Greedy Old Bastards by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

What’s with all these rich old men 
living in the past?
Trying to restore their dark slave empires
that were never meant to last

Longing for the ‘good old days’
which never truly were
They never have enough
More is more
Easily to blame us

Brotherhoods in theatrical hoods
screaming “You will not replace us”
What are you afraid of manchild?
What harm could more rights for minorities do,
why make such a petulant fuss?

Is our resistance
a threat to your very existence?
Do you think that we seek to conquer and dominate
just like you’ve done for thousands of years?
Is your global patriarchy really at stake?

Big boy knickers in a knot
It really does depress
The fact that they pull the ladder up from underneath them
and honestly believe that If a marginalised group gets an equal footing
they will have much less

Enabled by your Wives, Mothers & Sisters
Your Daughters do not stand a chance
Baby machines only good for keeping house
Where’s she’s just a bloody cunt
and you’re the one who wears the pants

These religious hypocrites who hate the poor
Condemnation of their hard work and sacrifice
I would not wish to be in a heaven full of bigots
(for that would be my version of hell)
Yet the hell where my loved ones and likeminded friends dwell
(according to the far right) would be my paradise!

“No healthcare
No welfare
No food and no house
If they cannot work then they shall die
I’m such a good Christian,
Let God sort them out”

They’re dead
War is good
as long as I’m fed

You give to charity to assuage your guilt
You don’t approve of being gay
Trans people in bathrooms give you nightmares
Thoughts of racial segregation help to get you through another hateful day

Remember, when your money calls to you,
when you’re buried and decaying in the dirt
or burning to ash in the crematorium cooker
Camels cannot fit through the eye of a needle
and you cannot take it with you you greedy old fucker!

Scum by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

This is what the so called majority asked for
Demonisation of the poor
Our national assets spunked up the wall
Scapegoating Muslim’s and the unproductive disabled
Calling us traitors, takers and scum

They won’t be happy until we’re all oppressed, at the bottom of the barrel drowning in racially pure, neo-Nazi cum

You mock us and shock us with the vitriol you read
Your silence is compliance in a world of black and white
Absolute morality
Cognitive dissonant closed off little minds
Only when they make you suffer too,
will you ever see the light

Where are you when they starve us?
Your ‘friendship’ was lacking when the medical professional assessor hissed,
in my ear and on paper that I’m unworthy of any money to live on
That my disabilities do not exist –

and that by extension neither should I
It’s a natural conclusion
Work or die

The state broadcaster would never lie
Sitting by your marble kitchen surface
taken in by the glare from the Sun and the lure of the Mail
They tell you who to hate today and where to place your collective blame
Who is the target of the day?
Perhaps the refugee who dare set sail

across the Med from nasty Europe?
The root of all evil and the reason you aren’t thriving
According to the establishment elite who control the media
only certain white, able-bodied Herero humans are worthy of survival

The scared little boys who never grew up
Terrified of losing the privileges that they’ve always had
By their logic, if a minority has more chances then they’ll be given less
Trolling lefty liberal pages
With soundbite insults berating ‘snowflakes’ like a deadbeat Dad

When trolling turns to marching and marching morphs into hooded bros, waving swastikas and crosses on fire
I have no desire to live in an evil, twisted world like that
If you fall to speak out against the rising ‘alt-right’ threat and ignore histories lessons
you’re nothing but a cowardly ostrich and well, a bit of a twat!

Oh but “Freedom of speech”
“Wish violence on no one”
“Stay peaceful, try to reason with them”
“They’re just ignorant and sad”.
Educate, said the middle class liberal whose life’s not in any actual danger
Placating the morons makes you almost as bad

as the selfish Baby Boomer who did well off the back of a socialist society
pulling up the ladder behind them as they paint their new extension in the costa del sol
As the working class turkey voting for Christmas,
Cap doffing to toffs and tugging their forelocks
Blaming all migrants and people on the dole
for their oppression, depression and failing public services

To make a crude comparison
They’re like a prostitute who’s in love with her pimp,
exploited for labour and covered in jizz
Seeing little of their hard earned money in return
It all goes to the Masters
and they’ve no idea who their real enemy is

You call me jealous, a justifier of idleness and judgmental too
As you kiss the rings of your gilded Leaders because the papers told you to
I must explain that it’s not your possessions which cause this distaste that I hold for you

If what’s yours is yours due your own hard work,
no handouts from family like those upper class jokes
That’s fine
Good for you!
Yet you deny others the same opportunities you had, don’t you?

Contrary to your misguided beliefs I don’t envy what you OWN
I despise the “I’m alright now Jack” attitude emanating from you
I do not resent you for what you HAVE
I resent you for how you VOTE

I will not be looked down upon by those who live in the dark
Wilfully ignorant in an age of information at our fingertips
You, who’s sailed through life and never had to fight

Because paying your way towards the betterment of the whole of society isn’t ‘theft’
Anyway you can’t take it with you
You know that don’t you,
Mr and Mrs always Right?

