The Weekly Muse

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The Independent Culture
Hemlock, dock and southernwood

Unsung among the rubble,

The salvagemen and saviours

Of a shipyard long in trouble.

A cuckoo watchman calls the hours

As cuckoo-pint gives up its flowers.

Election won. We made our choice

As Europe voted with one voice.

Results as clear as they could be -

A massive swing to Apathy.

We didn't care, we didn't know,

And true to form we didn't go.

Aachen, Alresford, Arles and Ghent

United where we never went.

The voters hadn't got a clue

About the great machine, EU,

This puffing, guffing, costly thing,

Hand-cranked, mud-cooled, and run

on string

With capstans, flywheels, idlers, cogs

Pulled round by pigs and steered

by dogs.

Unwieldy, wasteful, gobbling time,

It left a bureaucratic slime.

The final product plain to see -

Rejection of democracy.

"The prison sky is cobalt blue.

It's not so bad there's lots to do,"

Remarked C B 92 98.

"Oh dearest Money, say you'll wait."

-Adelic, -tastic make the suffix.

(Here are clues for This Week's Word.)

Not a type of carpet pile,

Not tobacco, nor the bird...

Shag. Well, there we are. You said it.

Very witty, Wilde, you tart.

Seen the Austin Powers movie?

Laugh? I thought we'd never start.

This should keep the tabloids happy,

Front page stuff, I would have thought.

Knuckle-scrapers bread and circus -

Shag and Lotto. Shag and Sport.

If we could give words a knighthood,

This one might be in the bag.

Can't outwit the witless, can we?

Coming soon: "Arise, Sir Shag."

Speaking of the royal marriage,

Which I didn't mean to be,

Just returned my wedding invite,

Albeit reluctantly.

Well, it's just this Gift List really.

Items all seem rather dear,

Too much for a writer's stipend.

We're not talking toasters here,

We're not talking mugs and tea-towels,

Dustpan, indoor washing-stand;

We are talking chairs and table,

Near enough a hundred grand.

This is not the type of wedding

Which we go to on the make,

Do The Twist and snog the bridesmaid,

Exit bleeding, wearing cake,

Having quietly flamed the motor

Of the chap who threw us out.

No, this is the type of function

Where we watch our step, no doubt.

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