An open Letter to the 498 MPs who voted for Article 50

What he says…with bells on!

The Great British Moronathon

Dear Morons,

So you’ve done it then. To show a small number of little-englander xenophobes that they should vote for you instead of UKIP, you’ve shot your own country and its population in the fucking face  (Note: they won’t vote for you anyway).  You’ve taken one look at the right wing press and a handful of crackpots threatening rioting in the streets, cacked your pants, and sold the people, your people, down the river.

Labour MPs (apart from the rather heroic 47 who put their conscience and country before their frankly nuts party), you’ve handed the most right-wing Conservative government ever a blank cheque to enact the most painful Brexit possible.  Of course, it won’t be you who suffer, but your constituents, so that’s okay, no? Is it perhaps that the bigger the shit-fest May makes of it, the more you think Labour can capitalise? Or is it because you…

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Sensed

moth-to-a-flame

(source)

Recognised by footfall on the stairway
A sneeze, a cough, a laugh, all known so well
Out of sight and yet still seen in mind’s eye
Who is there, the sounds alone may tell

Identified at distance by an outline
A shape, a shrug, a slouch, a gait, or more
Virtually unseen and yet acknowledged
As one encountered often times before

Scent upon the wind that clings in mem’ries
A perfume, fragrant grass, tanged forest spice
Faint souvenirs long gone and yet they linger
Bouquets recalled, recaptured, that entice

 A citrus thought reclining in a heatwave
Taste buds triggered, juiced by orange skin
A salivated riposte to stored mind grove
Yet dimpled drouth is merely quenched within

A blindfold quest exploring tactile secrets
Silk, satin, fur, evocative to touch
Discovery in tangible and tested
Speculated thrill in knowing such

A jolt from sleep, a voice within a dreamscape
A shrilling phone that stimulates unease
Clouded signs and signals looped in memos
Disquietude in gut that’s unappeased

A fiery flame, a finger, the temptation
What is known and what’s been felt or learned
A myriad of means and useful methods
Why then, with common sense, are hands still burned