We’ve all worms to those in charge anyway and they are the wise and benevolent owls
They know what’s best, I swear on my Skybox!
Your chosen servitude oppresses me but you also willingly oppress yourselves

All divided
At each other’s throats
Some more expendable than others to the top 5 percent
Yet from your slumber you will not wake
Listen to reason and facts
You refuse to relent

You never will
You’ll carry on either saying nothing at all or defending THEM
Not until they crush you too
under their hunting boots like

I ask you,
Who out of this group deserves to be destroyed and buried for good
Is it me?
Is it you?
Or is it them?

We’re all at different levels in the sediment of the pond
All drowning in our own way
Different strata of scum

floating to the surface like the flesh meat water sacks we are

Deserve to exist by Jodie Mcloughlin

Born in the red
Deficient of virtue
merely as a result of where (and to whom) you were born
When we open our mouths
they know we are nothing
Undeserving of their welfare
yet deserving of perpetual scorn

She tried so hard
to ‘drag herself up by her bootstraps’
Taught by society that hard-work and brains are enough to get by
Oh but what happens when illness and discrimination rear their ugly heads?
Like a snarling dog who carries on attacking you however hard you cry!

“There’s no shame in being born in the gutter
but staying there by choice is truly a sin”
Covered in the dirt from their disposable society
Only black and white thinking,
no empathy within

You – yearning nostalgically for
Gloriana Victoriana!
As you blame and shame,
calling the most vulnerable crooks
The the Ladies, Sirs, M’lords, Mr CEO, media
escape from your net,
you choose to let them go –
off your radar and off the hook!

Morally repugnant are the homeless
Devoid of charm are the sick ones you abhor
Deserving of pity are the hard done by workers
unless they fall into the category of ‘the undeserving poor’.

Right and wrong with no disparity
between those with no opportunities and those who ‘choose’ to be this way

No workhouses only jobcentre schemes
No poor houses only hostels and temporary B’n’B’s
Only policies made by the shortsighted elite
who can’t see the forest for the bloody trees

I hear your excuses
The parroted propaganda and shrieks of “dirty communist'”, “Such a bad man”!
I was born in the red,
screaming for change and equality
and some of you will never understand

I hear you furiously trying to justify
but you don’t feel my insides twisting,
every time you imply with a superior tone,
that we’re morally bankrupt for merely existing

Doesn’t Play Well with Others by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

Let’s face it
we don’t play nicely with others
Our report card has got an F
An eff all to co-operation
Over 50% gone morally deaf

Old making decisions on the future of the young
Young vilifying the old
The educated versus the less educated
Oh what a vile spectacle to behold!

The left as divided as ever
Socialism and cohesion seems dead
Point out your concerns about the most vulnerable though,
and it’s all speculation
It’s all in your head

In our heads –
tapping into our collectivism
Like our rabid fear of the bogeyman ‘others’
You talk about taking back sovereignty and control –
but you’ll soon be complaining when your rights are eroded,
soon be moaning when your independence smothers

You, don’t give a damn about people like me
and I resent you in part
But it isn’t your fault that you’ve been fed misinformation
by a media and establishment with money at its putrid heart

I will never acquiesce and we will never surrender
To a narrow little island mentality and your nationalistic agenda

I have no desire to fight and bicker
With family, associates and friends
Yet how they disregard facts, our concerns and feelings
Slightly stings, yes even offends

You call me mean for fighting for what I believe
You call me immature for pointing out oppression
Well, enjoy your freedom while it lasts
I hope you never suffer from austerity related fear and depression

Fear for younger generations future
Worry about our insecure jobs
While you rub your wallet, scared stiff of immigrants
I fear unelected, cruel, privileged and proud, right wing knobs

Thank you for the instability
Thank you for more anxiety anew
I’d rather be called reactionary and loony left
than be as deluded and brainwashed as you

Whom I mean nothing to
First they came for….
….let us simmer and stew
When your rights are obliterated,
if I’m still around,
I’ll remember your silence and derision
and I will not be speaking up for you

It’s the same old story
(the haves dividing the have nots)
carving us apart by imaginary borderlines
The powerful and elite using us like Punch and Judy
Interfering with us, planting falsehood, fostering hate and molesting our minds

You talk about democracy
with a pouty little frown
As they place us into teams like a football match at school
You bemoan unelected officials and talk about being ‘great again’
Yet you have no problem with the unelected sovereign rule!

Hypocrites with your heads in your drink
If I wasn’t trapped here too I’d bade the island to sink
Into the North and Atlantic seas
Flailing and drowning –
just like your hated refugees

Like you don’t care about disabled people
Let ’em shoot us lame horses and turn us to glue
At least then we’d be useful huh?
I hope that one day it doesn’t happen to you

You value your independence
You love your NHS
Staffed by migrants
On the cards to be privatised
Open to all,
sorry, I digress

Not all of you are prejudiced, insular and bitter
Not all BNP, EDL, Britain First or UKIP lovers
But I think it’s fair to say that this tug of war is getting rough
and that this petty little island does not play with with others!

