Politics: Carol Ann Duffy's first official poem as laureate
How it makes of your face a stone
that aches to weep, of your heart a fist,
clenched or thumping, sweating blood, of your tongue
an iron latch with no door. How it makes of your right hand
a gauntlet, a glove-puppet of the left, of your laugh
a dry leaf blowing in the wind, of your desert island discs
hiss hiss hiss, makes of the words on your lips dice
that can throw no six. How it takes the breath
away, the piss, makes of your kiss a dropped pound coin,
makes of your promises latin, gibberish, feedback, static,
of your hair a wig, of your gait a plankwalk. How it says this –
politics – to your education education education; shouts this –
Politics! – to your health and wealth; how it roars, to your
conscience moral compass truth, POLITICS POLITICS POLITICS.
Yes, puppets but not hand puppets, but puppets on strings. If I wrote a poem it would end in:
"Place the politicians on the battle fields that they send our indoctrinated children to fight, they will see fear, wee their cotton pants.
Oh the profits, power and their evil rants."
Yes our Poet Laureate was being too soft on UK Politicians and their corrupt policy, but of course she's a sweet woman. But her poem is great and will create great pain within the House of Commons. But I would like to cause so much more on these elite greedy morans.
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North Tonawanda, New York, United States