Pint of Liberal Tears, Please, Barman

Pint of liberal tears, please, barman!

The endless circling droning sermon

from the slippery as a salmon

two-faced million-mouthed demon

with the head of a blood-drenched woman

that smears blood, breast-milk, piss and semen

goat-faced pentagrams across the walls to summon

Bohemian Grove’s fork-wielding doorman,

is silenced with a trump, trump, trump.

 

Those crisp, delicious, sweet, drought-quenching

tears are pumped out in mind-bunching

unison, in perfect harmony,

from those who’d like to teach the world

to whine: “Blond postmen are the planet’s enemy!

Moustaches are a tool of hegemony!

Agree with us or you’re a spoiled

smelly misogynist who hates black people!”

Those moreish tears have bubbled and squealed

from faces you never could tire of punching,

from every intellectual cripple

preaching in the progressive chapel,

insisting that tweaking the Russian bear’s nipple

again and again and again and launching

into a third world war, is a minuscule ripple

on the moral lake compared with pinching

a woman’s fat rump.

Today they swing in a sweet, sweet lynching

to the blare of a trump, trump, trump.

 

Sixteen years before the millennium

the serpent would fatten, our prophet bugled,

his hope for the future disrobed and bedraggled,

and identical thoughts would slouch through each cranium.

Peak oleaginous unction-dripping

empathy-for-dogma-swapping

howling in a monochrome timbre

into a rainbow-painted echo chamber.

In fact, it slunk up, that slithering mamba,

then seized us while we lounged in slumber,

sixteen years after.

                                      It came to dismember,

it sank its fangs and thrashed and wriggled,

we coughed up blood and gasped and gurgled,

then sliced off its head. On the eighth of November.

Now, as the Mayans foretold, every member

of our worldwide clan, which has struggled and struggled,

must drag itself up by the roots and clamber

into a dawn of new consciousness, out of the darkness,

waving goodbye to the circus

with a trumpety trump, trump trump trump,

waving goodbye to the flying cucumber,

the overstirred borscht, the mushroom lamp.

 

 

 

 

© Archie Macjoyce

© archiemac 2017
Views: 575
critique and comments welcome.

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18 Comments on "Pint of Liberal Tears, Please, Barman"

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Ifyouplease
Member

you’re also the living future of English poetry haven’t said such a thing for many I think Jack_Cade and funkyseagull (very old member of that other site you probably don’t know him) are the other two people I enjoyed reading their work so much – I certainly hope you will become one of the most famous poets of our era. congratulations on the nib and nomination.

Stormwolf
Member

Bloody marvellous! Congrats on the recognition. I second Nic. A rare talent indeed m’lad.
So good to see you back.
Alison xx

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