Iconoclast by Jodie Rose McLouglin

Be it multi-millionaire celebrities
Sports personalities or the Crown
We rarely ever hesitate
when it comes to tearing the bastards down!

Where has our ‘respect’ gone?
These people are human too, they FEEL
Well, we have no qualms about questioning the elite
who’ve forgotten what it’s like to be real

In a cosseted right-wing fantasy land
They never give the poor a hand,
because everything comes down to
‘discipline and hard work’

Most folk ignore entitlement or privilege from birth
When they see the sycophants gushing and waving,
their reptile masks must crack with mirth
Laughing at deluded fools
who only see what they’ve been told to see

Behold the leaders draped in gold!
Who we’re told we must respect
just because they’re rich and old!

Beyond accountability
Bringing investment to the State
Yet the fawners never comment on,
how much of what’s ours they truly take

If you think they’re looking out for your interests
If you think that they really care
If your delusions override facts and you like to cling to fantasy
Our soapboxes will never float away,
we’ll always be right there!

To tell you the inconvenient truth
The Establishment doesn’t care if you live or die
In fact if you die
all the better
Less burden on the state,
you forfeit,
your citizens right to the slice of human pie!

Not a super fan or Subject
Never a doting, idolising clone
We’d rather speak up for the things we believe in
every time
than be a contented, compliant little clone

Watch your talent shows as the world falls down
The media is your FRIEND
Illuminating the REAL actual truth
With you since birth, right now
and in the END

The eyes they see you
Symbolism of triangular rulers in the sand
They trick you into buying,
consuming the hatred,
towards fellow humans from divided lands

Chopped into borders and checkpoints
Carved by their own evil, occultist hands

Their only God is money
Nothing sacred, nothing is holy
I wish we were wrong but in my heart I know we’re right
Is world peace and equality possible??
If only!
If only…..

you wouldn’t
think I’m disgusting, bitter, disrespectful and obsessed
by the notions of oppression and class!
For pointing out the truth about the way things really are
Proud to be ‘the other’
The critical scathing iconoclast

Ignore us and allow yourself to be happy
Pretending that the world isn’t going to hell
Rotating as the blood oil flows

We’ll be right here to comfort you
and we’ll try not to say
“First you laughed at us”, and
”We told you so”!

Instagratification byJodie Rose McLoughlin

Every moment documented
Live chat video, instant feeds
Pigging out on validation
Always watching
Always there

For you
there’s the ever present macro-lens
of micro conversations
and the little interactions

It’s hard to live without them
Watching you
Watching them

Caring about only a couple of dozen or so,
twittering twatty feuds –
a celebrity PR orgy
1 comment = 1 orgasm

Fapping as your keypad’s tapping
Self-abusive internet usage
Oh look there’s a baby laughing and clapping!

Silly videos of drunk girls in cars
Gifts of GIFS
Of fab fake felicitation
Facing up to your memories

‘One year ago today’ you went out for lunch with friends, paid for with your meagre wage….
….after crying yourself to sleep the night before –
but that won’t increase your status will it?
Your story has a missing page

You face this book like a fairground mirror
Reflecting the distorted truth
of what you want them to see

Only – problem is
Reality is too ugly
for the flowery filter settings
Planting envy and seeds of doubt
Poisoning thoughts: that what you’re doing,
is never good enough

We need them to:
Tell us that we’re doing ok
Must show them your special, lovely day
Because it can’t have really been THAT great,
unless everyone else knows

Did you hear about the:
New 21st century garden fence?
A hot-bed of perceived offence
No tone, lack of context and face-value judgements
All too quick to jump to our own defence

Our daily diaries are no longer secret
We want them all to hear and see,
our tragedies, triumphs and tribulations –
all that there is to you and me

Instant gratification –
it comes at a hefty price
You cannot sugar coat human nature
Defriend and block out all the things not so nice…..

Like the image of us all joined together and interconnected
A cyborg human centipede
Getting sick from the forced consumption
of everyone else’s life waste

