourne Chancellor and Cable in Business,
May the unexpected Home Secretary,
Huhne’s job the climate, Hague Foreign Office,
Ken Clarke to deliver justice exemplary,
And whenever there’s cuts that need to be made,
LibDems and Tories as equal accessories.

Cam and Clegg showed their rapport
Hosting springtime in number ten’s grounds.
Theirs was the flavour of this new era,
By blending together, a new recipe they had found.
This the first taste; five years of ham and eggs,
With no Brown sauce or pork for Salmond.

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The Ballad of Election Night

May 7th, 2010 by Eric

In memory of Britain’s anachronistic electoral system, which hopefully died on May 6, the evening of the 2010 General Election.

I.

He did not wear his azure tie,
For blue is calm but sad,
And fired up was his campaign
Having fought with all he had.
Thirty-six hours on the road,
Killed the battlebus clutch pad.

Then there was his rival,
looking unhappy and grey,
A great weight upon his shoulders,
From saving the world, or just the day.
His wife always at his side,
Was he proving he’s not gay?

And there was the other rival,
The king of TV debate.
Cleggstacy had wowed the nation,
Though discovered rather late.
Would it deliver a big breakthrough,
Or leave the LibDems still third rate?

The Sunderland kids had practiced
Passing the ballot box.
The Returning Officer kept both eyes
Glued to his stopclocks.
But the record survived unscathed.
Too many voters used their vox.

But many others were denied,
In the first tragedy of the night.
They waited in the queues,
But in the end lost their right.
Isn’t this the freedom we speak of,
When we send soldiers out to fight?

The night began with an exit,
Instead of an entrance.
Of the prospect of majority,
Polls said none had the chance.
Though when asked about partnering up,
The parties looked at each other askance.

As the results started to come in,
The swingometer got broken.
The swings could not explain,
How the populous had spoken.
Generalizations were swept aside
Analysis found superficial and token.

II.

As the results started to come in
Cameron watched them down the pub.
Whilst Brown took a little nap,
The Tories, his fellow Scots did snub.
Clegg went down to say sorry,
To those excluded from the voter’s club.

Harman and others started to mention
The prospect of legal action.
Apart from their lack of real power,
Electoral Commission promised reaction.
But talk of court fights all faded
As deal-making became the attraction.

Cleggmania just evaporated.
Tories claimed the voters decided.
Labour said “they’ve not picked a winner!”
“These polls say that we’ve tied it!”
The only thing they could agree about
Was the people were all divided.

In the courting of the LibDems,
They argued about who got the first dance.
Labour claimed home-field advantage and the
Constitution promises them first advance.
But Clegg reasoned Tory seats and votes
Needed the smaller enhance.

Smith finally paid for those porno films.
Ulster’s Robinson was disowned.
The Welsh tired of Opik’s cheek.
Clarke reaped what he had sown.
Rantzen barely registered.
But Balls held on to his own.

At the winning of Brown’s seat,
He gave a valedictory.
When Cameron made his speech,
To the Libs he was unconciliatory.
Clegg said how many more votes
Only gave a pyrrhic victory.

Griffin’s fascists made no in-roads.
Plaid and Scots Nats were unspectacular.
UKIP’s performance was stubbornly earthbound,
After Farage fell out the sky the morn before.
But parachuting Lucas into Brighton
Gave the Greens their very first MP score.

III.

Day broke and people saw in new light.
Labour decided they loved PR,
And the progressive left enjoyed
Their best election ever.
Most of all, their own result
Had beat expectations by far.

The Lib Dems were in a gloomy mood.
No political dawn and no breakthrough.
There were big wins and big losses too,
Yet gold looked pale compared to blue.
In the final reckoning they realized
Deal-making might still deliver something new.

The Tories were being tight-lipped
But clearly were thinking very hard.
Not enough seats for a majority?
Even so, No.10 need not be barred.
Found enough in common with the LibDems
To hold them in surprising regard.

Brown looked a rejuvenated man,
Thanked Mandelson for all that he’d done.
Then Mandelson hinted to the press
What he’d meant by ’stable government’ all along.
It just meant Labour somehow in power,
Even if that requires Brown be gone.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
And now New Labour is dead.
Some wield the knife themselves,
Some just say the word.
Mandelson did it to benefit Labour,
At the price of making it absurd.

And perhaps short of a dance partner,
Brown should grasp when to bow out.
Even the greatest fighter should know
When it’s time for his last bout.
The dance music keeps playing on,
And everyone turns about.

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The Rhyme of Kate-la-Dime

April 25th, 2010 by Eric

The girl they call Kate-la-Plate,
Jumped right on to a roller skate.
She rolled herself down the hillside,
Shouting and screeching: ‘watch out, mate!’
But keeping her balance all the way,
Until her wheels got stuck in a grate.

The girl they call Kate-la-Jaunty,
Owned bongo drums aplenty.
Though nobody ever counted,
Some say she had more than twenty,
Which she played with calypso rhythm,
Singing songs by Harry Belafonte.

The girl they call Kate-la-Toward,
Holidayed in a Norwegian fjord.
She slept in a fishing trawler,
Which to a sturdy tree she had moored.
When the heron stopped by to say hello,
She replied ‘please do come aboard’.

The girl they call Kate-la-Dime,
Wished she lived in New York all the time.
She didn’t know what job she’d do there,
Maybe a dancer, an actress or mime?
But when asked what cocktail she wanted,
She was sure: margaritas with lime…

The girl they call Kate-la-Souffle,
Found herself hosting a super soiree.
There was lots of booze on the sideboard,
And the food was a finger buffet.
But best of all, when guests arrived,
They all wished Kate a happy birthday!

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We Peculiar Creatures

March 13th, 2010 by Eric

What peculiar creatures are we.
They say we descend from monkeys.
Lost our hair and our tails,
Brush our teeth, cut our nails,
Dream of holidays on safari.

What peculiar creatures are us.
They say we’re all made from stardust.
We learned to stand on two feet,
And then to walk down the street,
But we’d prefer to sit on the bus.

What peculiar creatures we are.
They say we are three-fifths water.
Like to keep fit by biking,
Swimming, jogging or hiking,
But then we drive to work in a car.

What peculiar creatures we make.
They say we’re descended from apes.
Live inside houses, not caves,
Flown the skies, sailed the waves,
Then we invented the seedless grape.

What peculiar creatures are we.
They say we descended from trees.
Make love like a missionary,
When tired of position-ry,
And we blame it all on birds and bees.

What peculiar creatures we are.
They say we’re alike from afar.
Concerned with the differences,
Disputing what’s hers or his,
When we’re haggling in life’s great bazaar.

What peculiar creatures we make.
They say we were made in God’s shape.
Pray to Him in the churches,
Start wars ‘cos of what He says,
Count what we give, but not what we take.

What peculiar creatures are us.
They say we all return to dust.
We spend our lives killing time,
We watch the clock hands unwind,
But rarely leave without any fuss.

What peculiar creatures are man.
They say we’re as smart as they come.
We studied anatomy,
Worked out our psychology,
But I’m just not so sure that I can.

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