Roots by Jodie Rose Mcloughlin

An intrinsic part of me
is the defiance of centuries past
creating tracks from the tears…..
Tears nourishing roots
Washing away the years of pain –
eroding the countryside
Like acid on the urban plane
Burning with equal pride and shame –
at standing up for what is right.
Pain and suffering
is a state of mind – or so THEY tell you…
The blood of ancestors rebellion
runs through my veins.
The cold, withering stare of the Herr Administrator
who delights in saying
No to money
No to dignity
No to choice…
No voice…
Not today,
you will not beat us they say
As they washed one more load of soiled laundry
Wiped one more red and brown backside
Suppressed but not oppressed
Resilient and self-reliant
She scrubbed the steps until they shined
because choices
were limited at best
Always do your best
Be proud of who and what you are
Accept your situation
with humour, warmth and grace.
In the days before every family had a car.
When women had no autonomy over their own bodies
and men ruled with a dirty fist.
When if you couldn’t afford to call the doctor out
You died
Hardly ever daring to cry,
you were bound
by the stiff upper lip THEY forced upon you.
The good old days?
When people knew their place.
Servants and masters,
upstairs and downtrodden
A state to which THEY would all too eagerly have us return!
I am the passive-aggressive. raging, roaring beast
The Child scared and scarred by the cruelty
of twisted nuns and priests
The ink-stains of a denied education –
oh how today’s parallels disgust!….
…..Me: grateful that I am not….
The powerless working class girl,
told in no uncertain terms,
that she WOULD be a Wife and Mother –
“because that’s just nature and what we women do.”
I am the labourer covered in blood, sweat and dust
I am the drunkard, consumed by foul lust
I am the woman once more with child
who carries on living
as she simply must.
Deprivation, disease and resentment is in my DNA
Social immobility and enforced poverty
are the buzzwords of the day.
But also in my heart there lies deep joy, humour, acceptance, freedom and romance.
Money cannot buy it all,
although it may strip you of opportunity and chance.
So thank you Grandparents,
Great Grandparents too…
You knew,
that true happiness and love is for everyone regardless of society’s prison bars,
entrapping you by class and circumstance.

Under your Wing by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

You kept her under your wing
like a protective bold eagle.
A caged bird
covered and concealed
from the ravenous eyes of predatory men.
No knowledge to be imparted
only chores
and more chores
The only thing to be celebrated
As she submits to you
whether she wants to or not.
Throw the man made rulebook at her
It leaves a bruise on her cheek
but that’s ok
because scarves cover most scars –
except the pain within her eyes.
Quite well
You’re doing so well.
As she raises your kids with the money you toss her
Throw it gleefully on the floor
like a chewed up bone
you’ve already slobbered on.
No income of her own
You’re such a good provider and Dad
and the bitch
ought to be more grateful.
If she has any thoughts of running from your arrangement –
she’s dead
Even once wed
women are still dirty, whorish, weak, unclean –
and those are just YOUR thoughts.
Spare the rod and spoil the wife
She has to learn her place.
As she hides her face and lowers her gaze
you smile with yellow teeth
Pillar of the community,
so well respected
It’s all about giving the right impression.
Loved and feared
you perform your duties
knowing full well that your reward is in place.
You await heaven’s embrace so self-assuredly
while she exists in hell.
She’s on survival autopilot whilst
man is the high-flyer, eagled eyed to spot transgressions
As decreed by gods and prophets alike….
But one day you left the key within her reach
and she escaped from her cage to seek knowledge.
One fine day,
soaring high
on the changing
she shot the eagle down
to hell

If words were seeds (growing under my skin) by Jodie Rose McLouglin

Your digital footprint brands me
When I ask myself questions
to which there are no answers.

All I see is your name
Your very essence
and spirit
captured in your words
For eternity

You planted a seed under my skin
Which blossomed into a beautiful flower,
requiring nurture,
empathy and so
many words

Always words
Of comfort
caring and verbal jousts.

Not realising that I was battling a part of myself.
A mirror of traits reflected.
Much smarter than me
A life lived harder than mine.
Yet still you shone and stood out
with vibrancy and light.

Wisdom beyond your years you handed me
But oh my dear one how you branded me!
Got under my skin
and seared my soul.

With your beautifully tragic words.
I shall never forget
What you have taught me and how you made me feel.
Raw and exposed
But always genuine and real.

Loved and hated
Needed and simultaneously  unwanted
Rejected and equally, respected…
but it was never really about me.
I did all I could

I am sorry if I ever hurt you with my verbosity
I tried,
to understand,
to empathise and to simply BE
a friend.

Towards the end
I loved you
I’m not afraid or ashamed to admit it.
I hope you knew what you meant to us all
and how you touched our lives.

From one ‘pain in the arse’ to another!
I say, finally be at peace.
No one can hurt you now
Anymore (including me).

Rest safely now where the Angels reside.
Agnostics such as I do not pray,
Yet today I wish and will it with every piece of my heart…..
That you are suffering no more.
That you were able to stay….

With us, your work and your beloved child
Your legacy lives on and
friendship never truly dies.

I wish I could have done more for you
but in the end all I had to give were my useless words

Under my skin
Growing from my heart.
You’ll always be a part of my life.

I shall never forget you special, talented, beautiful one.
If words were seeds
growing under my
then you were my sunlight and water.

Red Christmas by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

It’s no fun being a socialist at Christmas
When it’s all about the spend spend spend
Drowning in unnecessary commercialistic greed
The capitalist nightmare gravy train
never stops or comes to an end.

Hey you with kids, I get it!
You want them to have the best, be happy, spoiled, have what you didn’t have,
but what about the rest?

The queues at the Foodbank get longer.
You long to wake up from the dystopian dream.
In a nation that’s become so cold and right-wing,
that opposition to war is called communism and extreme!

War creates more war.
Terror creates more terror and death.
Whilst people you love bury their heads in the sand
Like ostriches, safely tucked away, ignorant, blind and deaf.

No fun being a socialist at Yuletide.
Nowhere to hide from adverts, jingles and false cheer.
When in reality things are far from OK,
as leaders bomb us forward into another cutthroat year.

I’d rather spend my Christmas
with the homeless and the needy
Than endure forced conversation and overindulge:
so wasteful and so greedy.

As the tryptophan in the turkey sends me to sleep
I can doze off in bliss and pretend to be a sheep.
Jumping over fences to keep everybody happy,
suppress the urge to be myself,
say something inappropriate, dark and deep.

Grit your teeth at racist, nationalistic comments.
As Grandma makes everyone watch the Queen’s speech,
God save those subjected to austerity,
as Aunty gives you a disdainful look
as she thinks you’re a scrounger and a leech.

As they suckle at the media’s rotten teat.
A drooping, toxic, saggy treat.
You’ve learned to keep quiet in your friends smart houses,
where no one wants a downer as they choke down their manufactured meat.

It sucks having a conscious at Christmas
as you succumb to the awkward, drunken kiss.
When you’re given things you don’t need and have to be grateful.
Surely ’tis more to the season than this?

Charitable giving which is sadly necessary,
this year many thousands won’t have food in their bellies.

it’s tricky to cook a Christmas dinner in a hostel or B&B,
but so what?
I’m ok,
now pass me the remote for the telly.

We can’t change the world
Won’t dance the capitalist dance,
but can’t we just for once try a ‘radical’ solution,
and maybe just give peace a chance?

Money is the rotten root,
cause of the workings of this evil world,
where is God to fight the Devils when you need him?
Says this ‘terrorist sympathiser’ of a girl.

Who values innocent life.
Will not live by the self-serving knife
Piling my plate higher than I need it with material goods,
being selfishly in denial when poverty is rife.

It’s not easy being a ‘radical’ during Noel.
If my glances matched my thoughts then they’d ice over hell!
Oh joy to the world, the sprouts are in the oven,
stinking out the place,
because there’s nothing like a strong hypocrisy smell.

Wafting up my nostrils and making me gag.
I’m not like them, but I can pretend.
Be polite, smile, keep it light
and try not to offend.
It’s really shit being a socialist at Christmas,
under attack and struggling to defend.

People’s chosen leader mocked,
feeling fat and ugly in this frock.
Watching the clock with my pendulum eyes,
if only the drone ants would scurry back under their rock.

Never part of the flock.
Proud to stand apart,
with my back to the maddening crowd.
No amount of English scorn or expectation
will keep my head ‘respectfully’,  subserviently bowed!

It’s lonely being a socialist at Christmas.
Always the outsider, apart.
But I must live as I believe, making these choices not with my selfish head
but with my giving heart.

My beliefs allow me to sleep well at night.
To you I’m sure they’re pie in the sky,
but I’d rather be a leftie, liberal, soft-hearted, sometimes unrealistic,
than glorify,
the innocent who die.

put that gift set back on the shelf.
Money cannot buy you true happiness or health.
Rich in love, I pay the price,
for speaking my mind and being myself.

A price worth paying for speaking the truth.
I trim the fat off my friends list this December night.
I believe in miracles and that people’s views can change.

The socialist at Christmas may be excluded from the party,
but at least they know they’re morally right.

Traitor’s Badge by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

When did the word pacifist become a synonym for traitor?
When did choice become enforced?
When did peace become a dirty word?
Oh get off your high and mighty horse!

Tell me why I’m disrespectful
for not glorifying war?
Worshipping militarily ideals such as service without question?
Refusing to kowtow to principles I abhor?

You say they fought for our freedom
and that’s no doubt what the soldiers thought.
In reality they fought for power, money, drugs and control,
over lands which were not ours to conquer,
for nothing is sacred when allies can be bought.

Those that have a choice,
do they do it for a sovereign, government or Country,
to defend and to protect?
What about the Tommy in the trenches in 1914,
without a choice,
nowhere to run, no escape and given no final respect?

I respect deserters and objectors more than any mindless sacrifice.
Unquestioning, propaganda swallowing,
hollowly following waste of young life.

Widows and mothers solemnly grieved
but at least the objectors stood for what they believed.
Every soul has the right to decide
whether to take up arms,
the elite have their fate and our histories tapestry pre-weaved

But we don’t teach kids about freedom do we?
Only reverence and adherence.
Keep them steeped in glorious conformity
without room for debate or any liberal interference.

The Iraq and Afghan wars were illegal.
The Falklands was about one evil women’s odious ego.
No wars have been necessary since World War Two.
Wherever the US president goes that’s where as a nation we go.

We do as we’re told and we think what’s  acceptable,
follow the majority consensus or prepare to be shot down,
be called a traitor, scum and disloyal,
for daring to be disparaging
about the leaders and the crown.

You will not abuse me until I comply
for surely veterans fought for our right to choose,
whether to wear a symbol or not?
In the game of war all of us lose.

Will not be shamed or blamed or pressured
into buying into something that goes against my beliefs.
For Britain is not great now when lead by right wing quasi-fascists,
who cause ordinary people nothing but poverty, suffering and grief.

Modem versions of imperialism and unnecessary bloodshed
show little respect for those long dead.
Those who fought out of necessity or because they had no choice,
knew no better, were brainwashed,
had no individual voice.

It’s those men I honour
(not modern horrors)
so I wear a white flower on my chest,
to symbolise peace and hope for a better world,
where war is obsolete and humanity is at its best.

You call me naive,
say I need to grow up
just because I don’t condone
those who blow other people up.

It’s the real evil that we should be fighting.
Not innocent people in foreign lands,
there’s no glory in war, absolutely none!
How are we all to salute and pray anyway
when we’ve blown off each other’s hands?

Wear whatever you want as that is your choice.
We won’t be silenced into submission or hide,
away in the darkness,
forever the minority,
I’ll wear my traitor’s badge with pride.

With your knee-jerk reactions you go ballistic,
because I’m not like you, flag waving, nationalistic.
“Educate yourself on our history” you say,
I have dear commenter and what I see, is a Country of past invaders, immoral and sadistic.

No glory in bombs and guns or villagers dead.
So sentence me to treason and chop off my head!
All you would see is more blood and pain,
because there is no glory

in red

Don’t feed the crack heads lol! by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

‘Up and coming’ area.
Run down warehouse or retail estate.
A chance to beautify the urban
for all your hipster mates.

Artists and the bohemian
create visual appeal to behold.
Aesthetic value is all well and good –
until the rents increase fourfold!

Call us poor, call us bitter
with our narrow and traditional boundaries.
I like my lattes as much as the next person,
but I won’t pay five quid for a quarter of a brownie!

Words like quinoa,
focaccia, jus and frangipani,
don’t impress me much.
Cool, aloof customer service is hardly the warmest.
Lacking the friendliness of the down to earth touch.

Beards galore sit beside glass-lamp bottles on wooden furniture.
Roaring, guffawing, sounding like braying asses.
Heads in tablets and Instagram as they read through none-prescription spectacles.
Couldn’t care less for the exodus of the working class.

It’s so cool and edgy.
So shabby chic.
So sad and so beautiful.
Deprivation is so on fleek!

Parents paid for Uni.
Then they moved permanently to the city.
With wide eyes and few experiences of ever being knocked down.
Sharing a house and work is always available,
to middle class kids from sleepy little market towns.

Crave excitement
Crave real life.
Well, behold someone homeless fighting for their life.

Is that real enough for you?
Welcome to horrifying reality.
Where it’s an eye for an eye and inequality is rife.

You gentrify and it’s oh so good for business!
Increasing buildings value which is what matters the most.
Run home to stable family when you need time to chillax.
Then come back to your cafe and charge £7 for ‘posh’, organic cheese on toast.

While at the same time trying to be funny, ironic, satirical.
Placing an A-board outside saying, ‘don’t feed the crack heads’.
I guess addiction is funny and they stink up the area.
It’s bad for your corporate image if they use your shop front as a bed.

It must be nice
it must be bliss,
to live in a world where austerity doesn’t exist.
Where addiction, poverty, disability and mental illness
can be smugly ignored as you take the piss.

Don’t feed the animals
The vermin or the poor.
Don’t be ‘negative’ and kill the vibe we’re going for,
as we print Jean Paul Satre quotes on our toilet doors.

I know I preach
and tar with the same brush
but thoughts on this contentious topic I cannot stem.
Thoughts of the self-absorbed, the arrogant, the privileged.
I can’t help wondering how they’d feel,
if one day the crack heads turned out to be them?

See how fucking funny they find it then!

Beloved Monster by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

I am practically omnipotent
I tell you who to hate
I distort facts and create my own real fiction
As you watch your shows about dancing and cakes.

I am societies hydrocephalic brain.
Swollen and inflated by my own twisted powers.
With influence  greater than any book,
I’ll sell you sculptured manure and tell you they’re flowers.

Blooming in the fields of war.
This Country is full, we can take no more!
Swarms, invaders, masquerades.
Watch their bodies decorate the shore.

We all float you see.
Whatever shade our skin
Facedown in the water
Or looking upwards to the sun.

Look within
Do you really believe all that I tell you?
The stories I weave.
Conditioned not to question.
If it is printed it must be true.

Brought up to believe
in leaders
in celebrities
in others
but rarely in ourselves.

The self-deprecating heart dare not boast.
Ironic how we watch reality TV,
to escape from our own reality.
I am the parasite,
your culture – my host.

Propped up by dynasties of Illuminati families.
Who decide the worlds fate at their hedonistic parties.
Play politicians purse strings like the finest musicians.
Crushing opposition like a hand full of smarties.

Drunk on power.
Intoxicatingly sweet.
Puppeteering outcomes.
Revelling in democracies defeat.

Because drugs are money
Oil is money
Weapons are money
Guns sales are good
(for the economy)  Diamonds are shiny
So is oil
But they all become muddied when they mix with fresh blood.

I create, your views
your fate.
Opinions formed depend on what I choose to reveal.
I tell you who to worship and I tell you who to knock
Off the pedestal and throw under the busses wheels.

Every soul expendable
Once its worth has had its use.
Only money and influence talks,
as they silence historical accounts of abuse.

But hey let’s blame the vulnerable.
A convenient distraction.
We secretly cower in our ivory towers,
in case you rise up, rebel and decide to take action.

Morality counts for nothing.
As consumers just get greedier.
Needy for knowledge, for gossip and information.
I am the 24/7 21st century monster.
I am your media.

Liz(ard) by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

Head of the church
Loved by the sheeple
When we’re compliant and quiet
we’re subjects
Not people

Not collected.
In their eyes only Peasants.
Our rights not   protected.

Preaching thrift from atop a golden throne.
Kindly old lady.
Aww ain’t she sweet?
I’d never abuse an elderly person but,
I’d love to throw that old bag out of her seat.

Of power
Incestuous bloodiness
Cruelty and corruption is all I see.

Looking good for the tourists and commonwealth is all that matters.
As you hid away and institutionalised  your cousins,
who had a mental age of three.

Locked up until the day they died.
Their crime being a learning difficulty, no more, no less.
None of that matters to the media fed subjects.
Subjected to the ‘truth’ from the right wing press.

Indoctrinated to respect,
history and the mysteries of the past.
Handing our future over on a plate to elite, greedy masters.
Under their hunting boots our dignity won’t last.

Ask me why I disapprove, let me regale you with my reasons.
Saying what many people really think and sod oppressive  traditions.
Throw me in the tower
Cut my head off for treason!

Let them try to silence us,
defile and define us.
Lock me up,
I’d do my time.
Thinking these thoughts is not YET a crime.

Murder is,
Of a haughty, high and mighty nation.
Ran half of the world.
Until the tide turned,
and the natives refused to be occupied or conquered.

Any more of this
and the people will get
Revolt and revolution man!

Blow up the rotten, festering, posturing system.
Your ‘God given’ right to rule,
has not gone to plan.

The Princess, she ran,
from a palace that protected the evillest of men.
With handshakes, over banquets deals and wicked deeds concocted.
Like staging a car collision, ‘a tragic accident’,
So that she’d never speak out again.

Wouldn’t wanna be.
Part of the monarchy.
The peasants are revolting.
The beasts tails are poking out of their robes,
their scaly skin coats moulting.

The correct term being shedding.
Shredding our freedoms with puppet nodding Assent.

Royally screwed
Down-trodden for too long.
Fed up of being subjected to this.
So, we will not relent.

Until I can do my own little bit,
to try and bring the fuckers down.
All should be born equal,
no better than us,
and one mere mortal has no right to wear a crown.

Cold blooded,
black heart.
I will cheer when she departs.
Sibilantly he whispers in her ear does her consort, the un-PC dark wizard.

They wipe their arses the same way that we do.
Reveal yourself to your loyal people,
who pray and sing,
and swoon and die,

It’s all for you
our dearest Liz(ard).

Naturally by Jodie Rose McLouglin

Didn’t want to be
Didn’t ask to be
Have no desire to be

A natural born fighter.
Against the odds –
not in our favour.

A bad hand dealt.
Cards fall where they may.
Illusions of chance perpetuate the myth of

Dissenting voice
in a room full of silence
was never an option.

To begin with
It begins and ends
with lack of options
no choice but to

For those without a voice,
for yourself.
never ever wanted any of this

Survival of the stubbornest
Shine brighter
than bigots and fools.

Take a match to their ignorance
and set their values on fire.

It’s what you were born to do,
most probably,
until the day that you expire.

Naturally by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

Didn’t want to be
Didn’t ask to be
Have no desire to be

A natural born fighter.
Against the odds –
not in our favour.

A bad hand dealt.
Cards fall where they may.
Illusions of chance perpetuate the myth of

Dissenting voice
in a room full of silence
was never an option.

To begin with
It begins and ends
with lack of options
no choice but to

For those without a voice,
for yourself.
never ever wanted any of this

Survival of the stubbornest
Shine brighter
than bigots and fools.

Take a match to their ignorance
and set their values on fire.

It’s what you were born to do,
most probably,
until the day that you expire.

X by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

X marks the spot
where you drew your pencil dagger.

Scribed it sharply, with finality,
rubbed us out.

Gobbed on us
Trod on us
and robbed us
of our chances.

In the privacy of a booth
you placed your cross.

Forgetting that now
it is a cross we all must bear.

Pirates searching for treasured scraps,
fighting over the meagre loot.

scrapping over what is theirs.
Marking their territory by
pissing on the weak.

You’ve made your mark.
Torn out our hearts.
Fed them to your greedy masters.

Until our chests are empty caverns,
with wounds too great for sticking plasters.

Of placation,
The festering stump of a sick, selfish nation.

Ex servicemen
Ex nurse
Ex citizen

Existential existence.
Existing apart.

Like a good Christian
you smiled at your cross,
put yourself first and stabbed us in the heart.

Sleep well in your spot and know your place.
While we burn your crosses to the ground.

Inked by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

from an early age
in branded soap

Cleansed and prepared
To follow the crowd,  from that pliable age you’re taught.
To do as you’re told, be good subjects
and suppress
all rebellious thoughts.

Marked and scratched
Under your skin
Like a bad tattoo
Can’t be wiped away.
Unless you have the money
To get it removed
It is here to stay.

What you see
in the mirror
is not a true reflection
Of yourself

Yet that is what they will judge you on
who cares?

We do not fit into the their besuited cubist boxes,
their abstract perceptions.
The ink labelled   standards
masking insecurities within.
Them: so critical and judging behind an airbrushed reality
whilst the big boys rub their hands together,
raking it in.

With smarmy, smug grins.
“Spend your last penny,
Seal your fate in debts hellfire.
Don’t sweat it,
but remember to compete with your Sisters
because we know what all you ladies desire.”

As the advert dazzles you with it’s colours
and the catchy jingle gets into your head,
crave to consume what you do not need,
sedentary, robotically,
Force fed.”

Scratch your arse like a monkey
and don’t mind the important stuff.
Like who’s running the world and controlling your future.
Too stuffed and apathetic to say when ‘enough is enough’.

To the showmen
(rarely women)
whose slick PR is hard to stem.

In all truth,
it’s easier to believe what you’re told.

In reality
looks good on them
but LIAR
should be their anthem.

At The Mercy of the Banks by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

At the mercy of the banks.
The money lenders,
money laundering.
Ass covering

Rhymes with something which
describes the besuited well.
A rude word, oh my God!
Priorities wrong as we damn ourselves.

To hell
with compassion.
Charity starts at home.
At the mercy of the foodbank.
No ‘hand outs’ from our taxes.
Only handing out smiles and

Let’s use the rotten produce of the supermarkets greed,
their binned waste.
Put the fat-cats in the stocks
and egg them in the face!

The expressionless
soulless faces.
‘Only doing their jobs’.
Looking out for number one,
número uno,
but never ME!
Self-interested, covetous and kissing MP’s

Corporate bully’s behave like yobs.
Crippling the Country and shafting us Royally.
Not nearly enough living wage jobs.

Getting us to blame each other so that we’re fighting amongst ourselves too much.

To see what’s really going on.
The blame game.
Exterminate the needy.
Let them destroy themselves.
Divide and rule.
Rule and conquer.
Repeat transparent lies about distribution of wealth.
Sing for your supper.
Don’t be a ‘useless eater’
Or try to shirk,
because we’re all in this together!
Some of us more than others.
In our fantasy land all sickness is imagined.

No one is EVER too ill to work.
If you starve it’s your own fault for being born ordinary,
Unlike us,

How the undeserving poor,
are cluttering up our streets in a Dickensian manner.

Cry us a river for the poor poor  plebs!
“Survival of the fittest chaps.”
You continue shouting from the seats of power with forever  boorish, guffawing claps.

Like seals.
Seal your fate.
We hate you!
Right winged hearts shrunken, putrid, black and rank.
As you drag us down, whip us back to glorious Victoriana slavery.

We: left alone at the mercy of charity,
of the charity of the banks. 

Justifications by Jodie Rose McLoughlin

When are you going to let go
of constant expectation?
Stop stumbling,
tripping over convoluted  explanations?
Burdens unnecessary.
A heavy cross.
Your shoulders were never designed to carry.
Always about!
What they MIGHT say
what they MAY think.
Never knowing either way.
The little person inside
continues to shrink.
Under the weight
of questions.
Why haven’t you?
When will you?
How come you didn’t?
Oh look another mistake.
The detractors rub their hands with mirth,
Or look downcast,
with pity.
Tell you
it’s a shame
that things rarely work out
For you
You are
so pretty
They think.
Often told that your attitude stinks
By those who do not understand
What it’s like to be dealt this hand
Of anxiety
Asking permission
to be yourself.
Trying and crying
Just dying
For health
For another chance
To prove yourself
Because you know you are
Worth more than these.